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I take a deep breath, pushing all thoughts of Carter Abrams from my mind. “I’m coming,” I say and focus back on my job.

January2024

Just as I expect, January is a month of utter chaos from the moment it starts.

Coach wasted no time kicking us into gear for the upcoming Olympics, already training us harder than he did the previous year. The sets were harder, the practices longer, and I felt the exhaustion at the end of it all deeper in my bones. It’s all an old routine to me now, knowing that I must make every moment between now and the Games count more than anything, and I can’t waste them. There won’t be such a thing as a day off for months.

On top of all the training and the stacked schedule of meets I have color-coded in a calendar on my phone, there’s also a storm of media requests. People are starting to care about swimming and pay attention to it again. As we amp up for Paris, the realization that a lot of their favorite swimmers have retired since they last cared has created a lot of questions about whether Team USA can hold on to the legacy we’ve had for years. What better way to show spectators that Team USA is in good hands than to interview veterans hoping for one more Olympics and the brightest up-and-coming stars the sport has to offer?

I fall into the first category.

This has always been my least favorite aspect of being a professional in the sport. I’m always worried I wear my heart too much on my sleeve for this and setting boundaries feels strange. Unlike Bryce, I never mastered the poker face he could give the media. He had a talent for giving them just enough and never bringing his personal life into it. My personal life has been in it longer than I care to admit.

Then there’s the pool. While I’m having cameras shoved in my face and being questioned about things that happened ten years ago, Josie and Bryce are in Columbia dealing with a mess I handed them. Construction started on schedule, but Katrina has been pestering me about little details here and there. I don’t know if she doesn’t believe Bryce when he tells her he’s already talked to me about something, but she feels the need to follow up with me. It should be annoying, especially since we specifically told her I’d be busy, but so far, it’s been having the opposite effect.

It’s been a good distraction from everything else going on. Bryce has been keeping me updated by sending me photos of everything as it happens, but has mostly kept things spaced out as to not bombard me with constant messages. I know it’s to keep me from getting distracted, but I wish he’d give me more information as it came. Katrina’s questions and updates have been making me feel like I’m still part of it.

The more we text, the more I find myself wanting to know more. Although we haven’t shared anything too personal yet, I feel this draw to her that I can’t quite explain. I’m sure it has everything to do with the fact that it’s been years since my last serious relationship, something I’d rather not dwell on too deeply. The last break up hurt, no matter how mutual it was, and nothing else seemed to go anywhere. I can blame it on my priorities being elsewhere, but the reality is no one seems to want serious with a professional athlete; and I’ve never been one for flings.

I certainly have no interest in a long-distance, pen pal like relationship with our contractor who I know nothing about. No matter how happy seeing flickers of her personality shining to otherwise professional text messages makes me.

As soon as I drop my bag by the door, my phone goes off with a text. I pull it from the pocket of my sweatshirt to find a text from Katrina. A smile pulls its way across my face, but before I can even open the message, a call comes in from Bryce.

I answer the call. “Fuck you.”

Bryce responds with a shocked laugh. “Hello to you, too. Why am I on your shit list today?”

I move into the kitchen to grab a drink. “Because you’re retired. Why couldn’t you hold out until we both could have retired?”

Another laugh. “I’m guessing the interview today went well?”

I collapse onto the couch with a groan. “They asked me if you are going to make a comeback four times. Then, when they’d exhausted that question, it was all about whether I could hack it without you. Like I didn’t make it to Worlds without you.”

“Damn.” He whistles. “I’m sorry, Carter. You have the right to be mad at me.”

Sighing, I sink further back into the cushions. “No, I don’t. It’s not your fault people can’t come up with unique questions.”

“No, but you can’t be mad at them. So be mad at me. I can handle it.”

I swallow against the sudden lump building up in my throat. I miss doing this with him. I’m one of the oldest athletes trying to make the team; I’m tired; I hate dealing with the media. All those things would have been so much easier to face with Bryce by my side.

I don’t blame him for wanting to retire. He was ready to move on, and his body was ready for him to quit, too. In a lot of ways, Bryce had the choice taken from him. An injury he couldn’t fully bounce back from was the final nail in the coffin of his career. In those last few months, it was hard to watch him struggle through meets and recovery that took four times as long.

I get to make the choice. I can go or stay—it’s up to me and it’s not fair for me to put any blame on him.

“How about I don’t get mad at anyone?” I offer. “It doesn’t do any good for me to be mad at them or you, especially when the decision is fully up to me.”

I hear some slight shuffling in the background, Josie’s voice muffled as she talks to someone else. “Are you having second thoughts? Is that why you haven’t made an official announcement?”

“No,” I insist, “I’m done.”

“I was serious when I told you we’d make it work if you want to keep going.”

“And I’m serious when I say I’m done. I’m tired, Bryce. This has been my whole life for so long. Emotionally, mentally, and physically—I’m tired.”

“I get it.” I know he does; he was already starting to feel that way when he got hurt. “I just want to make sure you know there are choices.”

Choices he didn’t have. Choices he wants to make sure I’ve thought about before giving up the one thing I’ve ever really worked toward.