1. Racing From Love Ch. 07-09

Her friends had been stopping in all day with flowers and balloons. The whole track team had cycled through, women and men, and some other people that he assumed she must have knows through work. Sam watched the guys with interest, but there didn't seem to be anyone who was more than just a friend.

It was late in the afternoon when Brian showed up. He had a bunch of sunflowers and was holding a bound manuscript of some sort. Sam had been dreading this, but he controlled himself, he knew he would have to get used to it. He let Brian in and shook his hand as he introduced himself.

'She's up in her room,' Sam said.

Brian looked unsure. 'Ahh, where's that?'

Sam was surprised that he didn't know the way. 'Aren't you her boyfriend?'

'Ha, I wish! Not that I didn't try, she let me kiss her once. Once! Nah man, she's too busy for a boyfriend.'

Sam's heart leapt, so Emma didn't have a boyfriend.

After Brian had visited and left Sam went up to her room, she was reading whatever it was Brian had given her.

'What's that?' he asked.

'Oh, Brian writes these screenplays in his free time, he's sure that an agent is going to pick him up and he's going to make his fortune as a screen writer. This one is actually pretty good so far.'

'Can I see?'

She handed him the manuscript.

'The Security Team,' he read the title.

'Yeah, it's a cops and robbers action script. It's his specialty, he's a campus cop.'

Sam sat beside her on the bed. 'Em, I'm sorry I flipped out when I saw you with him last spring.'

Emma looked down into her lap. 'It's okay Sam.' She was silent for a second, then she looked up at him and said in a quiet voice, 'I didn't sleep with him, I've never, well... you know, with anyone.'

Sam felt ashamed of himself, 'You don't have to tell me, it's none of my business. You can date whoever you like.'

'Sam?' She was still speaking quietly.

'Yes?'

'I knew you would come and get me.' Her deep brown eyes were locked with his, 'I wasn't afraid because I knew you would find me.'

Sam's heart soared, he took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. 'Of course Emma. Of course.'

CHAPTER NINE

The first couple of weeks it was pretty easy for Sam to control himself, seeing someone you love in so much pain is not a turn on, and Emma was so painfully thin that he was afraid she would shatter every time he touched her.

She was pretty much incapacitated, needing help with everything, including the most personal tasks like going to the bathroom. At first she even had difficulty pulling her underwear up after she'd been to the toilet, doing everything with one hand was difficult for her. Sam tried not to intrude, he would hold up her little body, being careful to avoid her broken ribs and collar bone and stand very still looking at the wall behind her while she fumbled with her underwear.

She was restless and always wanting to go out. She wanted to go to the pool to watch him swim, up to campus to watch her team practice, down to the bay to breathe in the salty air. After about two weeks she wanted to go back to her classes.

Sam obliged every request. He'd pack her wheel chair in the car, open the passenger side door and run back upstairs to carry her out in his arms. He loved carrying her, the feeling of her body pressed up against his chest with her good arm wrapped around his neck was the best thing he'd felt in a long time. She was in pain, that was obvious, but she seemed happy.

Emma was happy. How strange it was that at the time in her life that she had every right to feel depressed and down in the dumps, she actually felt great. Well, not great physically, but mentally she felt great and that was a new feeling for her. After she finished with the heavy duty pain killers she had decided not to go back on her anti-depressants, she didn't think she needed them, and for the first time in ages she could actually eat without felling sick to the stomach. She was so glad to have Sam around, it felt like she had her other half back again.

She loved going to the pool in the mornings to watch him swim. His coach sent him the next day's workout every night, and Emma sat in her wheelchair at the end of his lane with the workout to remind him what came next and to time him when that was required.

He wasn't in very good shape, but he was training really hard. She wondered why he was out of shape, it seemed odd, Sam had never had a problem maintaining his fitness before, he was one of those people who loved to work out.

After watching him for a few weeks Emma started seeing errors in his technique, he was trying to muscle it rather than working with the water. She wasn't any sort of swimming expert herself, but she was an athlete and she could see inefficiency in the water just as well as she could see it on land.

