The Accident

by Devyn Forrest

  The Accident

  Denver Athletics Academy

  Book Two

  By

  Devyn Forrest

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2020 by Devyn Forrest

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Devyn Forrest holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  Also by Devyn

  Boys of Crestwood Academy

  Wicked Blue Bloods

  Cruel Blue Bloods

  Twisted Blue Bloods

  Savage Blue Bloods

  Connect with Devyn

  Chapter One

  I hardly remembered much from my early years. I had been taken into foster care at the age of three, according to Karla, my most recent foster mother, and I had always had a strange collection of brothers and sisters, some of whom I never saw again after I had been shuffled to some other place. Depending on the personality of whatever foster parents I had at the time, I was told a variety of things—that I was an orphan, and that nobody wanted me. One particularly kind foster mother, who had to give us up when her husband had gotten more violent with his drug and alcohol habits, had whispered in my ear that everything happened for a reason. That was why I was in the foster program; I was given a new chance at life, every few years, after the people who’d given me that life hadn’t known how to handle it properly.

  The first people who had noticed I had some kind of athletic ability had been my foster parents, around age five or six. According to some story, they’d frequently told back then they had found me high up in a tree near the edge of the forest, swinging around on the top branch with my eyes toward the sky. “You weren’t afraid of anything,” my foster mother had told me. “And that terrified me more than anything because I knew I couldn’t tell you where to stop or where the boundaries were. You didn’t understand them.”

  She had enrolled me in a small gymnastics course around that time if only to get out some of my energy. I had often wondered where she had scraped together the money for that, but it was then that my mind grew fuzzy. I couldn’t remember more details. There had been more well-off foster families over the years. Perhaps this had been the place I had been that had had the cozy teddy bears in every single bed, the big porch that drew out into the yard and was connected to a swimming pool. Perhaps this had been the place where we had prayed every night, finding family and warmth within words that really didn’t mean much to me at the time. I hung onto them as long as I could.

  “You must have had really athletic parents,” was something my gym teacher in elementary school had told me when I had been about seven or eight. “Do you know anything about them?”

  I just shook my head. “No. They left me. Or they died.” I had always said it matter-of-factly, the way my foster parents did. If I remember correctly, the minute I told my gym teacher this, I sprung back into a backflip, and she had smacked her hands together and whistled. I loved doing that—surprising people with my whip-fast abilities and my never-ending desire to very-nearly break my neck. But nobody cared if you had depression or some kind of mental illness when you’re a kid, as long as you had some type of ability and seemed to be better than everyone else. I’d had to learn that the hard way.

  Whoever my parents were—whether or not they were athletic or special or anything—that wasn’t anything I ever bothered with. I didn’t have this weird craving to meet them or read their birth announcements or obituaries. I guess it was because, unlike most foster kids, I had this huge, over-arching desire for something else…to become something else. I wasn’t just an orphan or a nobody. I was a gymnast.

  **

  Like most other mornings throughout my life, I woke up on that Saturday afternoon, the day of the mid-semester competition, without really knowing where I was, or who I was, or what was going on. I stared up at the stark white ceiling and felt this immense pain. The pain felt like it was far away—disconnected from me—like an ache that started at the base of my neck and stretched over my skull like a blanket.

  My eyelashes fluttered for a few seconds. It felt like the reality of this situation was about to punch me in the face, like—hey dumbass! There’s some shit you should know! But just then, I was in this cozy in-between, like a newborn baby who was just about to open up that juicy red mouth and let out its first wail.

  “She’s awake!”

  It was a voice I knew very well. I tried to yank my head up to meet it, but at that point, the dull pain wrapped itself around my neck and my head and made me see the color red, with little white spots. “Fuck…” I moaned.

  Chloe, my roommate and first and only best friend in my life, appeared at my bedside. The smell of chlorine wafted off her, and her greenish blonde hair hung in strings down her shoulders. She wore a sweatshirt with an old college team’s name stitched across it, along with a pair of sweats. She hadn’t put on a stitch of makeup, which was unlike her. She’d been the one to teach me how to lean into my girly side.

