Page 123 of Down The Line
A small smile found its way to my lips. The kind that didn’t need defending.
“Let them talk,” I said. “We’ll live.”
Maddie leaned back, satisfied, a proud glint in her eyes. “That’s the healthiest thing you’ve ever said.”
I swallowed, nodding once. Around us, the cafeteria continued its slow exhale, athletes hugging goodbye, laughter tinged with something bittersweet.
By the time night fell, the city felt electric. No schedules taped to walls. No alarms set for dawn. Just athletes lingering longer than necessary, doors left ajar, laughter drifting down the corridors like no one was quite ready to let go.
Alex found me sitting on the edge of my bed, tying and retying the same lace without finishing it. She didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned against the doorframe, watching me with that look she had when she knew exactly what I was thinking and didn’t feel the need to interrupt it.
“You ready?” she asked eventually.
I looked up at her, at the loosened edges of her, the way the tension had finally eased out of her shoulders, the faint smile she didn’t bother guarding anymore.
“For what?” I asked, even though we both knew.
She stepped closer and held out her hand. “For the end of it.”
So we walked out together. Past Archer and Nico arguing about whether the ceremony food would be edible this year.
The Closing Ceremony wasn’t just a farewell; it was a release. And this time, I didn’t walk into the stadium alone.
I walked in with Alex. Archer was on her other side, already scanning the stands like a protective twin brotherwho refused to clock out, while Nico drifted just ahead of us, half-turning every few steps to make sure we were keeping up. It felt oddly normal, the four of us slipping into the current of athletes, laughter, and music, carrying us forward.
Alex’s hand found mine without hesitation. Not for cameras. Not for headlines. Just because it felt right.
Because after everything, the doubts, the distance, the almosts, we’d earned the simplicity of it.
Inside the stadium, medals caught the light as athletes clustered together in loose, happy constellations. Somewhere nearby, someone was already crying. Somewhere else, someone was dancing like tomorrow didn’t exist.
We were just another knot of Olympians, swept up in it all.
Fireworks split the sky, color and thunder blooming overhead. Alex’s hand tightened around mine, drawing me closer until our shoulders brushed. When I looked at her, her face was tipped upward, eyes bright, soft in a way that had nothing to do with winning or losing.
“So,” she murmured, barely audible over the noise, “we survived.”
I smiled. “We did more than that.”
“This,” she murmured, eyes catching the green and gold sparks as they burst and faded. “This is exactly how I wanted it. With you. End of one story, start of the next.”
I turned toward her. “What’s the next, then?”
She grinned, a little sheepish. “Tennis. I already called my team. We’re back on court as soon as I land.”
“That fast?”
She shrugged, lips twitching. “I want to be where you are. I’ll still juggle both, though, two years of tennis, two years of triathlon. By the next Games, I’ll be ready to take Cassandra head-on again for gold.” Her eyes lit with that familiar fire. “But for now… I’m coming back to tennis. To travel the tour with you. To make this...” she lifted our joined hands, grounding us back in the moment “Real.”
I slid my arms around her waist as we stood side by side. “So it’s you and me, on and off the court?”
Her arms came up, settling around my shoulders as she smiled and whispered, “Always.”
Above us, the fireworks kept coming, and for once, I wasn’t thinking about what came next or how this would look tomorrow.
I didn’t think about medals, or rankings, or the stories that would be written tomorrow. I thought about her hand in mine, about how far we’d both run to get here, about the strange, stubborn gravity that kept pulling us back together.
Some things aren’t decided on the podium, or in headlines, or under the weight of expectation. Some stories aren’t written in records or trophies. They take time. They demand patience.
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.
But somewhere.
Down the line.
