Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 17

  “I’m waiting for someone.”

  He’s still walking, only a few feet away now. “If you’re looking for Tia, I’m afraid she’s otherwise engaged.”

  I see in the reflection of the windows he’s holding something behind his back. It gleams in the moonlight.

  “What the fuck have you done?”

  He continues to walk forward. There’s the same glint in his eye he gets before a race, the color of cunning materializing. “Like I said, she’ll be busy—real busy by the time she works her way through my friends and their fat cocks.”

  “You motherfu—” I don’t get out the full word before I launch at him, hands out ready to choke the life from his pathetic fucking face.

  I see the bat before I feel it, the swooping arc of it as he swings, the heightened awareness of my surroundings right before it connects.

  I hear the metallic ring of the bat makes as it connects with my skull, yet strangely I feel nothing as my body falls back, see only the roof of the complex before I hit the water and, with it, complete and utter darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  TIA

  I won’t lie. I’m scared; terrifed about what’s about to happen, but I’m not going down easily. Blake’s taught me to fight if nothing else.

  They circle around me, the lightbulb swinging above bringing them in and out of light, their sunken faces macabre. They snicker, laugh, eyes hungry for a piece of me. Once I was settled in, Ethan took off, and that’s what worries the most—not my own wellbeing surrounded by these psychos, but what Ethan has planned for Blake.

  The skinny, bearded one. “You shouldn’t have fucked with Ethan, baby, because now we’re,” gesturing to his friends, “going to fuck with you”.

  The canister of pepper spray I swiped from my bag in the back of the van is digging into my back trapped under the waistband of my track pants. But it won’t work at this distance. I’ve got to wait until he’s close enough.

  Skinny Guy takes out his cock, can’t even get it up, stroking it back and forth. “Hope you’re wet, baby.”

  He leans over me and I know now’s the time. I dislocate my wrist, let it slide free of the cable-tie with pepper spray in hand.

  Now.

  I draw the pepper spray out, pressing the top down and hitting Skinny Guy square in the eyes.

  He reels back. “What the—?”

  I see the panic cloud his face as he realizes what’s happening.

  I don’t wait, getting up to my feet as quickly as possible and spraying at random, firing at the others while Skinny Guy starts to scream and claw at his face.

  “Stay back!” I scream, the other goons too scared to move.

  “Fuck!” Skinny cries, standing and running straight into a wall, nose gushing blood. “What the fuck have you done to me?”

  One of his friends makes a move, but I see him out the corner of my eye. I hit him right in his face, impressed at my accuracy with this thing. “Back!” I scream.

  I make it to the door and come up against it with my back, hunting for the knob with my hand. I find it and fire off the last of the pepper spray before opening it and bolting down the hallway.

  Go.

  It’s dark. I have no idea where I am, but I do know I have to get the hell away from here as soon as possible. If they catch me after that, I’m done for.

  I run to the light at the end of the hallway, run harder than I’ve ever run in my life.

  I hit the end of the hallway and come out into a room with a guy sitting in a La-Z-Boy drinking from a paper bag.

  He looks at me. I look at him.

  “Hey,” he says, completely buzzed out of his mind.

  I see a door in front of me and make a break for it. Something grabs my ankle from behind, but I shake it off and run forward, making it through the door and out into a suburban street. I don’t know where I am, but judging by the length of the trip, it has to be downtown somewhere.

  I try to wave down the first car I see, but the driver simply honks and drives around me. Fucker. I run to the lights of a service station, but it’s closed.

  Come on.

  I can hear them behind me, one of them yelling like I’m going to stop and willingly go with him.

  I turn a corner and almost go over the hood of a taxi. The driver yells something, but I’ve got no time. I pull open the door and swing into the passenger seat.

  “Lady,” he says, “I’m off duty.”

  “Drive!” I scream.

  He looks past me, squints to see the others gaining, running towards us.

  “Please,” I beg, “just drive”.

