by R.S. Grey
“I’ve got it, I’m pretty good at it,” I insisted, clutching the roll.
He smirked and worked the roll out of my hand. “I’m better.”
I shook my head and laughed. His confidence—no, arrogance—really knew no bounds.
“Or so you think.”
I saw his brow arch with amusement just before he stepped closer to the vault. His height made it so his hips were level with mine and with my knee bent, he was nearly standing between my legs. I inhaled a shaky breath. I should have scooted farther back against the vault, put a little distance between us, but I wasn’t going to be the first to retreat.
He didn’t ask before he took my ankle in his palm. His hand was massive and I knew if he closed his fist, his fingers would touch around my ankle. He unwound the pre-wrap I’d just taken my time securing in place and tossed it aside to start fresh. He ran his finger along the back of my Achilles, forcing me to flex my foot to ensure the wrap was in the right spot.
“I usually like to—”
His eyes sliced up to me, warning me to stop while I was ahead. I sighed and leaned back on the vault, letting him do as he pleased.
“Right. Just keep doing what you’re doing, then.”
He chuckled, smooth and low. “Was planning on it.”
I shook my head. “You know, if you weren’t my coach, I’d say you were kind of an asshole.”
He paused and glanced up from beneath his dark lashes. “But since I am your coach…”
His blue eyes seared into me and my stomach dipped. From a distance, his eyes looked like a simple, solid blue, but up close I could see that wasn’t the case; there was a dark blue ring around the iris, darkening the cerulean blue to something more intriguing. His eyes were so gravitational, I had to resist the urge to bend closer and get an ever better look at them.
Instead, I turned away. “I’ll just think it then.”
He laughed and tossed the pre-wrap aside. I handed him my role of athletic tape and his fingers brushed mine. The proximity was unsettling. I’d been this close to dozens of coaches over the years and I’ve never thought anything of it. Yet sitting there, letting Erik wrap my ankle felt charged and intimate, and the more I thought about it, the worse it became. My cheeks flushed as his hand cradled my calf. He wound the tape around and around and I prayed he would finish soon.
“Well if it helps you train, you can think whatever you’d like,” he countered. “I only care about results.”
I nodded, unsure of my next move.
“What were you listening to?” he asked, as if sensing my awkwardness.
“Oh,” I said, reaching for my forgotten MP3 player. “A little bit of everything. It’s my pre-workout playlist.”
“A little bit of everything, huh? What was playing before I got here?”
I pulled up the playlist and hit play on the first song. He angled his ear to me and I reached forward to slip the earbud in for him. For a few seconds, I sat and watched him listening to the song, hoping he’d like it.
A slow-spreading smile overtook lips. “The Lumineers.”
I grinned. “Bingo.”
He handed me back the earbud. “I saw them at ACL a few years back.”
“Really? I wish I could have been there.”
He smiled. “It was a good show.”
I nodded in agreement. “Seattle to Austin is pretty far to travel for good music though.”
He shrugged and tossed the tape aside, finished. “I was down visiting my mom.”
I nodded. Of course. I’d forgotten he had a connection to the city.
He stepped back and assessed my ankle. I took a deep breath, aware for the first time that the air had been spiked with his body wash; when he’d stepped away, he’d taken the scent with him.
“Come to me from now on when you want it wrapped. It’s too close to Rio to risk fucking it up.”
I liked the way he said that word: no apologies, no remorse.
I hopped off the vault and tested out the tape. It felt ten times better than when I did it myself, but I would never admit that to him.
“Not bad,” I smiled.
He hid his smirk as he turned and walked away.
I joined the other girls at the bars. They were ahead of me, standing around the chalk bucket and fixing their grips—well, everyone but June. She was on the other side of the mat, chalking her grips at a separate bucket.
“How’s the ankle?” Lexi asked with a knowing smile.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine.”
“You know, I had to wrap my ankle this morning as well and Coach Winter didn’t bother helping me.”
