by R.S. Grey
“I’m not interested in discussing the past,” Erik Winter said when asked to respond to his detractors. “It’s my job to get these girls up to speed before Rio and bring gold back to U.S. Gymnastics. Everything else is just noise.”
After disappointing showings at the past two Olympiads, the volume is almost certain to rise before it falls for Team USA and its new coach. Here’s to hoping the Pacific Northwest will provide the peace and quiet they’ll need to prepare for the storm.
My father’s comments were news to me. After everything, he couldn’t resist a jab. He’s still the same prick he was ten years ago, I thought defiantly.
But whether I admitted it or not, the pressure to succeed was getting to me. Yes, it was an honor to have been selected, but after reading my father’s words, it felt like an albatross around my neck. Turning around an underachieving team so close to the Olympics was basically an impossible task and made me suspect I was less of a savior for USGA and more its sacrificial lamb. Any failure at the games would just reinforce my doubters.
The sound of tires on the gravel drive pulled my attention back to the present. I straightened up and closed the paper, a sick feeling already fixed in the pit of my stomach.
A black SUV pulled into view in the driveway, and I was thankful for the distraction. The team wasn’t due to arrive for another few hours, so the SUV was likely for my one-night stand, some white knight there to rescue her from the asshole kicking her out at the crack of dawn. I tossed the paper aside and turned to shout up the stairs for Birthday Queen, but paused when the car door slammed behind me. I whipped back around and watched as a driver in an ill-fitting black suit held open the back door and mystery passenger stepped out from behind the tinted windows. I realized a moment too late that it wasn’t Birthday Queen’s friend; it was Brie Watson.
I recognized her from the televised competitions I’d watched over the last few months. On TV, her long legs seemed to make her tower over the other girls, but it was an optical illusion. She was tiny in real life, slender and petite, more fitting of a New York City ballet production than a gymnastics competition.
Her chestnut brown hair was braided loosely down her back and her high cheekbones held my attention as the driver dropped her suitcases beside her on the gravel drive.
She hadn’t noticed me standing on the porch—she was too enchanted by the woods surrounding my old house. I leaned forward and propped myself up on the bannister, then finally, her penny-colored gaze made its way to where I stood, staring at her from the front porch.
I thought she’d blush, embarrassed by the fact that she couldn’t follow simple instructions—last time I checked “arrive at 2:00 PM” meant arrive at 2:00 PM—but the fact that she didn’t seem the least bit apologetic pissed me off. I was standing on my porch, shirtless.
“Why are you here this early?” I asked gruffly, bypassing a formal greeting.
She arched a brow, scanning over my bare chest quickly before glancing away. I didn’t care that I was meeting her without a shirt on. She’d shown up early and unannounced, and I was under-caffeinated and pissed off after reading my father’s comments—not to mention I had a half-dressed Birthday Queen inside my house. This—a gymnast arriving early with a smug smile on her face—was the last thing I needed.
“Is this how you’re greeting all the girls, shirtless and rude? Because by my watch,” she said, glancing at her wrist. “I’m right on time.”
“Either your watch is five hours ahead or you’re incapable of telling time.”
She frowned. “Did you see my email?”
“I haven’t seen anything from you.”
“I sent it two weeks ago,” she protested, pulling her phone out of her back pocket and striding over to where I stood. “See?”
I glanced down at the screen where she’d pulled up an email. It only took me a second to realize her mistake.
“You mistyped my name in the email address.”
“What? I copied it directly from the packet the USGA sent.”
She seemed truly upset about her mistake, but I picked up the mug of coffee from the porch ledge and turned for the door.
“You can wait out here until the rest of your team arrives.”
“What? Are you kidding me?! That’ll be hours from now.”
Her words caught me off guard. With those fragile features and dainty build, I would have painted her as meek, but her assertive tone proved otherwise.
I clutched the newspaper in my hand and whipped the screen door open hard enough that it clapped against the hard siding. She yelled out after me, but I shook my head and continued inside without her. I was too hungover for this.
Chapter Two
Brie
As of that morning, I had $203.52 to my name. I’d checked my balance as I’d brushed my teeth, refreshing my phone screen twice before realizing the decimal wouldn’t move to the right two spaces no matter how long I stared at it. My mom had put some cash into my hand on my way out of our small one-bedroom apartment, even though she probably needed it more than I did. I’d sworn to her I had more than enough money to get by on until I returned from Rio, but I was banking on the hope that they would have some sort of meal plan for us at Coach Winter’s house. If not, well, I might just become the first Olympic gymnast to compete on an empty stomach.
I was overwhelmed, tired, and hungry when I first locked eyes with Erik standing shirtless on his porch. His greeting was cold, his smile was nonexistent, and his body language suggested I should crawl back into the SUV and try again later.
I’d almost been relieved when he’d turned, pulled the screen door open, and disappeared back inside his house. I didn’t see what some USGA intern’s mistake had to do with me, but I wouldn’t hold his cold greeting against him. He probably just needed a cup of coffee. Or five.
