Page 51 of In Too Deep

I’m not sure if I should say something or not. It won’t help the Chinese girl anyway—she false started. There’s no bending the rules. She’s disqualified. But if Marta is being sneaky and trying to psyche out her competitors, she needs to be caught. The only problem is, I can’t be sure it was her. I have nothing to go on other than my gut. So I keep my mouth shut as they sound the buzzer so we can step back up to the starter blocks.

The tension in the air is rife.

All the swimmers’ shoulders are tense.

No one else wants a false start, so everyone will be paying extra attention now. And if it was Marta, I could be next on her target list, so I need to keep my ears open.

“Take your mark.”

I bend down and shudder at the thought of false starting. I keep my ears pinned, waiting for Marta to say something, but there’s nothing. When the starting signal fires, I delay for a nanosecond and then jump with everything I have into the water. As I dive, I glance slightly to my right. All the other swimmers are in the water. Relief floods me as I focus on the task at hand, which is my stroke and coming up occasionally for oxygen. My arms crash over my body before I slam down into the depths. I start my stroke strong and hard. There’s no buildup this time so I push with steely determination. I hit the wall and turn quickly, pushing myself as hard as I can.

My muscles clench, my lungs burn, and everything’s screaming at me to slow down, but my pure adrenaline and hatred for Marta is spurring me on. I dive down and hit the wall, then force my body out of the water with a gasp of air.

I finally scan the scoreboard—first place, then Marta, then Katie. I throw my hands up in the air and squeal. Marta scowls as Katie approaches me and pats my shoulder.

“Good job, Lacy,” she pants as we take off our caps and swim over the lane dividers.

We hop out of the pool and make our way to the marshalling area. Coby is hopping from one foot to the other as I approach, and I race forward to see him. He lunges and pulls me to him in a tight as fuck hug. I giggle as he nuzzles my neck and gently kisses my skin. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs.

“400 Free, let’s go.”

We pull apart, and I smile at him. “Now you go and win that gold, Eel.”

“If you can come in first, I can too. You’ve spurred me on.”

“Go get ’em. Show the world what us convicts are made of.”

He furrows his brows. “Huh?”

Laughing, I shake my head. “Never mind, good luck.” Leaning in, I kiss his cheek, and he smiles before rushing off into his lineup.

I walk over to take up my seat. There’s nothing that could stop me from watching this race. He takes his position. The starting signal fires. Coby lands in the water. He’s lagging behind the American, who is already an Olympic champion from previous years. Admittedly, he does have another seven laps to catch him. Coby always comes home strong. I’m hoping he lifts in the last hundred but also doesn’t let the American get in too much of a lead. But then again, a silver medal is amazing. Hell, even a bronze is great.

Chewing my bottom lip, I watch as Coby and the American race out ahead of the pack. Coby trails him. His muscles rippling in the water send a chill down my spine as I watch him. I’m on the edge of my seat as we come to the final hundred.

Coby is closing in. He’s lighting the match, and the American is fading, but he’s still in front. My knee bounces up and down on the seat as I wring my hands together, watching and hoping for Coby to lift just that little bit more. He does, and as they hit the wall, there’s only now half a body length between them. I can’t stand the nerves, so I stand and move closer to the screen—like that’s going to help—and I chant for him. The crowd in the stadium is roaring at a critical level. Coby comes up to a hand’s length behind him, and they’re only about ten metres away from the wall. I begin bouncing on the spot as my eyes well from pure adrenalin.

“C’mon, Coby, c’mon!” I can’t hold back and scream at the television. The people in the room stare at me, but I don’t care.

Coby’s caught him.

But they’re so close together that I can’t tell who has the edge.

I can’t stand the tension as my eyes well up and my breathing hitches.

The line comes up on the television, showing the Olympic record. Coby and the American are both under it.

“Oh shit! C’mon, Coby, c’mon.”

They both dive at the same time, and I gulp as they slam against the wall.

I hold my breath.

On the screen, Coby’s lane lights up first.

I scream as the tears flow.

The board lights up, showing a time of 3:39:82—he’s not only won the gold but has also broken the Olympic Record previously held by China.

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