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I wait for more, but it doesn’t come, so I down my beer in two gulps before belching loudly.

“Fucking hell,” Masters mutters. “It’s only been a week and a half, but I think I forgot.”

“Forgot what?” I ask. “How charming I am? How irresistible?”

He narrows his eyes at me before looking away. I consider reaching for the rum but grab my flask of soup instead. Since my video call with Elizabeth West yesterday afternoon, I haven’t really been focused on solids . . .

It’s been one of the shittiest weeks of my entire life. Not only did I have alotof time to think on the plane, but actively avoiding my family like the fucking plague meant spending a lot of time alone in my hotel, too.

It’s been five years since I last saw my family. I’d just quit swimming professionally, and my parents wasted no time telling me how they knew I’d give up and that I was a constant source of disappointment—that they regretted every ounce of effort they’d put into me over my life because it was all for nothing. No. It didn’t matter that I had two Olympic medals to show for it. Or that I’d reached the average retirement age for professional swimmers anyway. If I didn’t have cold hard cash to hand over to them, they didn’t give a shit. So, I stopped trying.

My parents barely said a word to me at the funeral. Turns out, my sister’s had another kid, taking her total to five. I’m not sure who the father is for this one and I didn’t care enough to ask. I paid my respects to the only person who deserved it, then got the fuck out of there.

Shaking the resentment from my soul, I inhale deeply through my nose before sipping the steaming soup. Cream of tomato. A solid choice. It’s delicious, too. I take another sip, holding in a groan as I properly appreciate the creaminess and the perfect balance of seasoning. It’s possibly the best tomato soup I’ve ever had.

“Where’s this soup from?” I ask, squinting at the flask like there might be some clue on the plain metallic casing.

Joy grins at me, looking adorable as fuck wearing a knitted green Franklin West hat with a pompom on top. “Aldo made it. He used the kitchen at the Hive.”

My eyebrows shoot up as I glance at him, but he just continues to stare at the water. “It’s amazing,” I say, willing him to look at me so he can see how sincere I’m being. “Like, ridiculously good.”

“He drew quite a crowd,” Joy continues, reaching over and rubbing her hand up and down Aldo’s back. “I predict he’s going to get asked outa lotover the next couple of days.”

My jaw clenches at this and I watch as Aldo turns his head slightly to grin at Joy over his shoulder. I bite the inside of my cheek, so hard I’m sure I draw blood, in an attempt to hold back the scathing remark that queues up on my tongue.

I want Aldo to look at me. To acknowledge me. My go to move is to piss him off, but I know that will only make things worse. Look at me. I’m evolving.

The truth is, the words Masters said to me in my office have latched to the inside of my brain and haven’t let go.

It took seventeen hours to get from Portland to Manchester. That’s a lot of time alone with your thoughts. Even with so many of those tiny bottles of vodka keeping me company I lost count.

He said that I only let people in that can hurt me, like it was some sort of revelation. I’m not an idiot. I know I’ve got walls up a mile high. It was more the fact that what he’d said had made me start to question why. I’ve been an asshole since puberty. Probably before. But do I really want to end up bitter and alone? I thought I was okay with that idea until recently. Maybe until Aldo broke things off. The fact that it had hurt had been more of a surprise than the act itself. I’ve never felt heartache before because I’ve never loved or been loved.

Fuck.I’m not in love with Aldo. I can admit that I was starting to feel something, though. It would be so easy to fall in love with Aldo. He’s that kind of person. Warm, and thoughtful with a personality like sunshine. The complete opposite to me.

With nothing but the sound of the waves against the sand and the calling of seabirds, that are undoubtedly going to shit on us at some point, the silence around the picnic blanket has shifted to painful. And it’s my fault. These three keep coming at me like a battering ram, despite the fact I keep knocking them back. Maybe it’s time to give. Just a little.

“I’m sorry,” I say, meeting Masters’ eye.

He squints at me. “For what? What did you do now?”

“For punching you,” I explain, aware that Joy is staring at me now, too. “And for being such an asshole to you.”

Masters takes a sip of his soup before responding. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. Thank you. And, of course, you’re forgiven.”

The smile he gives me is so warm and genuine I have to look away. “It just took me by surprise when you showed up. Which I get is not your fault. I panicked. I thought West was trying to get rid of me, and I took it out on you. This job is the only fucking thing I have, and I couldn’t lose it.”

I didn’t mean to say so much, and I immediately want to suck it all back in, but then Aldo turns his head and looks at me, giving me an encouraging smile, and I know I did the right thing. Even if I feel raw and exposed in a way I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with.

“The only way you’re going to lose this job, is if the team loses,” Masters says. “And we’re kicking ass.”

I snort. “Well, you might want to tell West that, because I’ve been on suspension since last week. I met with her yesterday, and she reinstated me on a final warning.”

Masters chokes on his soup. “What the fuck?”

“You haven’t done anything!” Joy says, her eyes blazing on my behalf. “What the hell is her problem?”

“Her problem,” I say, finishing my soup and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Is that I punched the assistant coach in the face. Apparently, that wasn’t a good look for Franklin West.”

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