Whisper Privileges (20 page)

Swimmers swam, spectators cheered. The noise
level grew to deafening decibels in the enclosed pool center.

“It makes me tired just watching them!”
Sydney exclaimed.

Clay doubted it. Sydney was all muscle and in
as fine a shape as they came. He imagined she could swim for hours
before tiring. Sliding a glance her way he said, “He’s holding his
own.” But his jaw tensed.

Q tapped the far wall, dunked his head under,
rolled back into the flip and then spit out of the water two yards
into his next lap. “Go, Q! Go!” Clay shouted again, his heart
pumping as though he were the one swimming.

“Way to go, Q!”

Clay liked the way Sydney threw herself into
the role of support for his son. Q was everything to him and it was
important the woman in his life understand the special relationship
they shared—and share it with him. He cringed inwardly.
The
woman in his life
. A bit much of a description for a woman he’d
just met, Clay derided himself, but Sydney was no ordinary woman
and fast becoming top of the list. When she didn’t show yesterday,
he’d been consumed by her absence. He wondered where she was and
why she wasn’t with him. It couldn’t have been the kiss.

Q tagged the wall, kicking up water as he
flipped, then headed for the other side. Clay shouted
encouragement, but the sight of the kid in lane five worried him.
He was catching up to Q with plenty of time to overtake him on the
final twenty-five.

“He’ll make it,” Sydney told him. “That boy
won’t catch him.”

Apprehension hollowed his chest. “Reading my
thoughts, are you?”

“I see the reality at hand,” she said, and
fastened him with a determined gaze. “Q’s still a good five yards
ahead. That other boy will have to pull off a miracle to beat
him.”

Or Q will lose steam and give up his lead,
Clay mused soberly. He withdrew from Sydney, tried to tune out the
noise of spectators and focused on his kid. “C’mon, Q!” he shouted.
“Keep it going, you can do it!”

Arm over arm, the swimmers persisted. Q hit
the far wall first then came back for the home stretch. But he was
slowing, allowing the competition to close the distance between
them. The crowd was on its feet. Clay’s breathing grew shallow,
forced. It was now a race between Q and the boy in lane five.

His heart hammered against his ribs. “C’mon,
Q!” You can do this, kid.
You can do this
.

“Go, Q!” Sydney joined him, her voice spiking
against the frenzy of the crowd around them. “You got it, Q! You’ve
got it!”

Clay clung to every stroke. He willed his boy
forward. But the other kid was too close. Apprehension wound tight
around his heart. Clay eyed the wall, estimated the distance and
thought, the kid has time to take Q. Clay stood immobile. Body
rigid, he couldn’t move. For the final few yards, the boys were
dead even. Please, don’t let him lose.

“C’mon, Q!”

Glad for Sydney by his side, Clay couldn’t
speak. He couldn’t shout, yell, or cheer for his son. He could only
watch as they swam their final seconds.

The boys slapped the wall and the horn blew.
One by one, the other swimmers tagged in, but he only had eyes for
Q—and the other boy—both pumping their fists in the air. Their
teammates circled around them. Clay jumped over the lower seats and
jogged over to the team. Who won? He whipped his head around to the
scoreboard. Lane five: one minute, twenty-two point three seconds.
Lane eight: one minute, twenty-two point four. His heart sank. It
was over. Lead filled his chest. Q lost.

Sydney looked at him. “He lost?”

Clay stared at the board and pointed. “Tenth
of a second.”

“Are they sure? That looked like at least a
tie to me.”

“That’s what the scores say,” he said, then
broke away to console his son. Q was going to take this hard. It
was one of his big races. One he felt confident to win. The fact
that he lost would demoralize him for the next matchup.

Sydney followed him and when they neared,
Clay could see the confusion etched in his son’s face. Standing by
his coach now, Clay wondered if he knew what happened. With a
determined step, he made his way through the group of swimmers just
in time to hear the coach telling the team to calm down. “We don’t
know yet.”

“What’s that?” Clay asked from the visitor’s
side of South Carolina’s section.

Coach looked at him. Q’s expression was close
to desperation now as he sought his father for help. “Times were
too close. I’ve asked them to review the timers.” Choppy, to the
point, elaboration was unnecessary.

