Chapter Two: Blackmail

Naomi's POV

The locker room was empty except for the sound of my own hands moving through my bag.

I kept checking all the compartments and smaller purses in my bag over and over, like it would explain itself if I looked hard enough. I kept hoping I'd find any clues that could explain what exactly was happening to me.

Teammates drifted in and out to grab their things. Nobody said a word to me. A few of them wouldn't even look up.

I didn't blame them. I was suddenly the black sheep and I didn't know what I would say to me either.

The door opened again and I didn't bother looking up this time.

"Nana."

Only one person called me that.

Octavia stood in the doorway, still in her Maristen jacket, medal nowhere in sight even though it should have been around her neck by now.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you," she said, crossing the room fast, like she needed to reach me before I could tell her not to.

She pulled me into a hug before I could answer.

I let her. I needed it more than I wanted to admit.

"It's fine, Ovia," I said into her shoulder, and made myself mean it. "At least I know my best friend is the one bringing us that gold."

She went still for half a second before she hugged me tighter.

I felt her heartbeat against my shoulder. We had shared more than a thousand hugs but it felt to me like I needed this one more.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

LAST NIGHT

Octavia's sheets were still tangled around both of them when Coach Murphy finally spoke.

"You've gone quiet on me," he said, tracing one finger slowly down her spine, watching her the way he watched swimmers he was deciding whether to push harder.

"I'm fine," she said, in the voice she used when she wasn't.

He propped himself up on one elbow, bare chest catching the streetlight through the blinds, and studied her face until she gave up pretending.

She rolled toward him, pressing herself into the warmth of him, hoping it would be enough to make him drop it.

It wasn't.

"Talk to me," he said, low, his hand settling at her waist like it belonged there.

"It's Naomi." The name came out smaller than she wanted it to. "She's going to win everything again this season. Regionals, State, all of it. She always does. And I'm always standing next to her when they hand out her medal."

"And you want something done about that," he said. It wasn't a question.

"I don't know what I want," she said, even though some part of her did.

His hand slid up from her waist, slow enough that she felt every inch of the movement, until his fingers found her jaw and tilted her face up to his.

"You're a better swimmer than everyone gives you credit for," he said against her mouth. "You just keep ending up in her shadow."

He kissed her then, unhurried, the kind of kiss that asked a question instead of making a statement.

She answered it by pulling him closer, her hands finding the back of his neck, fingers tangling into hair still damp from practice hours earlier.

He shifted his weight over her, and she felt the whole conversation change shape underneath his hands.

His mouth moved from hers to her jaw, to the line of her throat, unhurried, deliberate, like he had all night and intended to use every minute of it.

"Murphy." His name came out half a plea.

"I'm listening," he murmured against her skin, not stopping.

His hand traced slowly down the length of her, over her hip, down the inside of her thigh, pausing just short of where she wanted him most, waiting. She was soaking wet and even though he just made her scream not more than 10 minutes ago, she still wanted more.

"Do you want me to do something about it?" he asked again, his mouth close to her ear now, his voice low enough that it felt more like a vibration than a sound.

She didn't answer with words at first. Her breath caught, her hips shifted toward his hand on their own, betraying her before she'd decided anything.

"Yes," she finally moaned, and the second the word left her mouth she felt him smile against her neck, like he'd been waiting for exactly that.

"Consider it done," he said. "Now, do you want to be my good girl again?" He groaned against her breasts. She moaned softly, "Yes."

"I can't hear you. Are you ready to be Daddy's good girl again?"

His tongue was pressing against her clit now. She grabbed his hair and pushed him deeper. "Yesss daddy."

"That's my girl," he said, flipping her over till she straddled him.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

PRESENT, TWO HOURS LATER

By the time I convinced my mom to go home without me, the athletic building was empty except for the hum of the pool filtration system down the hall. She had been waiting for me but I wanted to be left alone.

She didn't like leaving me there, but I didn't give her any other choice. I sat on the same cold bench, still holding my bag, staring at nothing.

My phone buzzed.

A video file loaded onto my screen but the thumbnail was blacked out, a small padlock icon sitting over the center of it.

I tapped it and a message popped up instead. Enter password to view.

Before I could type anything, my phone rang. Unknown number.

I answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was scrambled, pitched low and mechanical, impossible to place as male or female.

"I know what happened to your medication," the voice said. "I have the footage. Everything. Who did it, how, all of it."

My hand tightened around the phone. "Who is this?"

"Two thousand dollars," the voice said, ignoring the question entirely. "Cash. Brought to where I will tell you. Do that, and the password is yours."

"Where the hell am I supposed to get two thousand dollars?" I said, my voice cracking for the second time that night.

"That's not my problem," the voice said. "You have twenty four hours. After that, the offer disappears. So do I. Tick tock, Naomi."

The line went dead.