I kept my focus on my grips. “You should ask him to help next time, maybe he thinks you’re better at it than I am.”
Molly snorted. “You’re delusional.”
She and Rosie walked off to take the bars first and I hung back with Lexi. She nudged my shoulder and tilted her head to where Erik was working with June at another set of bars. He held her arms above her head and swept them down, showing her what form to take her for dismount. “You know he used to compete.”
I nodded. “Most coaches were gymnasts at one point.”
She shook her head. “He didn’t just compete, he made it all the way to the Olympics and quit just after trials.”
“Really?” I watched him step back from the mat and wave June onto the bars. He was focused on her, his eyes narrowed, his coaching face in place. “Was he injured or something?”
She shrugged. “No one knows for sure. He never did an interview about it or anything. He’s pretty much stayed out of the spotlight ever since.”
Weird.
“After he quit, he disappeared for a while and then popped up in Seattle to open this gym. He was only nineteen at the time. Crazy, right?”
I nodded, mesmerized by the missing parts of Lexi’s story. Why would he quit right before the Olympics? How could a nineteen-year-old afford to start his own business?
June dismounted from the high bar, stuck her landing, and squealed.
Erik clapped. “Great, June. Did you feel how fast that last twist was? It needs be like that every time.”
June nodded gleefully before turning to us. Her expression changed quickly, turning supercilious. She sauntered off the mat and walked right up to me, clapping her grips so chalk particles spiraled through the air, nearly choking me.
“You’re up, Brie.”
I called my mom later that night when Molly and the other girls were downstairs finishing up dinner. She’d been trying to get ahold of me since I’d arrived, but I’d been busy, not to mention a part of me wanted to put distance between my life in Seattle and my life back home. I could almost feel normal here, light, free from the pressures mounting in Austin.
“I checked your bank account today.”
I cursed under my breath, annoyed with myself for giving her access to it in the first place.
“Oh?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it.
“You promised me you had enough money to get through until Rio.”
I could feel my throat closing up. I hadn’t thought about the balance in two days, but I knew it was still as abysmal as when I’d left it. I’d counted the drinks at the bar the night before, tallying up what it had cost Lexi to pay for them. She didn’t ask us to reimburse her, but I’d been nervous the whole night that she would.
“And I do,” I replied, pulling confidence out of thin air.
My mom sighed, and the weight of it nearly broke my heart in two.
“Mom, I swear. I still have some cash on me and besides, everything here is pretty much paid for.”
The cash was a lie, but the rest wasn’t.
“They’ve got food and everything for you?”
I smiled, because for once I wasn’t lying. “Yes. Tons of healthy stuff that tastes like high-protein cardboard, and they aren’t charging me for rent, obviously. The airfare to Rio has already been covered, so don’t worry. I don’t need much money while
I’m here, I swear.”
This time when she spoke again, I could sense a lightness in her tone. I figured she was relieved to know I wouldn’t be asking for any money.
“And you know what?” I continued. “When I get back from Rio, we’re going to celebrate on me,” I said, smiling at the image of my mother and me dressed up at a fancy restaurant. We never ate out while I was growing up. I hadn’t even been to a real restaurant until I went with a friend’s family when I was thirteen. I’d been embarrassed to admit that fact at the time, so I sat in silence, marveling at how the price of just one meal would buy us groceries for a week. I’d feigned a lack of appetite and ordered a small salad that I was embarrassed to learn only came as a side to an entree. I shook the memory from my head and turned to look out the window.
“I don’t want you worrying about any of that while you’re there, Brie. Just focus on gymnastics. I’ve been picking up a lot of extra hours while you’ve been gone.”
I ground my teeth together. My mom deserved more than this life. She deserved more than bland food and long, thankless hours. She was the most selfless person I knew and it wasn’t fair that life had dealt her such a shitty hand.