Clay nodded. “Thanks.”

“What happens now?” Sydney asked.

“They’ll check the timers. With two volunteer
timers posted on each lane, they should be able to make a
determination.” Hope buoyed in his chest.
Was there a chance Q
won
?

As the coach prepared his team for the next
race, Clay pondered the situation. If there was a chance Q won, he
didn’t want to jinx it in any way. Shooting his son a “thumbs-up,”
he maintained optimism. Q nodded, but appeared to doubt the
same.

“It looked to me like they tied,” Sydney
said. “What then?”

“In the event of a tie, a swim-off occurs.
But it’s unlikely. These times are taken out to the hundredth of a
second. And they have two timers per lane.”

“Oh.” Hovering in thought, she murmured, “So
now we wait.”

He liked the way that sounded. “We” wait. But
that didn’t mean he couldn’t make plans for later. “So how about
dinner this evening?”

Her withdraw was distinct and sudden. “I
don’t know...”

“Have plans already?”

“No, but—”

“But nothing. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Her expression colored with retreat. “Clay, I
don’t think it’s a good idea.”

His heart thumped in protest. “Does it have
anything to do with you not showing up yesterday?”

Sydney stole a glance toward his son and the
team. She looked around the pool, allowing her gaze to follow two
young swimmers as they walked by. Clay could tell she was biding
her time, but why? When she returned to face him, he couldn’t read
her hesitation. But it was there. Sitting just behind her eyes,
something was holding her back. “I told you, my duties require me
to make the rounds and sometimes one venue has issues that need
resolution. Sometimes after hours.”

“Are you telling me you don’t have time
because you have to work?”

She angled her chin toward Q’s team. “You
need to spend time with your family.”

“I told you. They want no part of me. I’m
here as a spectator only.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “You
see him. He doesn’t even know I’m alive right now. It’s all about
the team.”

“Where are your parents?” she asked, turning
as though it just occurred to her to look for them, as if they
might walk up at any minute.

“They’re here.” He pointed into the stands,
but they weren’t in their seats. “Well, they’re here somewhere.
Anyway, they don’t care if we go out.” He smiled. “It’s not like
they never see me, you know.”

She backed away.

He marked the retreat with a question,
“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just think dinner isn’t a
good idea.”

Clay feared kissing her the other night may
have been too much. But it didn’t make sense. While brief, it felt
as if she enjoyed it as much as he did. “Is it Charlie?”

A noticeable chill cooled the green of her
eyes to a dusty moss. “No, it has nothing to do with him.”

On a positive note, the woman didn’t lie very
well. If it wasn’t him directly, he was tied in somehow. “Then
what?”

“You’re going to be gone in a week, Clay.
What’s the point?”

“The point is, we have something good between
us. I’d like to see where it leads.”

“I’m not interested in a long distance
relationship.”

“Me neither.”

She eyeballed him and crossed her arms. “I’m
not moving to South Carolina.”

Direct shot,
score
... Her shove was
visceral. “I see.”

“Dinner the other night was fun, but I think
we should leave it at that.”

“Sure thing,” he said, thoughts racing for
reason, for explanation.

She cast another glance toward Q and said,
“Good luck. I hope he pulls it out for the win.”

“Me, too.”

When Sydney walked off, Clay felt the second
crushing defeat of the day. Strike two. But Rutledges didn’t give
up that easy. He glanced toward his son and thought, there won’t be
a strike three.
For either of us
.

Chapter Fifteen

First thing on the agenda today was securing
tickets for Sam. She and her kids from the Boys and Girls Club had
their hearts set on attending closing ceremonies, a wish Sydney was
more than happy to fulfill. Slipping the passes into an envelope,
she swiped her tongue across the flap and scribbled Sam’s name on
the front. There may as well be some perks from working this
job.

“Knock, knock,” Sam said at the open
door.

Sydney looked up. “Hey, you’re right on
time.”

