Sienna’s POV
Keeping this secret feels like carrying around a live grenade disguised as a tennis ball—looks harmless until it fucking explodes and takes everyone with it.
The weight sits on my chest constantly, making normal breathing feel like an Olympic event. George's return has turned the paranoia up to eleven, and now I'm pretty sure everyone in this gym has developed a sudden interest in investigative journalism.
"You're practically glowing lately, Sienna," Maya says during the cool-down, her voice dripping with barely contained amusement. "Must be all that... extra coaching you've been getting."
Oh fuck. She definitely knows.
I freeze mid-stretch, caught like a criminal at a crime scene wearing evidence as jewelry. The way she emphasizes "extra coaching" makes my stomach drop into my shoes.
"It's nothing," I say, forcing a smile that probably looks like I'm being held at gunpoint. "Just a bit nervous. Olympic pressure, you know?"
Sure, let's go with that. Much better than 'I'm fucking brain dump with my coach and having my best sex-life experiences ever.'
"Right.” Maya snorts, not even trying to hide her grin. “Olympic pressure. Is that what we're calling hot make-out sessions in bars now?"
Jesus Christ on a cracker.
"Maya—"
"Girl, I literally watched you two devour each other's faces and then sprint out of there like the building was on fire." She's enjoying this way too much. "So please, spare me the innocent act."
The walls are closing in, and I'm running out of believable lies.
But Maya's suspicion is nothing compared to the Riley situation, which has escalated from mildly annoying to full-blown creepy stalker territory.
This junior coach appears everywhere like some discount private investigator, always lurking, always watching.
Seriously, doesn't this guy have actual job responsibilities?
I catch him outside the locker room one evening, arms crossed, staring at the door like he's waiting for me to confess my sins. When he sees me, his eyes do that thing where they're trying to look casual but failing spectacularly.
What’s wrong with that kind of a man?
During practice, I feel his attention like a physical weight. Every time I glance up, he's either staring directly at me or doing that obvious thing where he quickly looks away when caught.
The next few days, the tension ratchets up another notch. I'm watching over my shoulder constantly, waiting for Riley or George to materialize with smoking-gun evidence of our relationship.
This is exhausting. I'm too young for this level of paranoia.
Ford pulls me aside during a break, his usual calm replaced by something sharper. "Sienna, we have to be smarter about this."
Translation: We're fucked if we don't get our shit together.
"I know," I say, biting my lip. "But it feels like the harder we try to hide it, the more people notice."
He runs a hand through his hair, scanning the room like he's fighting a losing battle. "I don't want you to get hurt. This could ruin everything for you."
For both of us, but thanks for taking the noble route.
"I don't want to lose this," I say quietly. "Lose you, I mean."
"Me too."
Famous last words of people about to get spectacularly busted.
But that promise is the only thing keeping me sane as each day becomes a more elaborate performance.
The joy I find with Ford feels real, but it's constantly shadowed by the fear of discovery.
The whispers are getting worse too.
Conversations that stop the second I walk by, hushed discussions that scatter like cockroaches when the lights come on. Nobody says anything directly, but the collective attention feels suffocating.
Like I’m in some high school drama but with higher stakes and lower emotional intelligence.
Later, Maya corners me after practice with that expression that means she's about to drop some truth bombs.
"Sienna, real talk time. You've been jumpy as hell lately, and it's not just because George is back."
Here we go.
I sigh, abandoning any pretense of secrecy. "I'm just… scared, Maya. Scared that everything I've worked for could fall apart if the wrong people find out about Ford and me."
Fuck it. She already knows anyway.
"Ah, there we go. Ford.” Maya raises an eyebrow and gives me that bright, wicked smile. “The man who had you making sounds I've never heard you make before disappearing from that victory party. Right…"
I want to die. Right here. Right now.
"It's complicated," I mutter, my face approximately the temperature of molten lava.
"I bet it is. Especially when one of you could get fired and the other could lose her Olympic shot ‘cause of massive scandal." Her tone gets more serious. "Sienna, I'm not judging. But this is some high-stakes shit you're playing with."
"I know. But with Ford... It's the only time I feel like I'm not performing for someone else. Like I'm just me."
"I can totally see why you'd want that.” Maya's expression softens slightly. “Foster really fucked with your head for years."
"Ford makes me feel like I'm worth more than my scores," I admit quietly.
Maya smiled gently, but there was a caution in her eyes. “Sounds like he means a lot to you.”
“He does,” I admitted. “But it’s really complicated. There’s so much riding on this, my future, the team, and I don’t want to mess it up.”
She gives me a long look, then nods. "Look, I'm not going to pretend this isn't risky as hell. But I also saw how you looked at that victory party—happier than I've seen you in years."
She's not wrong.
"You don't have to carry this alone," she continues. "But promise me you'll be smart about it. Riley's been sniffing around like a bloodhound, and Foster... Well, George is George."
"I promise I'll try to be careful." Another promise I'm not sure I can keep.
"Good. Because I like seeing you actually smile instead of just performing happiness." Maya grins. "Even if your choice in secret boyfriends is giving me gray hair."