Eighteen.
Winning gold.
No, he’s not my swim coach, but he’s always been my biggest fan.
“Dad,” I greet, and he instantly uncrosses his arms as I step in for a hug. He wraps his arms around me, and I hold tighter.
I’m pregnant, Dad.
I swallow the truth. I learned my lesson: don’t drop a truth bomb on my dad. At least not in public. Maybe if we were back in the woods, I’d consider detonating this one and feeling the fucking moment again. Even against better judgment.
But above everything, it feels wrong to tell my dad before I tell my boyfriends.
He must feel that I’m nervous. When I draw back, he keeps his rough rock climber hands on my shoulders. “Fuck what anyone says or thinks. When you go out there, just be you. That’s all that matters, champ.”
Champ.
I smile.
I haven’t heard my dad call me champ in a long time. He used to use the nickname whenever I needed a confidence boost for swimming.
And I definitely need one now. Just not for the reason he believes. Under normal circumstances, I’d be a little fucking intimidated that I’m carrying my country’s flag. It’s a lot of responsibility. One that I’d probably hand over to Dean. He deserves it more.
Akara and Banks would quickly say, no way and no way in hell. They’re so ready to lift me up as the world continues to call me undeserving. But the public is right, aren’t they? I was chosen because I’m a famous face. Recognizable in the media.
Fuck what anyone says or thinks. When you go out there, just be you.
I intake a stronger breath. “Thanks, Dad. I guess I can’t do worse than the Canadian flagbearer.”
His brows harden in a tough furrow. “The what?”
“Canada,” I say. “They fumbled the fucking flag. It’s a whole meme and everything…” My voice tapers off at the dark confusion scrunching his face.
“I must’ve fucking missed that.”
They lied.
My boyfriends fucking lied!
I find myself smiling. Maple syrup memes—God, I should’ve known! Kits is so corny. And it’s kind of cute. How much they tried to rid my nerves.
I guess we all lied to each other, but theirs was an innocent white lie. Mine…not so much.
I look around. “Is Mom in the stands?”
“Yeah, she’s with your aunts.”
Mom is a big fan of mine too, but she worries about the pressure I put on myself when I strive for gold. Dad always told her I’d grow out of it like he did, but I never shook off my love and drive for competition.
Clearly, considering I came out of my retirement and shocked the world.
I notice Uncle Connor and Uncle Lo close by. They’re talking quietly and scrutinizing the event’s security and our own. My family has been overly concerned about my safety, and I’ve become used to seeing my aunts and uncles around. They try to draw attention off me whenever they can.
I appreciate it more than they know.
“Sullivan Meadows!” a woman shouts, waving me towards the front of the pack. She looks like an event coordinator, and the American flag is in her hand.
“Bye, Dad.” I’m about to leave.
“I’m proud of you, Sulli.” The emotion in his eyes tempts tears to rise in mine.
“Dad,” I wipe the corners.
He laughs into a bigger, more profound smile like he’s transported back to the past too. Like we’ve opened a time capsule together, and long ago, I was just the kid running through the woods next to him. Determined to keep stride. Dreaming of an Olympic moment.
And here I am, not once.
But twice.
In this second, I feel like his little kid. The one I fought so hard not to be in his eyes, and you know what? I don’t fucking care.
I am his little girl.
I am a woman now.
I’m every fucking thing.
And yes, I’m pregnant.
You can fucking do this, Sulli.
My lungs reinflating with confidence and hope, I follow the sight of the flag. Then I brave a glance at my boyfriends. Mostly because I want to remember this moment with them.
I catch Banks’ eyes first. His mouth begins to curve. The love in his gaze elevates me tenfold. He mouths, I love you.
I mouth back, I love you more.
He shakes his head like that’s impossible.
And then Akara.
Kits—he smiles at me, one that lights up his eyes. One reminiscent of four years ago where he was my bodyguard and protected me during the Parade of Nations. Only this time, I’m older than eighteen. And he’s looking at me like I’m beyond beautiful. Like I’m his.
He blows me a kiss.
I blow him a kiss back. Akara mimes catching it and palms the kiss onto Banks’ cheek. Banks elbows his side before hawk-eyeing the crowds, and I don’t realize I’m smiling like a lovesick puppy until I reach the event coordinator.
She’s busy chitchatting with another official.
“That grin for me?”
I glance to my left.
Tobias fucking Kingly. Olive-skinned, crew-cut light brown hair, and oh-so-fucking confident at twenty-nine. An entire armpiece tattoo of a forest, eagle, and grizzly bear lies beneath his navy blazer. Not to mention, he blew his butterfly times out of the water at Team Trials.
There are stars in my eyes. “I, uh…”
He smiles more, laughing a little.
“I saw you set the new world record for the two-hundred-meter fly. It was fucking awesome.”
“A definite highlight, huh?” He wags his brows. “Second year here, Meadows?”
I nod. We didn’t talk much last Olympics. And even though we’re in an event together, I’ve been too starstruck to really chat with Kingly.
“Wait until your third. The pressure only gets worse.” With his hand, he blocks the sudden spotlight that glares down on the wing.
I squint.
“Change of plans!” It takes me a second to realize the event coordinator approaches me and Kingly, American flag in hand. “I’ve been told we’re switching up flagbearers.”
“Why?” Kingly frowns.
“You’re still holding the flag,” she explains. “Ms. Meadows, I’m sorry, you’re out. It’s just Kingly today.”
My stomach does a weird nosedive. I’m guessing the national committee were pressured by the internet sentiment. I’ve seen the vitriol online. A lot of people think it’s a disgrace that I’m carrying the flag. A girl who just openly declared she’s in a polyamorous relationship. I said, fuck no to monogamy and somehow that’s too fucking shameful?
Fuck that.
“Everyone already thinks I’m carrying it,” I tell her. “It’ll be a bigger fucking ordeal if you change flagbearers now.”
“I just do what I’m told,” she says, checking the time.
Banks and Akara are pushing ahead of me. To walk out in front of the U.S. athletes, and they almost pause by the coordinator, seeing the uncomfortable exchange.
I shake my head at them and motion them to keep going.
My boyfriends can’t fix this, and I’d rather they just protect me from the possibility of hecklers. As they focus and go on ahead, I ask her, “Can’t you call them? Tell them that.”
“There’s no time. It is what it is.” She’s anxious and juggling a clipboard, plus a comm system in her ear. “Okay, the United States of America, we’re almost ready for you!” Team USA cheers in excitement. She hands the flagpole to Kingly. “Keep it upright. Don’t let it touch the ground. And don’t dip the flag to anyone.”