Sam's specialty was the 200 fly, and she could see that he was tailoring his workouts to cater for that event, the thing was that by concentrating so hard on the butterfly he wasn't conditioning the rest of his muscles very well. One morning when he was in between sets in the pool Emma suggested that he should try switching events to the 400 individual medley.

'Are you kidding, I'd be eaten alive in the 400 IM!' he wasn't buying it.

'Nah, you'll be fine, obviously you can do the fly and freestyle and your breaststroke is awesome, you just need to work on your backstroke a little.' That was a little white lie; Sam had a lot of work to do on his backstroke if he was going to be an IM swimmer.

'Easier said than done with no coach around,' he scoffed.

'Well, I could help you,' she offered.

Sam looked at her quizzically. 'How?'

'Well, for starters you're too flat in the water. You need to roll your shoulders in and out of the water more, it's more hydrodynamic, and you'd be able to access the big muscles in your lats better for the pull down that way.'

Sam looked a little bemused but then a funny little grin started at the corners of his mouth, 'Okay, I'll humor you.'

When he saw his times drop every time that Emma made a suggestion Sam caught on that she knew what she was talking about. She'd bring up something for him to work on at the start of a workout, sometimes it was something new, sometimes it was a reminder of something that she'd told him before. They concentrated on his backstroke for a while, and then when she sensed that he was fully trusting of her judgment she started talking to him about his butterfly.

The way she saw it, his breathing was really slowing him down, she had a funny idea, she had him wear a snorkel and swim the 200 fly, as she had thought, he easily shaved off a few seconds.

'So now we just need to figure out a way for you to breathe that doesn't disrupt your stroke so much,' she told him. 'How about if you try keeping your eyes down on the bottom of the pool when you breathe, try and only raise your head above the water as much as you need to breathe air in, no more.'

She loved the way he listened to her, when she was talking to him he looked straight at her with those lovely blue eyes. And his body, god she loved his body, how strong he was, how solid he felt when he carried her, how safe she felt when he was with her. She almost didn't want to get better just to keep him there with her.

Sam couldn't believe how fast he was swimming. He still wasn't in peak fitness and he was getting close to his race times during practice. Emma was an amazing coach, how she could see so much without ever having any swimming or coaching training was a mystery to him. It also didn't hurt that he would do anything to impress her, he was trying so hard during his workouts, concentrating on her advice, and it was really paying off.

Before too long Emma was out of her wheel chair, but the doctors advised her not to use a crutch under her broken clavicle, so Sam was her left-side crutch for a few weeks. He would walk in step with her while she pressed her left side to him and gripped him around the waist. It was slow going, but he didn't mind, if they were running late for something he'd just pick her up and carry her. She was making good progress, the doctors and physical therapists told her she might be fully weight bearing by thanksgiving.

Sam drove her to campus and walked her to her classes every day, he would wait outside under a tree doing his own work until he started seeing the other students leave, then he'd go back into the classroom to get her. He could have done it forever, he was so happy.

One day as they were walking back to the car from one of her classes she wanted to stop at a bench for a rest. They were in a grove of redwoods; Strawberry Creek trickled by in front of them.

'Hey I've been meaning to ask you how the social work internship went, you got one at a non-profit in Oakland, right?' Sam asked.

'It was good,' she replied.

'Just good? Did you like it?'

'Yeah, I liked it, the kids were awesome, I couldn't believe how cheeky and optimistic they were. They were probably what got me through last summer in one piece. You probably figured out by now that I was having some problems.'

Sam shifted uncomfortably, she didn't mean to make him squirm so she kept talking, 'It's weird you know, when I was younger I'd look at black people on the train or on the street and wonder if I was related to them, you know, genetically related to them. I think those kids in foster care who don't know who they are or where they're going next are in some ways more my family than you and mom and dad are.'

Sam was watching her carefully, she couldn't tell what he was thinking. 'I don't mean to downplay how important you guys are to me, it's just that I felt a connection with those kids.'

'So do you think you want to stick with it then? Become a social worker?'