  He sees the tears in my eyes and suddenly makes the connection, flooring it right before Ethan’s friends reach the car, slapping the hood as the car peels off down the road.

  *

  The taxi driver was insistent I go the police. I promised him I would later, offered to run upstairs and get the fare, but he wouldn’t have it. At least there’s some good left in the world.

  As soon as I’m back on campus, I start looking for Blake. I have to get to him before Ethan does. I used the taxi driver’s cell to try and reach him, but the call couldn’t connect.

  I try the apartment first, but no one answers the door.

  I stand in the hall outside shaking. Where? Where the fuck would he make him go?

  The pool.

  I sprint for Carver.

  Winter has well and truly set in. The gardens are blanketed in heavy snow, the elms dusted white. There won’t be any snow in Rio, that’s for sure. If Blake makes it.

  I see a black van driving away from the pool complex as I approach. No. No, no, no, no, no.

  I push the side door, unlocked, and enter. I know he’s here. I can feel it. Come on. Please.

  I wipe the tears away. I can’t lose him. Not now.

  It’s dark, only the pool lights on. “Blake!” I shout, my voice hoarse, echoing.

  Maybe he never showed. Maybe that’s why Ethan was leaving.

  “Blake!” I shout again.

  No response.

  I step closer to the pool and see him, face-down in the water.

  My heart plummets and for a moment I’m frozen, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

  I snap to, running, diving into the pool and heaving him towards the edge underarm. My sweater pulls me down, the weight of him more than I should be able to manage, but, heart pumping, adrenaline racing, I find the strength.

  There’s no life in him, his skin pale and blue, limbs inert. No, not like this. Please, God.

  “Blake!” I scream, hoping it will bring him back to consciousness. “Help!” I scream aloud, throat burning.

  I pull myself out of the water, reaching back down collect his arms and drag him up. It takes everything I have, but somehow I get it done, lifting him across the tiles and crouching beside his body.

  I brush the hair from his eyes, barely able to fathom what I am seeing. “Blake!” I scream again.

  Think. Think.

  But I can’t. It’s happening all over again.

  I fish in my bag for my phone, dialing nine-one-one.

  I speak to the operator, give them the address, but it’s as though I’m not doing it, that I’m out of my body looking down at this horrible scene.

  The operator’s speaking back to me. “Hon, hon?”

  I look down at him, my everything, and can’t let him go, not like this.

  I place the phone down and take a rattily breath. You can do this.

  I lean over his chest, hair hanging in wet tendrils. I place the heel of my hand on his breastbone and the other on top, interlocking my fingers. Using my bodyweight, I press down on his chest, press hard like I was taught as tears run in hot streams down my face.

  I count out the compressions—thirty, two breaths, his lips so very, very cold. Come back to me. Come back to me.

  I look over my shoulder constantly, terrified Ethan and his friends will be back to finish the job. I knew he was unhinged,
but I never thought he was a murderer, that he would go this far.

  “Help!” I scream again, over and over as I press down, Blake’s ribs flexing under my hands.

  This is exactly how it happened with Mom—me, giving her CPR on the bathroom floor, her body growing colder and colder before me. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t bring her back.

  Faster, I tell myself, picking up the pace. Great, wracking sobs shake my body. My arms ache, I’m shaking, but I don’t stop. I don’t stop until they pull me away.

  When they do come, when they take him from me, I scream until my lungs are on fire. They have to peel my hand, finger by finger, from his arm. Don’t die, I repeat in my head, don’t die, as people in primary colors flit about me like strange, exotic birds.

  Please.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  BLAKE

  When I come to, Coach and Tia are flanking my bed, the room I’m in is a horrible, stomach-churning shade of green. Jesus, my mouth’s dry. “What’s going on?”

  Coach leaps forward to the bedside, and starts to fire questions at me. “What do you remember, son? Who did this to you? Was it Ethan?”

