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"I can't believe you're really doing this." Mel is staring down the paperwork I laid in front of her with wide-eyed bemusement. "Operation Fly is your baby."

I shrug, completely content with my decision, but understanding why she might have some doubts. "I'm still the chairman of the board. I'm just not the president anymore. You are."

"I haven't signed the paperwork yet, Ronan."

I place a pen on top of the stack. "No, but you will. And I know that because you love this place as much as I do. Besides, I’ve seen all the work you’ve put into the mission of Operation Fly and in diversifying the sport as a whole.

There was never any question about who I wanted to take my place. "

Even while she was competing, she made a point of challenging the racial disparities that continue to exist within the sport.

Often pointing out that she was only one of four Black people to ever receive a full ride swimming scholarship from her college, and the only woman.

Whenever she was in a new city, she would try to do a clinic specifically targeted for Black children who didn’t have access to proper swimming lessons, stressing the importance of water safety and the economic challenges that kept these fundamental skills out of reach from marginalized communities.

Although she was a couple years older than me, I’d followed her career closely.

The economic divide was evident from the day I started swimming, and the racial divide only became more obvious the longer I was active.

Mel is part of the reason I decided to start Operation Fy, her determination to not just talk about change, but make it happen, inspired the hell out of me.

I had money from my grandparents that I had done nothing to earn, and I wanted to be part of the change. I just knew I couldn’t do it alone.

"And you knew I'd say yes?"

I shrug. "I hoped you would, but that's why I didn't tell anyone back home what the meetings were about; just in case you wanted me to stay on for a little longer while you got used to the position."

Mel is grinning, fiddling with the pen. "You called Columbia home. I don't think I've ever heard you say that word."

I hadn't meant to use it, either. It still scares the shit out of me. "Shut up," I grumble, "and sign the damn papers, Mel."

Still smiling, she pulls the stack closer and uncaps the pen.

I watch as she flips through the papers, signing where she needs to.

In a few quick flicks of the pen, it's done.

I'm no longer doing the day-to-day running of Operation Fly.

The business I built from the ground up, the thing that had a real role in bringing me back to life.

It doesn't hurt nearly as much as I expected it to.

Whether it's because I'm handing it over to someone I trust completely, or because I have a future I want to see through, I don't know.

“Congratulations,” I offer, shaking her hand. “You’re officially the boss.”

“Of everyone else,” she corrects, handing over my copy for safekeeping and tucking her own into her backpack. “Technically, you’re the president of the board, so you’ re still my boss.”

“Funny how that works, right?” I grin cheekily at her. “I’ll still be hovering, making sure you don’t get into trouble.”

“What kind of trouble could I possibly get into?”

“I don’t want to find out. Please don’t make me find out.”

With a laugh, she pulls her bag onto her shoulder and follows me out of the conference room.

Both of us greet several people as we walk back to my office.

Mel’s office is right next to it. This office is bigger than the one at Adair, but there’s a sterility to it that I’ll never have there.

Still, there are some things I want to pick up to take back with me.

We enter the mostly glass room, Mel immediately collapsing on the comfortable chair I have in the corner.

“Thanks for agreeing not to give me your office.” She kicks her feet up onto the small table. I roll my eyes and ignore her. “I did not want to move all my shit.”

“Your office is literally next door; it wouldn’t have been that hard. But no problem. I’ll still need it when I come back to visit anyway.”

“Are you selling your condo here?”

“I talked to my realtor yesterday, but nothing is concrete about it,” I say, picking up a framed picture of the whole crew from after I made my final Olympics, and Bryce and Carter made their first in 2016.

Mia and I were practically on top of each other, Bryce and Josie trying to avoid looking at each other, and Carter was all by himself.

Poor guy. The fact that this was the photo I chose to put on my desk should have clued me in faster. “I want to talk to Mia about it.”

“Right, Mia!” Mel said her name in a sing-songy way that had me groaning. “Are you blushing, O’Brien?”

