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“Are you telling me, Olly, that your plus three is . . . like, all your dates?”

I lean back against the sofa and push a hand through my hair, wincing when my fingers get stuck in the sleep-mussed tangles. “Yeah.”

“Mio dio.Okay. Fine. The more the merrier. But on one condition.”

“Yeah?” I ask warily.

“I get to be there when you tell Mama you’re screwing three people.”

“Ana!” I bark a laugh. “Jesus. I gotta go. And thank you.”

“Later, Olly. And I can’t wait to meet your dates.”

Shaking my head, I end the call with a smile. I haven’t had a chance to ask Lane whether he’ll come to my sister’s wedding, and I have no idea how to get Doug there, but something in my gut tells me it could be just the thing to make him see what we could be. What we could have.

Tossing my nearly dead phone down on the couch, I scoop up my clothes and head to the bedroom. Of course, there’s also the chance it’ll all go up in smoke.

JOY

I can do this. Shaking my hands out at my side, I pause in my pacing. My laptop is open on my desk, my parents’ number there, ready to dial. Just like it’s been for the past hour and seventeen minutes. Swallowing the bile in my throat, I turn away again.

Spending most of the weekend with Aldo and Lane, I was able to avoid the inevitable. But now it’s Wednesday and Mom’s messaged me asking why I haven’t confirmed the hotel and the meeting, because they’re less than a week away. I can’t hide anymore.

I’d planned to fly home to Salt Lake City, and do it face to face, but it’s snuck up on me. I don’t want to fly midweek because I can’t afford to miss any more classes, and I don’t want to be tired for the meet on Saturday. I might not be competing professionally after this year, but I still want Franklin West to win.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” I ask aloud.

It’s a question I’ve asked myself a million times since I made my decision. Other than being disappointed, what could they do? They can’tforceme to keep swimming. I’ve already pretty much finished my degree and my music course. I swallow down the guilt at the fact that it’s the reason I insisted on doing college first—because I was worried that they’d refuse to pay my tuition if I didn’t swim.

Of course, I could have applied to a community college and tried to pay my own way like thousands of kids do all around the country. But I’ve grown up with money. It’s all I know. I don’t know how to scrape by and survive, and at seventeen, when I’d applied for college, it had seemed beyond terrifying. So, I’d lied.

That’s the worst part. The lying. I’ve led my parents on for four years, letting them believe they were raising a future Olympian like themselves.

They’re going to kill me.

No. They might cut me off but I’m not a scared little seventeen-year-old anymore. I’ve saved all my cash from DJing over the years, and I know I’ll be okay. I’ll have to sell my car, but that’s fine. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.

Before I can chicken out again, I whirl around and stab at the call button.

Sinking down onto my desk chair, my heart pounds in my throat so hard I might vomit. It rings six times, and just as I’m beginning to think no one’s going to answer, my mom’s face fills the screen.

“Joy? Are you okay? Why haven’t you confirmed that meeting yet? This is so unlike you. Roger! Your father’s just in his office. You’re lucky you caught us both. I’m about to fly out to New York for a shoot. Did I tell you about it? It’s with this photographer I’ve wanted to work with for—”

“Mom!” I half-shout, unable to take a second more of her carefree monologue while my sanity hangs in the balance. “I need to talk to you.”

Instantly, her eyes narrow and she leans forward. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

I can see a million thoughts slide across her concerned face and I wonder whether she has any idea. She probably thinks I’m injured or pregnant. She’d probably prefer those options to what I’m about to say.

“Joy!” My dad’s face slides into the frame. “How are you? Are you going to book your own ticket to Colorado, or do you want us to do it?”

I swipe my hand against my forehead, unsurprised to find sweat beading there, and grab the glass of water sitting on my desk. My throat is like a desert, my head spinning as I look at the concerned faces of the people who have given me everything.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. How do you even begin to break someone’s heart?

“Joy?” Mom pushes, her voice straining a little as her worry deepens.

I take a breath. “I’m not going to the meeting.”

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