Page 29 of Teach Me To Sin
As the anchor introduces Alek and asks him basic questions about the Lang Aquatic Center, I glance down at Benji. He’s watching with troubled eyes, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
“I hear you have some exciting news for the sports world,” Craig pipes up, glancing at his notes. “Tell us a bit about that.”
It’s the moment of no return. I can see Alek tense, his smile faltering. Then he forces it back and speaks clearly, if a little stiffly. “Yes, I’m excited to announce that I’m launching a professional coaching program. I’ve already started working with my first swimmer, Benji Adams, and he’ll be attending his first official competition in Ohio next week.”
“That’s tremendous news.” Amanda’s beaming, but I instantly notice her neutral choice of words. My heart sinks, but there’s nothing I can do now. “You of course have a long and complicated history with the professional swim world,” she continues, “along with the co-director of your nonprofit, Victor Lang.”
“I do,” Alek answers with a hint of finality, returning to the previous subject. “I have a lot of expertise to offer new swimmers. I believe that someday we might see students competing at Worlds and even in the Olympics.”
“Incredible,” Craig interjects. “Can you tell us more about Benji?”
The man in question hasn’t moved a muscle. I’m not sure he’s actually breathing anymore, and he’s stressing me out almost as much as Alek.
Alek’s whole body language perks up at the mention of Benji. “Oh, he’s a bright, remarkably technical amateur swimmer. Long story, but I scouted him while we were both on vacation. He’s going to–” He hesitates when Amanda lifts a hand and tries to speak over him. “Yes?”
“Is he under eighteen?”
The room was already quiet, but at those four words it sinks into something even deeper–a thick, suffocating stillness. My brain shuts off for a second, trying to parse what’s going on. Alek stares at her uncomprehendingly. “Sorry, what?”
“Are you planning to train underage swimmers? Given your…” She searches for a word. “Given yourhistory.”
Benji lunges forward, and I snag an arm around his waist just in time to jerk him to a stop. He struggles and shoots me a strangely desperate look, but I drag him back until he’s pressed against my chest. I can feel him breathing hard against me, his heart thumping.
I’m furious too, but I believe in assessing risk. Even though they led him into an ambush, storming onto the stage and stopping the interview on this question will make him look guilty as hell. Just like I used to do in court, I give the situation ten seconds to unfold before I choose a course of action. Benji lets out an almost silent growl and struggles again, so I wrap my other arm around him and hold him firmly.
Alek hasn’t spoken or even moved. Just before I decide to speak up, I see the fabric of his jacket shift as he pulls his shoulders back. By the way Benji tenses, I know he sees it too.
Clearing his throat, Alek turns to look straight at the center camera. His voice comes out hoarse, but stronger than it has all day. “I’ll say this once and never again, so make sure you’re all recording. To answer your question, Benji is twenty-three years old. But I want to make something very clear. You can go anywhere in the Washington nonprofit community and speak to anyone you want; they’ll all know about the Lang Aquatic Center. They’ll tell you a story about someone they know who found safety, support, friendship, and purpose through our programs. I never brag about this, because the work we do isn’t about me and my ego. But I need you to understand that I dedicate every moment of my life to doing enough good to counterbalance even a fraction of the evil my father brought into the world. That’s why I’m here, and that’s why I’m starting a coaching program for people who don’t have access to traditional training programs.” His eyes shift slightly, so he’s looking past the camera at me. “The sport of swimming doesn’t belong to Clint Simmons. Neither do I.” He turns back to Amanda. “I believe that answers your question.”
Both anchors gawk at him for a moment. The excitement of getting a hot sound bite must outweigh their interest in stirring up gossip, because Craig puts down his notes and claps. “That’s beautiful, Alek. Thank you so much for sharing.”
Benji’s hands wrap around the arm I have pinned across his chest, and he gives a soft whimper. I tighten my grip, dropping my mouth near his ear. “He’s alright. They’re done with him.” With my cheek resting against his springy auburn hair, I wish I could just sink into his brain and read his thoughts. It would make all this so much simpler.
Amanda fires off a couple of softball questions about meaningless things, then ends the recording with a round of handshakes and a flurry of thanks. I hear her say something about “…treat you to dinner…”, but Alek politely declines. He maneuvers off stage, blinking in the blinding lights, then practically runs out of the room. I let go of Benji, who rushes after him while I follow at a more measured pace.
I find Alek leaning against the corridor wall with his head tipped back, trying not to hyperventilate. His face looks drained, and I can see sweat beading at the edges of his makeup. “I don’t want to hear your opinion on anything right now,” he says before I can even open my mouth. “You were right,blah blah blah. I get it.”
“It’s a bunch of bullshit,” Benji growls, pacing around with his hands jammed in the pockets of his slacks.
Alek squints at him, his voice frayed at the edges. “Is it? Is me fucking my swimmer bullshit? Oh, wait…”
“No,” Benji snaps, straightening up angrily. “That’s nothing like what your dad did, and you know it.”
“It doesn’t fucking matter, as long as it’s enough to take us out and ruin our reputation.”
“But…” Benji’s jaw works, like he’s fighting back tears. “You won. You had a perfect answer.”
“He hasn’t won,” I point out, unable to help myself. “For all we know, the worst hasn’t even started.”
Alek studies me, then nods. He finally understands what he’s signed up for. I can see in his eyes that he has the strength to keep fighting–but not tonight. “I just want to go home and wash this shit off my face.”
Glancing between us, Benji huffs in frustration. “You both suck. You’re acting like your team just lost the World Cup when Alek aced the interview. We should celebrate.” He gets hit with two incredulous looks, one from Alek and one from me, but it doesn’t faze him. “We’re going to get drinks.”
“We’re not,” I say quickly, but he turns on me with a fire in his eyes that begs me to understand. Following his glance, I study Alek again. He’s standing proud, but his face looks haunted, like the shadows that have chased him through hell and back are getting too close. Benji doesn’t want us to leave him alone like this. “You two are welcome to go drinking,” I clarify. “It’s none of my business.”
“I’m fine,” Alek protests weakly, and Benji kicks my shin.
“For god’s sake. I know a decent bar a few streets over.” The words come out before I can consider them. It’ll be fine. Alek isn’t the type to get drunk, and between us we can keep Benji reined in. We’ll share a couple of friendly beers, then I’ll go home to nap on the couch with a dog under my legs and another cuddled behind my head.