“So what if I am?” I teased back, not even trying to deny it. “It’s called a love life, Segal. You should try getting one.”

Her face scrunched up in defense. “Ew, no thank you. Speaking of your love life, though, are you heading back to her tomorrow? ”

The question takes me back to my call with Mia yesterday.

While I had reassured her again that I’d be coming home, I had also dropped the bomb that I’d be there two days later.

She’d sounded so disappointed and a little lost in her own thoughts.

The call started with her normally bubbly self, but by the end of it, I felt like more than one country was between us.

“I had to extend my trip by two days,” I tell her, continuing to pack. “I got the summoning call from Declan O’Brien. Text messages, emails, even the receptionist here got them for me.”

“Well, there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. What does he want?”

“Probably the usual, to scare me into being a good, spoiled rich kid.”

“Ugh.” She groans. “The travesty. How did he even know you were here? Why is he even here?”

I shrug, turning to lean against my desk. “I don’t know. Somehow, he’s keeping tabs on me. He either had business here already or he made sure he had a reason to be in the California office. Either way, it’s going to suck.”

“Better you than me.”

“I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Really?” I lean against the back of the chair, ignoring his motion for me to take a seat.

I know better than to get too comfortable around Declan O’Brien.

“You sent me numerous calendar invites and text messages demanding my presence. I didn’t think I had much of a choice.

Believe me, I’d rather be almost anywhere else. ”

“Don’t be petulant, son,” my father replies. “I called you here to have an adult conversation about what you’re doing with your life. Do you think you’re capable of that?”

“You want to talk about the life you’ve purposely ensured you have no part of, unless I’m standing on a podium with a medal around my neck?”

My father sighs, steepling his fingers together and looking at me evenly. “There you go again, making something out of nothing. Why can’t you understand that being an O’Brien comes with certain responsibilities that involve making sacrifices?”

My grip on the back of the chair tightens.

“I’ve always been well aware of those responsibilities.

When you pushed me until I ended up hating the sport I love, I was aware.

When more people fawned over you for it, I was aware.

When you only spoke to me when I had a big win or impressive race, I was aware.

But how about when I got in an accident that almost cost me my life and neither of you ever came to see me?

Or when Bryce Clark had to demand information from you because you didn’t even know what hospital I was in?

Pretty sure it was him and Carter Abrams who pushed me to learn how to walk again. Are those the sacrifices you made?”

He waves me off. “Your mother and I had meetings. Besides, we’d already taught you to walk once, son. Did you really need us to do it again?”

It’s his idea of a joke and he actually thinks he’s funny.

That accident changed the way I look at a lot of things, including my parents.

If this was ten years ago, I would have internally screamed at him to pay a goddamn ounce of attention to me, only to fold, and give in to whatever he wants. Not this time, though.

“Don’t kid yourself. You didn’t even do it the first time.

Sacrifices have to be made, right?” My heart is pounding against my chest, but this is it.

This is my moment to tell him everything I’ve always wanted to and I’m not holding back.

“Which nanny was it again, Declan?” Eyes that match mine flash with anger at the use of his first name.

“Or did you even keep her around long enough to learn her name?”

He points a bony finger at the chair I’m leaning against. “Sit down, Ronan, and speak to me like an adult.”

I stand straight. The only sign of any tension in my body are the fists I keep clenched at my sides. “I’m fine standing. Just say what you need to say so I can go home.”

Home. The word bounces around in my head. I can’t remember the last time I called some place home and actually meant it. But that’s what Columbia is to me now. More importantly, the people who are there make it home.

Mia Sheridan captured my heart the day I caught her in my arms, the Charlotte sun beating down on us.

Although we haven’t always been in each other’s lives, she’s never strayed too far from my mind.

She was always there, reminding me what it means to lose something good.

I’m not going to make that mistake again because, when I think about home, she’s who comes to mind.

“It’s time we talk about where your future is going,” my father says. “You’re in your mid-thirties, Ronan. It’s time you grew up.”