Out of Bounds (The Summer Games #2)(78)
After the Olympics were over, I’d get on a plane back to Texas and I’d slink back into my old life—well, my new old life. I’d spend time with my mom, find a part-time job, and apply to college. I’d smile at boys my own age and attempt to date, deluding myself into thinking they could ever measure up to Erik. No one could give me what he gave me.
Freedom.
Just the night before, Noah had freaked out when I took that stage. To him, it was wrong, unchaste, and out of character, but Erik understood that character is never absolute, and it was useless to try to cap the well of darkness once I’d unearthed it.
I smoothed a hand over my chest, feeling the ache there. I wanted him in a way that hurt, and the more I let myself consider life without him, the worse I felt. After the games, he would also return to his old life. In Seattle. I forced myself to picture the women he’d bring back to his house, the lucky ones who’d make it up to his bed. Jealousy burned through me when I imagined his hands on their thighs, his lips on their skin. They might scream louder or moan with exaggerated ecstasy, but they wouldn’t appreciate him the way I did. He wouldn’t consume them the way he consumed me.
The morning after Sete Pecados Mortais, I woke up earlier than the rest of my teammates, wide awake and ready to make some changes. Erik had left the club on his own. He could have stayed, but he’d left, and I knew I couldn’t continue on the path I was heading down. I’d competed well the day before, but I couldn’t let myself feel comfortable this early. I needed to focus my energies on gymnastics for the next five days or I’d go home with nothing to show for more than a decade of training but a broken heart and a bare neck.
If I couldn’t have Erik, I could still have gold.
The men’s gymnastics team was competing in the HSBC Arena later that day, so after I changed into practice clothes and grabbed a protein bar, I headed to the smaller training facility they’d set up for us to use between competition days. It was housed in a building right beside the arena, so I hopped on the first outbound shuttle from the village and took a seat near the back. Everyone onboard was sleepy and quiet, coaches headed out early or athletes on their way to practice. I recognized a few members of the U.S. women’s soccer team across the aisle from me. One of them—a pretty blonde—had a tight wrap around her wrist, and I cringed thinking of how agonizing it would be to get injured smack-dab in the middle of the Olympics. She brushed a strand of short hair out of her face and caught me watching her. I nodded a quiet hello and she smiled.
“Did that happen during a game?” I asked, pointing to the injury.
She glanced down at the wrap and frowned. “Yeah, diving to block a shot. It was a few days ago.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
She shrugged. “It’ll be okay. I should still be able to play in the finals.”
Her teammate beside her grunted in disbelief.
“Are you a gymnast?” she asked, eyeing my gym bag on the seat beside me. “I didn’t see you during the opening ceremonies.”
I nodded. “Yeah, they had us go to a little gymnastics mixer instead.”
She smiled. “You didn’t miss out on much. We all had to wear these hideous red jumpsuits.”
“They were cute!” her teammate cut in, defending the designer.
The shuttle pulled up in front of my stop and I stood to exit.
“I hope your wrist feels better,” I said, tipping my head in her direction. “For the final.”
She nodded and smiled. “Thanks. Good luck.”
I walked off the shuttle and pulled open the door to the practice gym. The place was still dark; apparently I was the only gymnast who wanted to wake up at the crack of dawn the day after qualifications. I appreciated the quiet though, because it meant I wouldn’t have to put on a fake smile for anyone.
I flipped the light switch near the door and fluorescent lights stuttered on overhead. Every gym has the same familiar smell of stale air. I settled into the space, feeling a calm roll over me. Soon the place would be packed with other gymnasts, but for a while I hoped I would remain alone.
I dropped my bag near the door, stripped off my extra layers, and rolled out my shoulders as I walked around the space. Early morning light streamed in through dusty windows, highlighting the row of beams in the corner of the room. I stepped toward them and felt the worn leather beneath my fingers. The beams were old, tearing near the ends and stained from years of chalk and bare feet. After stretching out for a few minutes, I hopped up and eased into my practice, finding my balance.
I loved that familiar tension in my body; I was a tight spring about to pop open, so much more powerful than I gave myself credit for. I stood on one side of the beam and strung together three back handsprings, listening to the rhythm of my hands and feet hitting the beam in a steady cadence. The sound calmed my nerves as I landed and arched back, lifting my arms in a V.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been alone in a gym, not performing for anyone. I was practicing for myself, taking Kira’s advice to trust my body and putting it to good use. I spun on my heel, stretched my arms overhead, and dipped into another tumbling pass.
Gymnastics is the sport with a strong marriage between body and mind. Your body hesitates in fear and cries out in pain while your mind wills it to push beyond what should be possible. The only thing separating good gymnasts from great gymnasts is the ability to overcome that fear. I’d realized that very early on in Texas, while learning how to do an aerial and being too scared to pick my hands up off the ground. I was seven at the time.