'I don't know, maybe. It's just that the whole system is so screwed up. You could help a thousand kids, get them off the streets into safe homes, but there would be another thousand still needing help, and if you managed to help them, there'd be another thousand behind them. I can't decide if it would be better to work on the front lines trying to help one kid at a time, or if I'd be more effective by trying to change the system to give the whole population better opportunities.'

'So a social activist then?'

'Yeah, something like that. Maybe law school, and then politics.' She wasn't really sure how it would work but she knew she had more to offer than counseling for those lucky enough to be brought into her office.

'A lawyer or politician? You haven't mentioned this to dad yet have you? Those are his most hated professionals,' he grinned.

Emma laughed. 'No, you're the first person I've talked to about it. What do you think?'

'I think you should go for it, you'd be a kick-ass lawyer. Not to mention that it would be good to have a lawyer in the family, it's like a get out of jail free card.' He grinned.

She laughed and punched him playfully in the arm. 'Yeah right, like you'd ever have the guts to do something against the law.'

It felt good to talk to him about her future, she didn't think she needed his approval, but it was nice to have it anyway.

'Come on, lets get going,' she prompted.

Sam stood up and helped her to her feet.

'God Sam, I can't believe I have to wait around for you all the time, you're lucky I don't leave you here,' she joked.

'I know, I know, I'm a lazy bastard. Now lets get home, I'm starving and there are at least three apple trees in our neighbors' yards that are ripe for looting.'

An hour later Emma was leaning against Mrs. Guilford's fence, on the lookout while Sam was inside her yard pillaging her apple tree. When they'd gotten home from campus Sam had climbed the lookout tree in their back yard and watched as Mrs. Guilford had packed her car and gone out to run errands.

'Hurry up Sam, she could be home any second,' she urged. She felt the rush of being a little kid again, jumping fences to eat the fruit off the neighbor's trees.

'What's she going to do? Beat me with her walking stick?' He joked.

Mrs. Guilford was by all accounts a little old lady, but she was a grumpy old lady. Emma giggled at the image of her beating Sam with her walking stick.

He was holding his t-shirt out from his body and filling it with the illicit apples from the tree. He was reaching up as high as he could, picking the fruit that would be too high for the old lady to reach. He always did stuff like that, even when he was robbing a little old lady he was still being considerate. When he couldn't carry anymore he made his way back over to the fence. Now they were faced with a challenge, how to get him back over the fence without spilling the apples?

Just as they were contemplating this they heard a vehicle pull up to the other side of the house.

'Shit! Duck!' Sam hissed.

They listened as Mrs. Gilford exited her car, closed the door and they heard her footsteps slowly ascend to her front door. Being that she was old and practically disabled, everything happened at an excruciatingly slow pace. Emma was hidden in the neighbors yard, trying not to laugh too loudly, her sides hurt from the effort.

'Shut up Emma!' Sam whispered from the other side of the fence.

Mrs. Guilford entered her house.

'Quick, stand up, we only have a few seconds 'til she goes into her kitchen and can see me,' Sam ordered.

Emma stood, the tears of laughter streaming down her face.

'Hold your shirt out,' he told her.

The fence was just under chest height, so it was a bit awkward as Sam poured the apples from his shirt into Emma's. Of course Emma's shirt couldn't hold nearly as many so some of them fell to the grass.

Sam expertly jumped the fence and pulled Emma down into a sitting position, shielded from the view from Mrs. Guilford's kitchen by the fence.

He had the hugest grin on his face, like he had just won the lottery or something.

'Do you think she saw you?' Emma asked through gasps of laughter.

He twisted around and spied through a crack in the fence palings, 'Nah, she has no idea.'

He grabbed one of the apples from her shirt and bit into it. 'Mmmm, it's good.'

He held it out for her and she took a bite, the sweet tangy juice dribbling down her chin. There really was nothing like fresh fruit off the tree, so crisp and warm from the sun.

She used the back of her hand to wipe the juice away. 'How are we going to get home with all of these? Remember I can't walk on my own.'

'How about you carry the apples and I'll carry you?' He suggested.

Sam watched through the crack in the fence until he was satisfied that Mrs. Guilford had left the kitchen, then stood up. He gathered the apples from the grass around them and piled them into her shirt and the cradle she made with her arms and then he picked her up, holding her under her knees and back, being careful not to spill the apples.