“Ma’am,” my driver said, interrupting my thoughts. “Should I take the bags inside?”
I waved my hand. “No, no. Just drop them there. I can carry them to—”
To where? I had no clue where I was supposed to go. Would Erik have us stay inside his house or would he relegate us to the woods surrounding the property? Going off our first impression, I’d be sleeping on a rock for the next month.
The driver fidgeted on his feet, as if he didn’t want to leave me with Erik, but I shot him a flat smile and held out the tip I’d finally settled on. I’d debated on it for the last thirty minutes of the car ride and had decided on $5. It wasn’t nearly what he was owed, but enough that it nearly made me break out in a cold sweat as I handed the cash over to him. He basically had to pry the bill out of my hand.
“Thanks again for the ride,” I offered with a tight smile.
He dipped his hat in a small salute. “Good luck in Rio. My family and I will be rooting for you.”
My stomach twisted as he hopped back into his SUV. His tires kicked up gravel as he drove away and I glanced around the property, less than convinced that this was a good idea. Had the Association toured Erik’s property before making their decision to send us here? From what I could see, it looked like there was only a small cabin tucked into a pocket of woods. Where will we stay? Where will we train?
The screen door creaked open again and I turned to watch Erik make his second appearance of the morning, this time wearing a shirt. It didn’t matter; I’d seen his chest already. It was broad and tan and muscled, and objectively speaking, most women would have found it very appealing. I was too busy mourning the loss of my Abe Lincoln to care.
He didn’t say anything as he walked down his porch stairs toward me, but I took the chance to study him. He was going to be my coach for the next two months and I wanted to get a feel for what I was up against. The small headshot I’d seen on my computer back home hadn’t done him justice. Not at all. He was tall and built, with enough muscle on his frame to make me feel tiny by comparison. His dark lashes rimmed a pair of bright blue eyes, and his hair was as dark as his lashes, an inky black, shorter on the si
des but long and unruly on top. He’d gone back in to put a shirt on, but he hadn’t touched his hair. For some reason that bothered me.
“What did your email say?” he asked, walking past me and picking up my suitcases off the gravel drive.
I sighed. “That there weren’t many flights available and that I would arrive early. I sent you—well, I sent Eric with a C—two emails about it.”
He shook his head and wandered off with my suitcases in tow. I had no choice but to follow him as he rounded the back of the house.
“Oooookay,” I murmured under my breath.
He glanced over his shoulder at me with a hard stare and I stilled. Behind a computer screen, his blue eyes had been piercing, but here, in real life, they nearly eviscerated me.
I’d had quite a few gymnastics coaches over the years. Vlad, Boris, Patrick, Igor—they’d all been on the right side of fifty with thick accents and thicker mustaches. They were as gruff as they came, but I already had a suspicion Erik would be the worst of them all.
“I tried to warn you that my flight was early,” I said, trying again.
He ignored me and pointed to the left. I let my gaze follow his finger until I spotted a small guesthouse tucked into the tree line behind his house. It was old, with a bright yellow door and a charming rocking chair out front that looked like it needed a good dusting.
Erik crossed the backyard and dumped my suitcases at the foot of the porch. By the time I’d caught up to him, he was already turning back for his house without a second glance in my direction.
“Aren’t you going to show me around the property?” I asked.
He waved over his shoulder as he continued to walk away. “Molly knows her way around.”
For some reason, his flippant response was too much to handle. I was the one who was about to compete in the Olympics. I was the one who had to train with a new coach. I was the one who’d spent half the money in my bank account to fly across the country to train with a man who seemed as pleasant as a porcupine. Instead of turning around and chalking up his bad attitude to a rough morning, I crossed my arms and shouted out after him.
“THANKS FOR THE WARM GREETING! IT WAS NICE TO MEET YOU TOO!”
I thought I heard him mumble something under his breath, but he disappeared around the front porch without a reply just as the door of the small cottage whipped open behind me.
“BRIE! Finally.”
Molly’s small arms wrapped around me from behind and I smiled. Even if Erik’s greeting had been cold, I still had Molly. She was another member of the gymnastics team, a veteran I knew I could depend on to cheer me up. I turned around and hugged her before stepping away to get a good look at her. She had bright red hair, freckles dotting her cheeks, and an infectious smile. She was still wearing her pajamas: a bright pink tank top and matching shorts.
“Were you just shouting at Coach Winter?” she asked, reaching around me for one of my suitcases.
“Long story,” I said, glancing over her shoulder. “Are you the only one here?”
She nodded. “Yeah, you guys weren’t supposed to get here until later.”
“Yeah, yeah. Believe me, I know that now. Why didn’t he yell at you for being here early?”
She laughed. “My host family went on vacation, so I had to come here a few days ago. It wasn’t a big deal since I train at Seattle Flyers anyway.”
Unlike the rest of the team, Molly wasn’t flying in to train with Erik for the month. Though she was originally from Oklahoma, she’d left home at the ripe age of 13 and moved in with a host family from Seattle Flyers, all so she could train with Erik. It wasn’t an uncommon practice for young girls to leave behind their family and friends to go and train at elite gyms. Fortunately for me, Austin had more than its fair share of good coaches.