The USOC rewards $25,000, $15,000, and $10,000 for each gold, silver, and bronze medal earned at the Olympics—hardly life-changing money for most professional athletes, but any one of those sums would make an immediate impact on my life, let alone more than one. Plus, if I was smart about it, I could easily spin my success into sponsorships and endorsement deals. I had no limits. If they wanted to slap my photo onto cereal boxes? Perfect. Leotards? Makes sense. Tampons? Sure, I’d go with the flow. (Ha.) I would shill for whatever I had to to turn our lives around, but first I had to win. First, I had to become a household name worth mentioning.
“When I get back from Rio, things will be different, Mom. I promise.”
Chapter Nine
Brie
The next morning, I woke up before my alarm. I blinked my eyes open and glanced back at the small window, disappointed to see the moon through the translucent curtain. A quick glance down at my phone confirmed my suspicions. It was only a little after 5:00 AM. I needed to lie back down, force my eyes closed, and go back to sleep. I’d crashed early the night before, exhausted after a hard day of workouts and the phone call with my mom. Still, I’d regret it if I didn’t try for another few hours of sleep.
Molly was snoring gently above me. I strained to hear any other sounds in the house, but it was silent. We weren’t due at the gym for another three hours.
I could go on a morning run, but I was too sore. Instead, I lay in bed and shot off a few text messages to my mom, letting her know I’d meant what I’d said the night before and further assuring her that practice was running smoothly and I was having fun. I attached a few photos I’d taken of the property and the house. I knew she’d beg me for more details, but it was enough to sustain her until I got another chance to call her.
After that, I tried to roll over and fall back asleep, but it was hopeless. I’d already had eight hours and I was antsy to get up and move around.
“Molly,” I whispered. “Psst. Molly.”
If possible, she started snoring even louder.
I texted Lexi.
Brie: Awake?
When I didn’t get a reply, I pushed out of bed, resigned to spending the next three hours alone. I brushed my teeth and loosely braided my hair before padding down the stairs in search of a distraction. I made coffee and sipped it slowly, staring out the window at the quiet morning. It was nice, really, trees and grass and a baby bunny hopping in the shrubs. Cool, I’m already bored.
I turned and eyed the baking supplies I’d purchased the day before when we picked up a new coffee pot. Flour, sugar, baking soda, and vegetable oil sat in a plastic bag, untouched. It’d pained me to pay for the supplies at checkout, but I knew I’d go crazy if I couldn’t bake for an entire month. Molly had laughed when I’d carried the bag out of the grocery store.
“What are you going to do with all that? We don’t have an oven.”
“I’ll figure it out,” I replied.
And I would figure it out. I had three hours before practice and I wanted to spend it baking.
Without a solid plan, I reached for the overly ripe bananas on the counter and stuffed them into the bag of baking supplies. I pulled my coffee mug off the counter, slipped on flip-flops, and walked out of the guesthouse.
“Holy sh—.”
The morning chill hit me like I was walking into a deep freezer. I kept forgetting I wasn’t in the middle of Texas, where during the summer, it was a solid 95 degrees even in the mornings. I picked up the pace and leapt up the stairs to Erik’s house, careful not to spill my coffee.
Molly had hinted that his house was off limits the other day, but during the team meeting, he’d never told us to stay out. I mean, sure, it was implied, but I pushed my face against the glass window and spotted the exact appliance I needed: an oven.
I angled around to get a better view of the space. The living room was dark and the only light in the kitchen was coming from outside. I lingered there for a few seconds, shivering in my tank top.
Erik was nowhere to be found. He was likely a normal person, still asleep in a warm bed. I walked back around and tried the door off the kitchen. I told myself if it was locked then I’d leave. I wouldn’t break into the guy’s house just to bake some banana bread. To my delight, the door opened without a hitch, and warm air wrapped around me like a hug.