Their house was a half a block away, but Sam didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry. If she didn't know better she would have thought that he was purposefully parading, drawing out the trip. He looked downright triumphant.

'You really enjoyed that didn't you?' She asked.

'I didn't enjoy the part where you almost got me caught because you couldn't stop laughing,' he scolded her but he was smiling broadly, his eyes alight with fun.

'We've got a lot of fruit,' she commented, trying to ensure that she didn't drop any of their loot.

'Yep, how do you like them apples!' He gloated.

She laughed, he looked down at her and grinned.

That afternoon they made apple pie, Emma's favorite. She sat at the kitchen island and peeled and sliced the apples while he made the crust and lined the pan, then mixed the butter, sugar and spices. Soon the entire house was filled with the delicious aroma of freshly backed freshly picked apple pie.

After dinner with their parents that night Sam warmed and served the pie for dessert. He served Emma first and gave her an extra large slice.

Thanksgiving came and went and Emma was walking on her own again. She was working with her physical therapist on jogging , but was advised to keep it to a minimum so she still didn't have to go to track practice, which left her with plenty of free time to go to the pool with Sam.

She started swimming for the exercise. She had gained quite a lot of weight and being so sedentary it was mostly fat, she was trying to convert some of it muscle. Having fat was something that Emma was not used to, she wasn't sure how she felt about it. On the one hand it was kind of gross and jiggly, on the other hand for the first time in her life she had curves, and it made her feel womanly.

Sam was sure he knew how he felt about Emma's weight gain, he was totally aroused by the sight of her. She had gained in all the right places, her hips and thighs were a little more rounded, she had a tiny little pot belly and her breasts and butt had filled back out to their usual plumpness. Most importantly she was starting to look healthy again.

Keeping control was a daily struggle for Sam, but not a battle he was about to give in to. He was enjoying his rekindled friendship with her too much to let his sexual desires get in the way. He knew at some point he was going to have to tell her how he felt, but he was hoping he could put it off for a while yet. Emma seemed happy and relaxed but he didn't want to put any pressure on her while she was still in this fragile physical state, it wouldn't be fair to her.

Before he knew it December had arrived and he had to go down to USC to take his finals. He swam with the team for the first time in months. His coach couldn't believe the improvement and Sam was pretty happy too, he was kicking ass. He was even keeping up with the backstroke specialists in their sets and nobody could touch him in the fly sets.

By the time nationals rolled around in March Sam was in peak form. He was really excited to race, he'd qualified in the 400 IM, the 200 Fly, and to his surprise, the 200 Backstroke. The meet had gone really well for him so far, he just had one more race left and then he could relax.

Emma and his parent's were there. He hadn't seen them yet but he knew they were there, he'd see them after this race. He'd made the final in the 200 back and come in 4th place, he was happy and amazed that he'd come so far in such a short amount of time, a year ago he wouldn't have been game to enter that event. The 400 IM had been an absolute dream, he'd kicked ass, he couldn't believe he'd won it, he'd never considered himself an IM swimmer. Now it was time for the 200 fly, his favorite event.

He was standing behind his block, lane 4, he'd been the fastest qualifier. The roll call started, he stepped up and waved to the crowd when he heard his name. He squatted down to the water and splashed a little over his face and race suit, the water beaded off the hydrophobic surface of the black material.

He spun his arms like a windmill to keep his muscles loose. The starter called them onto the blocks. 'On you mark,' he assumed his dive position. He was ready for his.

The starting noise went off and he launched into the air. His legs were beating the second he hit the water. He started talking to himself, 'stay loose, breathe', as always the first 50 was over before he could even register it. The guy in lane 3 beside him had gone out really hard, he was a body length ahead. 'Don't panic, keep your head down, don't look around' he told himself, he was gaining on the guy in lane 3 at the 100, by the 150 he was even first place. His lungs were burning, but he felt strong, he picked it up to sprint the final 50. He felt like he was flying, his rhythm was so strong. 'Keep you head down, push out to your fingertips', he was concentrating on holding it together as his lungs and muscles screamed at him in pain.