“Yeah, if that’s what you want.”
“Good.” I hear the squeak of the springs in her bed that used to wake me up every time she moved at night. I can imagine her, lying over the pink comforter I handed her down, her feet in the air, leaned against the wall and crossed at the ankles, her thin lips twisted to one side. “You deserve to be happy, Lexie.”
My throat tightens. She’s too young to be this mature.
I don’t like the emotions overwhelming me, so I clear my throat and say, “I love you, Jos. You call me whenever you need to, no matter the time. Can you promise me that, at least?”
“I promise. Love you too.”
“All right. Take care.”
“Bye,” she says, then hangs up.
I drop my phone in my bag, then let my head fall back. “That motherfucker,” I mutter. I don’t even have it in me to shout anymore.
I glance back up at the other end of the gym, where the bars still gleam under the glow of the neons, but at this point, with my head all over the place, it’d be plain stupid to get back to it.
Grabbing my stuff, I head outside, locking the gym behind me. My phone tells me it’s close to 2:00 a.m. now. If I skip a shower, I could get a good five hours of sleep.
As I drive back to the cabin, which is thankfully less than five minutes from the gym, I run over what I’ll tell my mother first thing tomorrow morning. She needs to make sure Josie’s safe. Throw Kyle out on his ass if she needs to. After all the shit he’s pulled over the years, he more than deserves it.
I knew coming here was selfish. My entire Olympic dream is selfish. But fuck me, I can’t get over it. No matter the injuries, the shitty lifestyle, the loneliness on the other side of the country, I need it like I need air. I need the wins. I need the thrill I get when I finish a routine and the roar of the crowd in the stands zaps me up like a shot of lightning, making me burn from the inside. It’s stronger than any drug.
I stand by my choices now. I just hope I won’t come to regret them.
Chapter 4
Lexie
“Push!Squeezethatbutt!More!”
My voice is hoarse from how much I’ve screamed today. On the balance beam, Gerty, an eleven-year-old with tremendous potential, is trying to perfect her routine before her competition in two weeks. However, today doesn’t seem to be her day.
Welcome to the club.
She lands her acro series on shaky legs, arms flailing.
“Fight! Fight for it!”
She does as she’s asked, tightening every muscle in her body and succeeding in staying upright by sheer determination alone.
“Good.” I watch with my arms crossed as she resumes her motions. Sweat is curling the dark hair at her nape, and her lips are pressed in a tight line. “You can do it. Point that foot!”
I wish I could say I was a sweet, quiet coach, but the truth is, I don’t think that exists in the world of gymnastics. We only know loud and extra loud. Andy was always rough on me, but his tough love brought me to where I am now, as much as I wanted to wring his neck every time he put me through an extra set of burpees after I’d missed a landing or a skill.
Still, I don’t think I’m that bad all the time. Poor Gerty and her teammates caught me in a mood, and they have nothing to do with it. No, that would be my mother, who never answered my seven calls this morning and afternoon. Clearly, she didn’t mean it when she promised to stay in touch.
“Tighter!” I shout once more as she goes from her handspring to her dismount.
She lands on her foot at the wrong angle, but she does everything in her power to stick it, no matter how much her eyes scream in pain.
She’s a fighter. I’d recognize that look anywhere. How many times have I battled through pain to make a landing or to get through a routine with a competitive score?
I walk to her with my hands up in the air. “Good job,” I say.
She returns my high five but doesn’t smile. “I was all over the place.”
I don’t want to lie to her and say she’s wrong, because she’s not. I wouldn’t be a proper coach if I told her whatever she wanted to hear. Instead, I put a hand on her shoulder and say, “We all have harder days, but you gave it your all, and that’s good enough for me. Tomorrow, we start from scratch. Good?”