“They call me Punctual Polly.” She strolled
in, her attire casual and somewhat sporty with her collared, silk
top and short white shorts setting off the natural tan of her legs.
Far from bronze, Sam didn’t do sunbathing. Her color came from
walking to and from the office and that’s it. Though rather than
sneakers, Sam wore heels. Strappy heels that revealed brightly
painted red toenails. Come to think of it, Sydney wondered if Sam
even owned a pair of athletic shoes. She’d never seen her in any.
She handed the envelope to her. “These are for you.”

Sam’s eyes rounded as though she’d just been
handed the key to the city. “These my tickets?”

She nodded.

“You’re the best, Syd.” She circled behind
her desk and smothered her in a hug. “The kids are going to be
thrilled.”

“I aim to please,” she said, but felt devoid
of cheer.

Letting go, Sam stood close. “You sure this
wasn’t a problem?”

“No problem at all. I told you, it’s the
fringe benefits of working on the inside. Might as well use them to
someone’s
advantage.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Anything right?”

“Not really.”

Sam slipped on a satisfied smile. “Well,
maybe I can cheer you up.”

“How’s that?”

Sam eased a hip onto the edge of Sydney’s
desk, avoiding contact with the slew of papers scattered across it,
several tacked with blue Post-It notes. Fingering the envelope in
her hand, her dark eyes glittered with mischief. “Seems your Morgan
has found greener pastures.”

“Huh?” Perplexed by the drop from nowhere,
she asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Your troubles with Morgan gaining advantage
with Javier.” She smirked. “It looks like they’re finished.”

“They’re not finished.” She swung a pointed
finger toward the door and snapped, “They’re locked at the hip,
like always.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I just saw them
yesterday. Hip-locked.”

Sam’s face split into the widest grin. “Well
what do you know...the spider weaves a downright tangled web!”

Growing impatient, she thrust, “What are you
talking about?”

Sam chuckled. “Your little Morgan seems to be
two-timing your Javier.”

“She’s not my little Morgan and he’s not my
Javier—but what do you mean two-timing?” That part appealed to her
and pleasure rose fast and sweet. “Did you see her with
someone?”

“Hello?” She rolled her eyes toward the open
doorway and said, “That’s what I started with—she’s grazing from
greener pastures with the Mayor.”

Sydney’s jaw dropped open. “
The Mayor
?
Are you sure?”

An evil laugh erupted from deep in Sam’s
belly. “Oh yes, ma’am I am! She was spinning her web in circles
around the man just the other night.” Sam waggled her brow. “And he
was a more than willing victim let me assure you, thoroughly
engrossed with the plunging neckline and excess of cleavage she was
treating him to.” She laughed, delighted by the lurid turn of
affairs in Sydney’s favor. She folded hand and envelope in her lap
and stated, “I gather Javier doesn’t know about her
extra-curricular activities.”

“I’m certain he doesn’t,” she replied,
turning the revelation over in her mind.
Morgan was sleeping
with the Mayor
? Her mind slashed through the repercussions.

“Looks like you have your loaded weapon.”

She stared at Sam. Crossing arms over chest,
Sydney brought a forefinger to her lower lip and tapped. Javier
would definitely not appreciate this tidbit of news one bit. Morgan
two-timing him with the Mayor? No, that wouldn’t sit well at all.
Sydney’s lips curled into a smile as she gathered Sam in her
sights. “Looks like I do, doesn’t it?”

“When do you plan on delivering the final
blow?”

That she didn’t know. It had to be handled
with care else it blow up in
her
face. “Not sure. But under
the circumstances, this could definitely be the ammunition I need
to put Javier and Morgan in their place.”

“Has there been a new development I don’t
know about?”

Mindful of the open door she lowered her
voice, “If you call Javier suggesting I don’t see Clay because it’s
not a good idea to mix business and pleasure a ‘new development’
then hell yes there’s been one.”

Sam belted out a sardonic laugh. “Are you
kidding me?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Is he giving you grief about this guy,
seriously?”

“In so many words. But it doesn’t really
matter. Clay’s only here for a week, then he returns to South
Carolina.” She flicked a glance to her wall-sized dry erase board,
the Special Olympics events marked in bright blue and consuming
nearly two weeks of her calendar. “That part may be for the best.”
No sense getting her hopes up for a guy that was leaving town. Now
the part about Morgan trying to run her out was a different
story.