  I rack my brain, but all I get are fragmented pieces and nothing after I entered the pool complex. It’s completely blank. I remember being at the pool, water… “I don’t know.”

  Tia takes my hand, looking to her Dad. “It was Ethan, Dad. I mean, Christ, he kidnapped me for crying out loud! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time.”

  “Kidnap?” I try to lean forward, but my head’s spinning. What the hell is she talking about?

  Coach shakes his head. “I know the guy’s been a little weird lately, but he wouldn’t do this. Surely…”

  “Dad,” she pleads, “listen to me for once. Ethan is behind this.”

  “The meet, the qualifier,” I remember. “What’s the time?”

  Tia looks down at her watch. “Ten to twelve.”

  Coach places a hand on my chest. “You’re not going to make it, son. You more or less drowned last night. You need to stay here for observation.”

  “For how long?”

  “The doctors said a couple of days. You’ll get your chance again. Don’t worry?”

  “For Tokyo?” I scoff, panicked. “That’s another four years away.”

  Tia sits up on the bed, hand on the side of my face. She looks so fragile, far from the headstrong girl I’ve come to know.

  “He’s right,” she says. “We don’t want to lose you. Nothing, no medal or Olympics, is worth that. Rest, get better. We’ll take care of Ethan, right, Dad?”

  He nods, still unsure.

  Ethan. I’ve worked way too hard for him to take this from me. He’s not going to win, not like this.

  Coach sighs. “You took a nasty hit to the head, son. You might have concussion, complications, anything. You need to stay here.”

  I nod slowly. “Okay, fine, but can I have a little alone time. I’m really fucking sleepy.”

  “Come on,” says Coach, guiding Tia away. “Let’s get a bite to eat, hey?”

  Perfect.

  They both smile, Tia leaning down to kiss my forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

  I wait five minutes. As soon as I’m sure they’re gone, I pull off every wire I can, turning off the monitor as it goes wild beside the bed. I swipe my wallet from the side table. It’s still damp.

  In the hall, I’m sure a nurse sees me, but if she does, she makes no fuss about it as I slip into the stairwell and head to the lower floors.

  Clothes, clothes.

  I steal into an inventory room and snatch a set of scrubs, manage to get past the front desk without any fuss. I’m a little woozy, lethargic, yes, but I’m going to that meet whether they like it or not. I’m going to the god-damn Olympics if it’s the last thing I do.

  *

  The Trumbull Aquatic Center at Denison University is a twenty-million-dollar facility. Everyone’s here—spectators, a large media contingent, even a couple of former Olympians. I almost passed out in the taxi on the way over, stuffed what I could in a bag at the apartment, but it hardly matters. I’m here.

  Everything’s muddled, blurry, but I manage to get through weigh-in somehow. It’s a good thing I realized I was still wearing my hospital band right before I stepped on the scales.

  I stand at a desk signing my life away. The administration guy looks behind me. “You’re with Coach Reed, right? Carver? Great guy.”

  “He is,” I smile, the guilt sinking in. I look around nervously. No one’s come for me yet, but it won’t be long. If I can just make the finals…

  “You do him proud,” smiles the admin guy. He takes the form, handing me over my number and schedule. “Good luck out there.”

  I find a quiet corner and close my eyes, but the tempest in there has failed to subside. I stand and almost fall over, the world tilting. I haven’t seen Magnus and Ethan, but I know they will be here somewhere. I don’t know what Ethan got up to last night. I will find out, but not now. He’ll be here. He wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  This is a bad fucking idea.

  I hear the call for my heat.

  Here we go.

  It seems like an even worse idea when I’m perched on top of my block, a pool that’s dipping left and right before my eyes.

  Focus. Fucking focus and get this done.

  I look sideways and there he is—Ethan. I figured he’d be in my heat. He sees me and it’s impossible to miss surprise that registers on his face.

  That’s right, asshole. I’m still here.

  “Stand,” calls the official. Seems someone was a little too eager.

  I stand. It feels like my head’s a fucking spinning top.