“Erik didn’t chew your head off for needing to arrive early?”
She frowned, confused. “No? Why would he?”
I rolled my eyes. “No reason.” I tried to push aside lingering thoughts of him. “C’mon, show me the house.”
She led me past the small kitchen and up a wood-paneled staircase. The upstairs was minimal: three small bedrooms and one small bathroom for all five of us to share. What a joy morning time would be.
She pointed to the first door on the left. “That’s June’s room.”
I frowned. “What do you mean? She’s not even here yet, how is that her room?”
Molly shrugged. “She texted me last night to get the layout of the house and when I told her, she claimed the only single bedroom.”
“Of course she did. What a lovely teammate we have.”
Molly laughed and pushed me farther down the hallway. “C’mon, you’re bunking with me whether you like it or not.”
I didn’t protest. I liked Molly and she was a valuable asset because she’d been training with Erik for the last five years. Surely she had some dirt on him that would be valuable in the coming days.
She waved me to the second room down the hallway. It was painted a pleasant shade of light blue and the bunk beds at least looked like they’d been built in this century. I carried my suitcase into the room and kicked the door closed after me.
“I claimed top bunk, if that’s okay,” Molly said, turning to glance at me over her shoulder.
I tossed my suitcase on the bottom bunk and kicked off my shoes. “Sounds good. Now give me the scoop.”
She smiled. “About what? June? She’s just nervous about the games. I swear she thinks living with us will distract her or something.”
I rolled my eyes. “Really? How wild does she think five Olympic gymnasts can get?”
It was a rhetorical question Molly chose to ignore.
Other than Molly, I knew the other three girls from the competition circuit. There weren’t that many elite gymnasts in the United States, and even fewer on the fast track to the Olympics. A few years ago I’d started seeing the rest of the team at competitions around the United States. In some cases, friendships had developed naturally. In other cases, they…hadn’t.
“Honestly, I think June is just scared of Lexi,” Molly admitted.
“I think we all should be scared of Lexi.”
She laughed.
Lexi was a free spirit, even by normal standards, and I loved her for it.
“Honestly though, I think after we live together in this shabby cabin for a month, everyone will be getting along,” I continued, tipping a smile up at Molly.
“I think that’s wishful th—” Something caught her attention out the window. She hopped up and pushed the dusty drape to the side. “I knew he brought a girl back to the house last night.”
I followed her over to the small window and peeked out in time to watch a pretty brunette in high heels teetering down Erik’s gravel driveway. As she slid into the passenger seat of the car, she glanced back at his house with a wistful smile. I couldn’t see Erik, but something told me he wasn’t out on the porch wishing her a farewell like a gentleman would have done.
My brows arched. “Does he do that a lot?”
Molly shrugged. “I’ve only been here a few nights, but at practice, he never talks about girlfriends or anything. I always just assumed he was sort of…”
“What?” I prodded.
“Celibate.”
I laughed.
“I wonder what she looks like,” I said, leaning forward to get a better look at her before she disappeared into the car.
Molly turned and assessed my profile. “A lot like you, actually.”
I let the drape fall back across the window.
“Yeah, well, I’m amazed he’s able to get women back here at all.”
“Have you seen him?”
I shrugged. “Yeah yeah he looks all right, but that personality ruined it for me.”
Molly moved back and sat on the bottom bunk. “Did you not have the best first impression of him? He’s always been really nice to me.”
I scoffed.
“He’s really not s
o bad. Just wait and see.”
I didn’t believe her.
After Molly helped me get unpacked and settled into our room, she took me on a tour of the property. From the gravel drive, Erik’s home had seemed unassuming, but the more we explored, the more I fell in love. The property consisted of his main house, our guesthouse, and a small gym housed in an old airplane hangar a few yards to the right. The property was surrounded by forest on three sides and everything was overgrown and lush, green and inviting.
The property lacked a certain order, especially in the yard between the main house and guesthouse. It looked like it still held the remnants of a house party: lawn chairs clumped into random groups, a forgotten beach ball, a grill that looked like it’d seen better days.
“Is that a hot tub?” I asked Molly.
She smiled wide. “Yeah. We’ll have to try it out before we head to Rio.”
“Absolutely.”
After she’d shown me the lay of the land, we headed back to the guesthouse so I could finish the tour. I hadn’t taken the time to look around at the first floor my first time through. The living room had an old, worn-in couch and a few mismatched lamps. The kitchen was even worse: it was tiny, nothing more than a microwave and a refrigerator.
“How are we supposed to cook in here?” I asked, pulling open a drawer. Cheap plastic cutlery rattled around inside.
Molly pulled open the refrigerator and waved her arm in front of it like Vanna White. Inside, there were mountains of healthy prepared meals, prepackaged and ready to consume. It looked like for the next few weeks I’d get my fill of chicken and sweet potatoes. Joy.