“Hardly.” She pulls a face and tucks a strand of cobalt hair behind her ear. “Whether or not you realize it, everyone you know is dealing with shit. According to Soraya, it’s part of the human condition.”
“And she’s an expert on the subject?”
“She’s the smartest person I know. Plus, she’s a psych major.”
I nod. Not because I agree we’re all damaged, but because that’s not a path I want to walk. Not today, anyway.
“What about you?” I narrow my eyes, studying her as I consider the words inked on her ribs.I am enough. “What’s the story behind the tattoo?”
Sutton stiffens. “Kind of a personal question, don’t you think?”
“I showed you mine.” I smirk, striving for levity, though this conversation is far from light. “It’s only fair.”
“I didn’t realize we were bartering our childhood trauma.” She rolls her eyes. “Besides, it’s not a big deal. Not compared to…”
The implication raises my hackles, the muscles in my shoulders bunching on instinct. “Like you said, it’s not a competition.”
That she would dismiss her own struggles in light of mine is a bitter pill to swallow.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She tips her head back, exposing the long line of her neck as she stares at the ceiling, hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves. “I’m just not used to talking about me.”
That, at least, I understand.
Introspection is uncomfortable as hell, and it can’t be rushed, so I don’t push.
When she finally speaks, her voice is soft, almost defeated, and the urge to scoop her up in my arms is nearly impossible to resist. “This might come as a shock, but I was an energetic kid. Always climbing and jumping and basically exhausting my mother, who worked full time and also had a toddler, my sister Gabby, to care for.”
I chuckle, imagining a smaller Sutton tearing around the living room like a hellion.
Feels right.
“When I started kindergarten, Mamá enrolled me in an after-school gymnastics program, hoping it would wear me out before I came home. From the very first lesson, I knew it was my sport.” A sad smile curves her lips as she continues. “I loved being at the gym and by the time I turned six, I’d been invited to join the competition team. By the time I turned seven, we were spending so much time at the gym that Mamá signed Gabby up for lessons, too. Gabby wasn’t interested at first and she’d cry every time she had to put on a leotard, but once it became apparent she was a natural, she took to the sport like a fish to water, determined to outshine everyone around her.”
Sutton pauses and though I can see the direction we’re headed, the final destination remains just out of reach.
“Anyway, eventually, I qualified for elite gymnastics, and in time, Gabby did too, her skill surpassing my own.”
That couldn’t have been easy. As an only child, I never had to deal with sibling rivalry, but to share something so important and also be competitors? That had to be hard on their relationship.
“Gymnastics is an expensive sport,” she says, still staring at the ceiling, as if afraid to meet my eyes, afraid of what I might see in those dark depths. “My parents supported both of us, but it was clear Gabby had a better shot at the Olympics and the endorsement deals and all the financial support that came with it, so that’s where my parents funneled their efforts.”
Fuck.
Just the thought of not having my parents behind me one hundred percent is…unimaginable.
“Gabby came first. Her training schedule. Her choreography. Her freaking competition leo.” Sutton sighs, chest heaving as if to dispel the negativity. “It got to be…a lot. Always feeling like I was standing in her shadow, always competing with her and coming up short, both in the gym and at home.”
No doubt. Playing second string in your own family? That shit would definitely leave a mark.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” I take her hand in mine. It’s small and warm and though I’ve never thought of Sutton as delicate, her grip feels fragile in this moment. “No one should be made to feel less than, especially in their own family.”
It’s hard to imagine Sutton letting anyone overshadow her. The woman I know is bold and unapologetic. She takes what she wants, and she gives as good as she gets. The idea of her being cowed by anything is just…not possible.
Yet here she is, freely admitting it.
“It’s not Gabby’s fault.” She turns to me, meeting my eyes for the first time since we started down this road. “Gabby loves the sport as much as I do. I can’t exactly blame her for realizing her full potential.”
Maybe not, but she sure as shit can hold her parents accountable for playing favorites and, come on, surely Gabby could see the impact their favoritism was having on her sister?