  “Take your mark.”

  I bend back down into position, fingers gripping the front edge of the block, the tension building in my legs. I visualize myself as a spring, compressed and ready to release.

  You can do this. Fuck Ethan. Fuck them all.

  Beep.

  I launch hard, a little heavy on the impact but still nicely placed in the middle of the field.

  It’s fast, really fucking fast, but I pull ahead quickly ignoring the tornado in my head.

  A little over twenty seconds later and it’s done.

  I look to the scoreboard—Ethan by a hundredth.

  Fuck.

  Still, all I need to do is qualify.

  Ethan makes a quick getaway. I’m in no condition to chase after him, so I find a seat and wait, thoughts coming and going, everything fucked up in my head.

  An official asks me if I’m okay. I wave her away.

  I can’t remember it, but whatever happened last night, Ethan was behind it. I’m sure of it And kidnapped? What the hell was Tia talking about?

  Focus.

  I close my eyes, concentrate on my breathing and push everything else out.

  The line, I think. Only the line.

  By some miracle, I snatch the win in the second heat, Ethan looking increasingly nervous.

  It’s down to the final.

  Before I know it, I’m back by the edge of the pool, Ethan and I separated by a single lane.

  “Take your mark.”

  I step up to the block, lose focus of the water for a second. The entire world is askew. There’s a pounding, beating pain in my head that refuses to go away.

  I shake my head and take position. Not now.

  The pain intensifies. I reach up to my ear and my fingers come away bloody.

  The sight of it, the vibrant color, does it.

  My head rolls and I can no longer hold myself up. My vision narrows and I fall forward, don’t even hit the water before everything turns black.

  *

  Coach is pacing around my bed. I’m pleased to see the walls in this room are a nice, pastel pink. “You could have fucking died. Can you actually comprehend that in that Neanderthal brain of yours?”

  A nurse pops her head around the corner. “Sir, I’m going to
have to ask you to leave.”

  Coach puts his hand up. “Sorry, I’ll keep it down.”

  He leans over the bed, the fury dissolving. He sighs, long and slow. “You’re stubborn as a mule, son. What did you think you were going to achieve going to that meet? Lord knows how you even got through the heats. We called it in the moment you disappeared, figured it’s the first place you’d go. Fucking Swimming USA, useless as always.”

  I try to sit up, but it’s no use, the ground falling away as soon as I do. “I couldn’t throw away all that training, all those 5am starts. It couldn’t all be for nothing. Did I even qualify?”

  Coach shakes his head. “For a Darwin award? Almost. For the Olympic team?” He looks down. “No.”

  I can’t fucking believe it. “How many places was I out by?”

  “Two. Cutter placed one ahead of you. Ethan, Magnus—they made it. I’m sorry.”

  I slam my head back into the pillow. “Fuck.”

  Coach places his hand on my chest. “Easy.”

  I look out the window. “It’s all over. Everything I have worked for… gone.”

  “There’s 2020, Tokyo. You’ll make it. You’ve got the money, you’ve got the drive. You can do it.”

  I look back to him, can’t help the pressure building behind my eyes, can’t even remember the last time I cried. “Will I? I’ve lost it all, Coach.” And that’s the problem being an athlete. Your whole life is your sport. Everything hinges upon your success.

  A quiet voice from the doorway. “Not everything.”

  It’s Tia.

  Coach looks behind himself, standing up. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  He leaves and Tia comes forward, reaching down to take my hand. “You’re a real idiot, you know that?”

  “I can’t handle another lecture right now, not from you.”

  She sits on the bed, presses my hand against her cheek. “Like I said, I can’t lose you, Blake. Promise me you’re done.”

  “I’m done,” I reply, the words burying my dreams once and for all.

  *

  A week later and nothing has changed. My first night out of hospital and there’s only one thing I want to do, Tia’s more than happy to oblige. She sits on my lap, naked, playing World of Warcraft.