Page 25 of Rivals and Liars

Diane disappears into the house so fast that Kate feels like a five-year-old who's just been dropped off in a classroom with a new teacher she doesn't want to be with.

"Diane told me you don't want to do this," Rachel says, no preamble, like it doesn't bother her—or like she's used to it. Or both.

"That's not it." The redhead takes a step back, crossing her arms tighter around herself.

It's too sudden. She hasn't had time to process the fact that she has to talk to a stranger about what she's feeling when she can barely name it herself.

"Then what is it, Kate?"

She shrugs, uneasy.

"We could go inside if you want," she says instead of answering, gesturing toward the house.

"This isn't about me—it's about you. We don't have to do this indoors if that feels like too much. We could walk, get some air. I saw paths and trails on the way here. Does that work better?"

Anything is better than sitting inside staring at this woman, so Kate doesn't have to think about it. They walk along the edge of the property toward the cliffs, where the Atlantic wind moves freely with nothing to stop it.

"How are you holding up?" Rachel asks after a while.

"Fine, I guess."

The swimmer tilts her head and gives her a warm smile that leaves Kate off-balance.

"I was a mess," Rachel begins. "When they told me I could keep swimming but couldn't compete anymore, all I could think was that my life was over. I'd just turned thirty, I was in peak shape and in a position to win—but my shoulder made the decision for me."

Kate listens without saying anything. She's shoved her hands in her pockets and isn't even looking ahead, just watching where she puts her feet.

"I turned bitter. For months I was insufferable—wallowing in my misery instead of looking forward."

"I'm not doing that." Kate glances at her. "I know what's coming. I've already accepted it."

"That's not what Diane told me. Or what your eyes say."

"My eyes?" She stops and turns toward her. "What do they say?" she asks, somewhere between curious and guarded.

"Sadness."

Kate laughs and kicks a stone.

"I'm not sad about that—I told you, I have it under control." Her tone comes out sharper than she means it to, and Rachel walks on.

"So what's really weighing on you, then?"

Kate lets out a resigned sigh.

"How did you get through it?" she asks, sidestepping the question.

"I set goals. One day I woke up on my couch, hungover after a night of drowning my sorrows in alcohol even though I didn't even like drinking—but I'd watched a lot of people turn to that to go numb, so I figured maybe it would help."

"Did it?"

"Sure did. It gave me a splitting headache for hours and left my mouth so dry it felt like I'd been chewing cardboard in my sleep."

Kate lets out a real laugh, and Rachel nods toward a fairly flat rock at the cliff's edge.

"Want to sit for a bit? Or does the drop bother you?"

Kate doesn't answer—she just walks to the rock and sits down beside Rachel.