False Starts

Prologue

RYAN looked out at the view from his hotel room balcony and tugged nervously at his collar. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like he’d never stood next to a girl in front of a room full of people before. He’d done that presentation with his best friend Abbie for a class one semester, and that went well. And he’d stood next to one of his closest bros in front of the entire world countless times before today. That was exhilarating. This? This was nerve-wracking as hell.

      So what was it that had Ryan Lochte shaking liking a leaf? It sure as hell wasn’t swimming against the world’s best. He was one of the world’s best, what with 11 Olympic medals to his name, five of them gold. Maybe he wasn’t the most decorated Olympian ever, but Ryan wasn’t complaining. That title went to his closest bro, Michael Phelps. He’d beaten Michael though, more than once, and he was not as nervous then as he was now. And if racing Michael didn’t make him nervous, what on earth was making him so jittery now?

      Ryan decided a walk would be good. A swim would be better, but the pool was pretty full at the moment, with rose petals, red and white being strewn all over it. The party was poolside, and when Ryan got there, people were rushing around with last-minute preparations: setting up chairs, spreading tablecloths, placing dinnerware and lining up napkins. Ryan walked up to the long table, at the head of the swimming pool. The chairs had their backs to the water and he skirted the edge of the pool to sit in one of them, watching the people walk by carrying warmers and champagne buckets. He was careful not to kick any of the candles set on the tiles, which were all on floaters, to be lit then set adrift on the water later. Everything looked perfect, like he knew it would be. It was all Abbie’s vision. And anything Abbie dreamt up was amazing. That was part of why he loved her so much.

      There was a place card on the plate in front of Ryan. He picked it up and laughed when he read his name. He didn’t need a place card; despite the nerves, Ryan knew exactly where he was supposed to be tonight. 

Michael stretched his arms over his head and exhaled. This was just like any other swim meet, despite the fact that there would really be no swimming involved. But, as always, performance was key and he had to be at the top of his game. Retirement didn’t mean that you had to go soft, just mellow. Plus, there weren’t a lot of things that excited him like swimming could so this was real. Michael rolled his neck and pulled on his coat. He had been up since 5am, had gone for a swim in the hotel’s indoor pool and that calmed him down some. He wondered how Ryan was doing cooped up in his room. “Probably bouncing of the walls,” Michael said to himself as he stood in front of the mirror fixing his bowtie. To be honest, he would be, too, if he didn’t have anything to focus on.

      All right, Phelps, Michael told himself as he tugged at the complicated knot at his neck and gave it up as a bad job. It’s just like everything else. One thing. Get to the front. Eye on the prize. He ran a hand through his hair, he’d let it grow out since London, though nothing like Ryan’s curls in Beijing. There was a fair bit of facial hair, too, but Abbie assured him it made him look “quite dashing”. Her exact words. For someone who wasn’t British, she did say some British-sounding things. It was just one of the many quirks that he loved about Abbie. The girl was special and just thinking about her made Michael smile.

      His cell phone went off just then, nearly vibrating off the night stand. It was a text from Ryan. “Hey bro, come down here, check out how great she made the place look.”

      With a smile, Michael headed out the door. He did want to see how everything was looking. He was going to ask Ryan to come down with him and not for the first time did his teammate beat him to the punch. “Be there in a sec,” he replied, his bowtie just hanging untied around his neck. Soon, Michael found himself at the lawns, admiring the set up. Each place setting, each centrepiece, each folded napkin, they all said Abbie Dunham. Michael walked through the area, just enjoying the beauty of it all. “You’re right, she did make everything look great,” he said as he came upon Ryan at the table. With a laugh, he added, “Even you! Then again, doesn’t Reezy always look great?”

      Ryan laughed at the jibe, just shaking his head. “Yeah, well, I could say the same about you, Phelpsy,” he said standing up and dropping the place card back on the plate. “Except you’ve yet to tie your tie, bro. And a tied tie is essential in these types of gatherings. At least that’s what Abbie always says.”

      “Shut up, you don’t even have a tie,” Michael said, poking Ryan playfully in the chest. “Where’s your bowtie? Let’s see you tie that thing.”

      With a smile, Ryan jokingly smacked Michael’s hand away. “I would tie the hell out of that tie and you know it.” Then he shrugged and they both laughed heartily, heading back into the hotel lobby. Guests were pouring in and everything was going to start in about an hour and a half. “I don’t know where it is actually. Abbie’s probably having it auto-tied or something so that I just have to pop it on.”

      At this, Michael looked around as though he was trying to find something. “Where is Abbie anyway?” he asked, lifting a hand in greeting to someone.

      Again, Ryan just shrugged. “I don’t know that either. She’s probably hiding out in her room or something. You know, tradition and all. Bad luck.”

      “I guess,” Michael sighed. “I just want to see her so badly.”

      “Me too, man,” Ryan agreed. “Me too.”

A knock on the door made Abbie’s head jerk up quickly, much to the annoyance of the person who was doing her make-up. A girl wearing a headset and a clipboard opened the door and peeked in. “Um, Miss Dunham?” the girl began. “Just letting you know that most of the guests have arrived and we’ll start seating them in the hall in about 20 minutes.”

“Serve everyone drinks but make sure you take them away once you start seating,” Abbie replied. “My sister will take care of everything else from here so you should talk to her.” The girl nodded, but stood fidgeting by the door. Abbie looked at her expectantly. “Is there something else?”

The girl got kind of a wistful, confused look on her face. “They’re looking for you,” she said after a small sigh. “They keep asking where you are and which room you’re getting ready in. Should I just tell them?”

Abbie shook her head and smiled. “No,” she said simply. “They’ll wait. They’ll be fine.” Again the girl nodded and finally left. It killed her but she couldn’t see them today, not yet. She was scared she was going to burst into tears when she did.

“You’re going to have to look up, hon,” the make-up artist said in an exasperated tone.

      Abbie just kept looking at her hands. They seemed to be more interesting than watching herself being made up. There was an inch long scar on the heel of her right palm, from when she broke a bottle against a wall on her first frat party with Ryan. The burn mark on her left wrist from the curling iron when she was getting ready for her first date with Michael. The odd little scar on the skin between her right thumb and forefinger that she accidentally snipped with scissors. And there on her palm was a small scratch from the rose thorns when she fixed a centrepiece earlier.

      Finally looking up, Abbie trained her gaze out the window instead of the mirror. There were other things all over her body, old injuries. Sprained ankles, broken arm, stitches. She always seemed to get in accidents. Ryan called her “Spazzee” to his Reezy and Michael always reminded her to be careful. She never really listened. But they were always there to take her to the hospital and hold her hand while she got fixed up. Always.

      And hopefully after today, they would both still be there.