I walked in quietly and shut the door, cringing when the hinges squeaked. I paused, listening. The house was silent. Phew. I set the bag of cooking supplies on the counter and walked toward the staircase off to the side of the kitchen. I peeked around the corner and stared up, trying to spot Erik’s bedroom door. I couldn’t see anything beyond the second floor landing, and it felt wrong to walk up. Breaking into his kitchen was one thing, but walking into his bedroom while he was asleep was straight-up stalker status.
I decided I would be extra quiet, bake as much as I could, as quickly as I could, and then get the hell out of there before he woke up. The beauty of guerilla baking was that if the aroma did wake him up and I was caught, at least I had breakfast to serve as a readymade bribe to secure amnesty. I smiled as I unloaded the bag of groceries onto the counter. I lined everything up in a perfect row, and then started quietly rifling around the drawers and cabinets for measuring cups and mixing bowls. I knew if I organized it the right way, I could make banana bread, blueberry muffins, and a batch of homemade granola before Erik woke up.
Yes. Solid plan. In T-minus 60 minutes, I’d have warm banana bread to share with my team. Even crotchety June couldn’t turn that down.
Chapter Ten
Erik
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
“Fuck,” a feminine voice shouted. “Turn off. Turn off!”
BEEP. BEEP. BEERHRHHpppppppppppp…
I sat up in bed and wiped sleep from my eyes, turning to my alarm clock. It wasn’t due to go off for another thirty minutes, which meant the beeping had come from somewhere else.
A door slapped shut and then I heard a metallic clang from the kitchen.
I frowned. Had someone broken into my house to…use my oven?
I whipped the blankets off my legs and pushed out of bed. As soon as I pulled open my bedroom door, the scent of banana bread hit me like a wave. Shit. I hadn’t had homemade bread in years. My mother used to make it every now and then, but it was usually half burned. Baking wasn’t really in her wheelhouse.
I padded down the stairs, confused and now, suddenly starving, but I paused when my foot hit the bottom stair. Brie was standing on tiptoes on my kitchen counter with her back to me, jabbing at my smoke detector with a broomstick. She was barefoot with red pajama pants hanging low on her hips and a loose gray tank top exposing an inch or two of her midriff.
Just beyond her, I caught sight of the mess she’d managed to create in my kitchen. Flour was everywhere, co
ating the counter and the floor. There were streaks of it on her arms and back. How did she manage to get it on her back?
After silencing the beeping device, she dropped to the ground gracefully and resumed her work with a heavy sigh. She couldn’t see me from my perch near the stairs, so I stood, watching her as she scraped the edge of the bread pan. She turned it over and dumped the fresh loaf onto a plate, and my stomach grumbled at the sight. She spun around and shrieked when she spotted me standing at the bottom of the stairs. The pan was suddenly loose in the air and then a second later, it crashed down onto her big toe.
“Shit,” she said, bending low to hold her toe. “You scared me!”
I cringed and stepped closer, bending low to see the damage.
“Don’t touch it!” she demanded, jerking her foot away from me. She wouldn’t let me get close, holding her arm out to stop me and brushing flour onto me in the process.
I laughed and shook my head. “It’s fine. If it were broken you wouldn’t be standing right now.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Well it landed right on the nail!”
I was sure it hurt like hell, but she’d be okay.
I turned and my kitchen—or what used to be my kitchen—pushed back to the front of my thoughts. It looked like a bomb had gone off inside my house. “Care to tell me why you’re in my house without my permission?”
She puffed out a breath and stood up, propping her hands on her hips as if she was the one in charge. Funny.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she said, waving to the baking supplies behind her.
I wiped my finger across the counter and came away with flour.
“Yeah, I’ve somehow deduced the what, but I’d like to know the why.”
She turned to me, leaning her hip against the counter. “The guesthouse doesn’t have an oven, and a girl can’t live on dry chicken and broccoli alone.”
“So you decided to let yourself into my house and use my oven?”
She held up one hand to stifle my anger and reached forward with the other to break off a piece of banana bread.