The gym was a ghost town at ten o'clock on a Friday night, all the gymnasts having headed back to their dorms after a long day of training to rest up before they were due back tomorrow morning.
But for the lights in Ian's office, the cavernous space was dark and silent. He should have long departed for his lodging, but he was mulling over the rankings for the next day's practice. Time was quickly running out for him to make a final decision on his team.
The office door clicked shut startling him from his work. He looked up sharply to find Chloe leaning against the door, a mischievous smile on her lips. "It's late, Donaghy," he reminded, "And past your curfew."
She shrugged, smirked. "I brought you dinner," she said as if she hadn't heard him. She set two take-away containers on his desk, the scent of gravy wafting off them.
"It's 10PM," he reminded her. "The commissary stops serving dinner at seven."
"I was doing some extra strength training, so I missed it," she said. "And I know you always work yourself half to death, so I know you haven't eaten either." He nodded once, silently admitting she was right. "See?" she prompted. "Who knows you better than I do?"
Without commenting on that, he eyed the containers. "What did you bring?" he asked.
"Just a few things from your favourite Irish pub downtown." She grinned, pleased with herself.
"Since when do they offer take-away? And since when do they admit sixteen year olds?" he inquired.
She leaned in close – close enough that the slightest move from either of them would have their lips brushing against the other's. "There's nothing in this world that a girl with money can't get..."
"This is nice," Chloe remarked, almost airily, setting aside her dinner to watch him, eyes burning with intensity. He raised a brow in question, eyes meeting hers. "You, me...eating together late at night, like we used to do back in Ireland," she explained. "Almost like our old dates..."
"It's not a date," he insisted immediately.
"Why?" she asked, head cocked to the side. "Are you seeing someone? Because I've noticed that ever since she stopped training you've been spending a lot of time alone..."
"Chloe..." he scolded, but it was half-hearted.
Chloe was out of her chair the next moment, approaching behind his desk. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, gently kneading the stiff muscles in his neck. "You're so tense," she purred. "You're too stressed."
He didn't respond, which Chloe took as her cue to continue.
With faux-innocence, she said, "I hear things, you know... The campus gossip is that Emily's been hooking up with some guy on the rugby team. I think his name is Derek Morgan. So much for taking it easy..." She scoffed.
A long pause ensued in which Ian remained starkly silent. He'd suspected that there was someone else, but until now, he'd had no proof.
"Ian, did you hear me?" Chloe asked, hands stilling on his shoulders. She pursed her lips, then leaned in close to his ear, murmuring, "You look so tired – why don't you crash at my dorm tonight?"
"Chloe, I don't think..." he started to protest.
"It's much closer than your house," she wheedled. "I'm all alone at night..." She nuzzled his neck, breath hot on his skin. "Think of it as a thank you for dinner..."
Derek glanced at his watch, jogging the last few feet to the gym doors, carefully balancing the bouquet of flowers in his hands.
It was a big day for Emily: today was her first day back at the gym, having been given the all-clear by her doctor the day before. She wasn't allowed to do any big stunts yet, but she was just happy to be training again.
Outside the gym, a man leaned against the brick wall, wreathed in smoke; it wasn't until he got closer that Derek recognized him as the gymnastics coach. (It was rare to see anyone smoking on a campus full of elite athletes, but somehow he wasn't surprised, based on the stories Emily had told him...)
The man took a long drag of the cigarette, holding it in his lungs for a moment before asking on an exhale,"You're Derek Morgan, right?"
The question startled Derek, not having realized the man even knew his name. "Yes," he answered, but it was inflected like a question. Then, because his mother had raised a gentleman, he added, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name..." He would have offered a hand to shake, but his were full of flowers.
"Ian Doyle," he introduced himself, "I'm Emily's fiance."
For a moment, Derek's mouth hung open stupidly. "Wh-what?" he stammered. Surely, he'd misheard him...
"She didn't tell you?" he remarked, almost pleasantly, if it weren't for the knife edge below the words.
"No – she, umm, she never mentioned a fiance..."
"Imagine that," he said with the same false pleasantness. Then, leaving Derek to mull over the revelation, he dropped the cigarette to the ground, smudging it across the pavement with the toe of his shoe and headed back into the gym without a backward glance.
Derek stood frozen in place, stunned, until Emily came bounding out the doors, chatting brightly with another gymnast until she caught sight of him, a brilliant smile crossing her lips. She ran the last few steps to meet him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she trilled, "It is so good to be training again!" Then, apparently noticing the flowers in his hand, she scolded, "What did I tell you about the flowers?"
He didn't respond, still trying to process the news that not only was Emily's boyfriend her fifty-something coach, but they'd been engaged...
"Derek?" she prompted, brow creased with concern. "Everything alright?" She reached out to rest a hand on his elbow, but he side-stepped the contact before she could reach him.
"You tell me," he replied, finding his voice again. When she continued to stare quizzically at him, he continued, "How was seeing your fiance again?"
"What?" she asked, stricken, face going ghostly white.
"Your fiance," he repeated, "The one you forgot to mention."
"Derek, I..." she stammered. "How... How did you...?"
"How did I find out your secret?" he asked bitterly. "He told me." He shook his head in disgust. "When you told me you had a boyfriend, you sure left out a few important details, didn't you?"
"Derek, please, just let me..."
"Let you what?" he snapped, "Tell me more lies?"
"I never lied!" she insisted.
"Whatever, Emily," he scoffed. He shoved the flowers at her. "These are for you. Enjoy them because we're done."
