Return to You (Letters to Nowhere #3)(7)

I flop down onto my bed. “She’s at practice, Dad.”

“Are you coaching right now? Do you think you could do me a favor and watch her workout today? Just in case there are any issues.”

Probably if anybody but Dad had asked me this, I wouldn’t feel the surge of anger I’m feeling at the moment. “I don’t think Nina would be too happy about that.”

Eventually, I end up telling him I’ll try to make it over to the gym in a little while, before making up an excuse to get off the phone. Of course I’m gonna check on her if he thinks it’s important, but I’d rather not let him know how compliant I can be.

I push myself up off the bed again and a wave of dizziness hits me so hard I have to grip the bedpost to keep from falling over.

“Dude, you look like shit,” TJ says.

That’s exactly how I feel. “Thanks.” I shake my head, attempting to stop the room from spinning, but of course that only makes it worse. “I’ve been ordered to spy on Karen’s practice.”

TJ presses a hand against my chest, pushing me back down onto the bed. “Stay here. I heard you tell Karen you were gonna rest. I’ll watch practice. That crazy lady told me to anyway, so…”

“You sure you don’t mind?” I’m not up for arguing.

“It’s no problem.”

Right before I allow my eyes to close, I search for the video of Karen’s bar routine on my phone. Even though I know it’s coming, I flinch the second she peels off the bar, right before smacking her head into it. And damn, TJ really did move fast to snatch her out of thin air practically. She would have had a broken arm for sure, if not worse, had he not come to her rescue.

I lift the covers up to my shoulders and fall into a restless sleep.





CHAPTER FOUR

~KAREN~





“Why the hell is TJ’s ass planted in the bleachers like he’s never going to leave?” Stevie whispers over the chalk bowl.

He’s been watching our workout since halfway through stretching. I felt his eyes on me during dance and beam.

“Don’t know.” I reposition my grips and stand in front of the low bar. I’m shaking. Like really shaking. I close my eyes, draw in a slow deep breath, and begin the process of releasing it over ten counts. But when I get to number seven, the image of my head crashing into the high bar replays. I gasp and my eyes fly open, my heart racing.

“Let’s go, Karen,” Nina says from her position on the side of the uneven bars.

One skill at a time. You can do this.

I go into autopilot mode and nail skill after skill. But as I’m prepping for my dismount, it’s like a panic switch flips back on and a voice inside my head is screaming: don’t let go. Don’t. Let. Go.

I can’t let go. But the result of hanging on too long causes my hands to peel and before I can process what’s happening, I’m flat on my back on the mats below, the wind completely knocked out of me.

I don’t move until I can feel air entering my lungs again. This fall wasn’t like earlier, where everything shifted into slow motion and I could foresee the coming danger. Slowly, I pull myself up to a sitting position, to find that both Nina and Stevie have moved closer.

“Sorry,” I say instinctively.

Nina’s face is calm, but there’s something in her eyes that indicates she may have had a concerned moment of her own. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” I roll out my neck, give my arms a shake, and then I’m up on my feet again. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” she says with a nod. And because she’s not lecturing or ignoring me, I can assume that she’d been satisfied with my bar routine. At least up until the dismount. More like the not-dismount.

Stevie’s studying me as I walk over to the chalk bowl, but Nina calls her up to the bars before she can say anything. My gaze is glued to the chalk bowl—I’m not in the mood to make eye contact with concerned or curious teammates. But I do glance up for half a second and catch TJ letting out a breath and sitting back down like he might have jumped to his feet after I fell.

My cheeks heat up, remembering the breakdown he witnessed earlier from me. I turn my back to him, whipping around to watch Stevie’s bar routine.

“Tighter,” Nina instructs. “Handstands!”

Stevie’s not a bad bar worker, but it isn’t her strongest event. However, she’s really pushing herself on any and all weak areas. I can see her alter each movement as Nina shouts corrections, her leotard even more drenched with sweat than anyone else’s, including mine.

Stevie really wants to win Nationals. Both of us are here training head-to-head with our biggest competition and she’s coming out ahead.

I bite back the semi-jealous, semi-anxious feelings and close my eyes, mentally working through my routine. But the second I attempt to visualize my dismount, my head is slamming into the high bar again. I can’t envision a proper outcome.

By the time Stevie finishes and Nina’s turned her attention to me again, waiting for me to redeem myself from the last turn, my heart is flying again and nausea and muscle weakness invade my body.

I can’t do this. I Can’t. Do. This.

“Can I…” I start to say, grabbing Nina’s attention, “can I have a break? I mean—I need a break. Fifteen minutes. There’s something I really need to, um, take care of.”