Letters to Nowhere(21)

It wasn’t until he sat down beside the beam and looked up at me that I remembered the horrible Internet research. My jump rope stopped moving and I opened my mouth to say something but couldn’t utter a single word.

Jordan’s smile faded instantly. “Uh oh…I know that look.”

I jumped down from the beam and sat beside him, checking the door to the conference room to make sure it stayed closed. “Jordan,” I started.

“Who told you?” he asked, keeping his voice low and even.

I pulled my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them. “Promise you won’t tell?”

“Won’t tell what?”

“I have to see a shrink,” I admitted. “Not a shrink, actually, because she’s a PhD, not an MD. Therapist is the proper term.”

“Why would your shrink be talking about me?”

“She didn’t—I mean—she had hoped your dad would tell me, and when I said I didn’t know why he let me stay with you guys, she hinted that I should look into that further, so I did.” I let out a breath, praying that I wouldn’t ruin this line of communication. I’d only known Jordan for a few days, but already he’d managed to save me from a lot of emotional trauma. “She said that we might have more in common than I realized.”

“I made you say it out loud, so I’ll do the same.” He stared right at me, nodding his head slowly. “My mom is dead, my older sister, my grandparents, but it’s been a long time.”

His steady hold on his grief broke open a new wound inside me, aching in too many ways to even attempt to soothe it.

“You and Coach Bentley weren’t hurt? You weren’t with them?”

“We were at the gym that day,” Jordan said. “My mom and my sister Eloise had taken my grandparents out around London. Touristy stuff.” He dropped his eyes to the blue mat under us, scratching his fingernail along the seam. “My dad lost everything that day.”

Air constricted itself in my lungs, the weight pressing against my chest, but I managed to say, “Not everything.”

“Right.”

Breathe…in…out…in…out. “So…you were a gymnast?”

He was silent for several seconds and then shook with laughter. “Yeah, I was. Nice transition, by the way.”

“I can only take so much at once, you know?”

“Believe me, I know.” He jumped to his feet, grinning down at me before sticking out a hand to help me up. “Bet you can’t throw a triple back off the end of the tumble track?”

“And you can?” The tumble track was a long trampoline—eighty feet to be exact—that landed into the foam pit. It helped with training tumbling runs for floor routines.

Jordan kicked off his shoes and socks, emptied his pockets onto the mats beside the tumble track, and then took off his long–sleeved white uniform shirt. He stood at the end of the trampoline wearing only his khaki pants and a leather belt. “Let me warm up with a double first, okay?”

“You’re not going to kill yourself, are you?” I asked wearily. “At least stretch out a little.”

“Stretching is for wimps, Karen.” With that he took off at a run, then jumped into his round–off, which was a little slow and sloppy, plus he didn’t even do a back handspring first. Coach Bentley would never let me train a triple back from just a round–off. If I did that, I’d never be able to actually perform it on the floor. Not that I planned on adding triple backs to my floor choreography anytime soon.

Despite the rusty lead–up skills, Jordan managed to fling himself pretty high in the air, and with stuntman–like air sense, he found his way around the double flip. I clapped loudly, then attempted to whistle with my fingers in my mouth, but quickly decided that wasn’t a good idea, considering the fact that he was topless. At least he wore pants today instead of just boxers.

He walked over to me after climbing out of the pit and fake–fell onto the carpet. “I’m so out of shape. No triples today.”

I jumped to my feet, the rush of adrenaline I had earlier returning. “I’ll give it a shot for both of us.”

“Wait…have you done these before?” he asked.

“Um, technically no.”

He grabbed my ankle, causing me to fall over. “Don’t do it. You’ll get hurt before the first meet and it’ll be my fault.”

My skin warmed in the places he touched, causing goose bumps to spread everywhere. I got up again and laughed at him. “I’m not going to get hurt. I’m safe and boring, remember? You said so yourself the other day.”

“Well, you were safe and boring. Maybe you aren’t anymore,” he conceded. “I take it back. Karen Campbell is a wild–ass risk taker. She should be riding a Harley through downtown St. Louis.”

I hopped onto the end of the tumble track, grinning down at him. “Jordan Bentley is a great big ass–kisser with the cardiovascular endurance of a ninety–year–old man.”

He glared at me. “I had no idea you were such a vindictive person. Go ahead and hurt yourself then. Fine with me.”

My head was already wrapping itself around the idea of yet another new skill. This one was more fun and less practical, but why the hell not? Seriously. In a last attempt at safe training, I called over my shoulder to Jordan, “Yank me out if I end up doing the ostrich in the sand move.”