Letters to Nowhere(61)

“I can’t answer that,” he said. “Not without knowing him. But maybe the real question is, why does it matter to you now? And I’m not even sure answering that question is going to help stop the nightmares.”

“What will help?”

He rested his hand on top of mine, thinking for a minute. “Maybe you need to remember something else. Like something good with your dad?”

I closed my eyes searching my memory, sifting through moments and scenes from a very distant past. Finally, I looked at Jordan again. “Last summer at Nationals…”

“Yeah?”

“My parents met me in the media room after awards and my dad was wearing his ‘gym dad’ shirt and he had this giant button with my picture on it…” I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “I thought he was going to say how he was so proud of me for winning bars, but he grabbed me by the arms and shook me a little and said, ‘What was that bar dismount? I thought you were going to break your neck.’ And then he gave me the biggest hug and I was totally embarrassed because all the other girls were watching and my dad was picking me up like a little kid. Mom just stood there shaking her head and finally said, ‘You nearly gave him a heart attack, Karen. He didn’t know you’d changed your bar dismount.’”

“You used to do a double layout,” Jordan said.

My eyebrows shot up. “Been looking me up?”

He grinned but didn’t confirm or deny it. I exhaled and continued my story. “Anyway, I’d switched to the double front, and he thought I’d just peeled off and was heading neck first for the landing mats.” I wiped a tear from my cheek and smiled at Jordan. “I guess that’s not exactly a great memory, but I’d never seen my dad so worried about me before, and later, when we went out for dinner, we laughed about it a lot. Apparently he jumped out of his seat and someone had to yell at him to sit down. It’s not like he could have leapt through the stands and caught me or anything.”

“I like it,” Jordan said. “If it made you laugh, that’s a good start. Much better than screaming.”

“Yes, I learned that from Monsters, Inc. What about you? Don’t you have any good father–son memories with Coach Bentley?”

Jordan laughed. “He’s still alive, you know? Not sure it’s legal to shift subjects on me like that.”

I gave his shoulder a shove. “Come on, tell me something.”

He let out a breath, letting me know he was only humoring me because of my current distress. “I remember riding on his shoulders everywhere. I was kind of a hellion child that didn’t seem to have any fear of taking off and getting lost from my parents. My mom would be yelling at me to stay close or hold her hand and Dad would pick me up and put me on his shoulders. It’s like he knew I just wanted to be able to see everything.”

His gaze had been on mine the entire time he told his story, and the second he finished talking, I felt myself leaning forward, staring at his mouth. Jordan’s eyes started to close as he drifted forward and then they flew open, startling me. His hand shot out and touched my shoulder, preventing me from leaning closer.

“The second I start this I won’t want to stop,” he said. “I think we have a very good plan, we just have to follow it, okay?”

I scooted back away from him. “Right. Okay.”

He stood up and touched my hair. “Friday…”

“Friday.” I slid under the covers again, dropping my head onto the pillow. “Thanks, Jordan.”

“No problem.” He stood by the door, now, flashing me his best half smile. “Want the light on or off?”

“Off. But leave the door open.”

As I snuggled under the covers, preparing to drift off, I thought of Jordan’s advice but decided to turn my focus from my dad to kissing Jordan—possibly on Friday night—and maybe I could have a dream about that instead.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN





“Are you sure you don’t mind me driving your very expensive car?” Jordan asked me as he adjusted the seat.

“I don’t mind.” I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. I was beyond exhausted from keeping up with Bentley’s perfection–demanding coaching. And the battles with Stevie hadn’t stopped all week since Tuesday’s vault practice with Patrick. Tonight, she did her tucked full on high beam again for the first time in well over a year. And I did five on high beam. My chest was low on the last two and Stacey sent me back to the white tape line, probably on Bentley’s orders. That seemed to be his style. If you made the same mistake a few times in a row after being corrected, instead of yelling at you to get your ass in gear, he sent you back a step to do drills or more lead–up. But if you were screwing up and making different mistakes, he usually would let you keep trying. That was what had happened with the Jaeger on bars last Friday. I kept making changes but just not getting it yet. Until I did get it. Which he hadn’t so much as cheered about once since then. It was all about the handstands, and I’d done dozens of extra bar routines this week all because of those damn handstands.

“You look tired,” Jordan said. “Are you sure you want to go out tonight?”

I smiled at him. “Positive. Where are we going?”