  “Oh my god, Rooney,” she said, sounding panicked. “I thought you weren’t going to wake up. The doctor freaked me out. I mean, I wasn’t supposed to hear what he said, but I heard him talking to Coach Jonathon about you potentially not being able to perform the rest of the semester and…” Tears sprung to her eyes.

  I heaved a sigh. It took a few seconds for everything to flutter back into my memories. It seemed like only a few minutes ago. I had been stationed in the locker room outside the gymnastics auditorium, poised to compete in the mid-semester competition. Poppy had gone up before me and absolutely killed it. She was every bit the rival I wanted and needed, the kind of creature who forced your muscles to do impossible things because you wanted to beat her on the mat, on the balance beam, and on the bars. You had to push yourself, like the champion you knew you were.

  But Poppy played fucking dirty. My hands clenched into fists, and again, I tried to draw up, at least so I could look Chloe in the face.

  “Poppy…” I whispered. “She…”

  God, it felt fucking difficult to speak. I sounded like a half-crazed lunatic, like a person who had been buried alive and was trying to relearn how to operate her tongue.

  “It must hurt like hell to talk,” Chloe said. She lowered her voice like she knew it was like a needle through my eardrum. “You really smacked your head hard, dude. First, it crunched on the jagged metal part of the balance beam—the part the top had been disconnected from? And then you smacked your head on the mat.”

  This was difficult for me to imagine. Falling was something you naturally learned how to do in gymnastics, but I wasn’t used to someone actually tampering with the balance beam—which was something I was certain Poppy did.

  How the fuck could I prove it?

  “They changed out the beam before I went on,” I whispered, just loud enough for Chloe to hear.

  Chloe nodded. “Yeah. Actually, I just heard Theo’s dad, Thomas, talking about it. Apparently, the school wants to keep it hush-hush that the balance beam was fucked. Like—if you want to press charges against the school for having faulty equipment, maybe you could do that? I bet you could get a lot of cash out of it.”

  “Sue the school?” I shook my head. Again, the movement was too much and I winced. “No. It was Poppy who did that. It’s just like everyone has been telling me this entire time. She doesn’t care what she has to do to get me out of her way. She doesn’t care if I could have been paralyzed. And she doesn’t care if…”

  Suddenly, I
forced myself up this time. I gazed at Chloe, incredulous, as she’d actually begun to cry fully, now.

  Chloe’s cheeks reddened. She let her shoulders fall and said, “I’m sorry. I just lost it seeing you spread out like that, and when they came to take you away on the stretcher. I basically couldn’t deal. The only person who really said the right thing was Max. He ran to me so fast, Rooney. You’ve never seen anyone run up those steps so fast. And he wrapped his arms around me while I cried. I realized that for the first time, I was frightened that I had lost you.

  For just a moment, I let my hatred for Poppy fade away. I squeezed Chloe’s hand and said, “I’m not going to leave you. Not if I can help it. And of course, Max loves you! That whole incident with the photos that Poppy took? I think it almost killed him. He doesn’t want to be without you, either.”

  Of course, Poppy had made it her mission to try to get between Chloe and I. We’d overrode it, but not without a bump in the road and a terrible fight.

  “Thanks for saying that. He’s the first guy I’ve ever really liked. And I’ve spent my whole life thinking I’m just this damn ugly duckling who doesn’t deserve anything or could never get a guy. Not like Poppy. And not like you.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered across her cheeks. I reached for her hand and squeezed hard. “Hey. I don’t want to hear you ever talk about yourself like that again. Do you understand?”

  She gave me a half-grin and nodded. “Whatever you say, I’m just glad you’re awake.”

  “And another thing…” I stammered. I tried to make myself sound terribly serious. “It’s your birthday, and we haven’t even celebrated yet! What the hell. Get me out of this hospital bed right now…”

  Chloe let out a laugh and another tear rolled down her cheek. “Don’t be stupid. I’m spending my entire birthday right here with you, idiot. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

  I had no idea what I had done right in my life to have Chloe as a friend. She spent the rest of that hour perched up in the hospital bed with me, making little jokes. I leaned my head on her shoulder and said, “Tell the story of our time at the Olympics, Chloe…”

  “The story of us going to the Olympics? Are you sure?” Chloe said giggling. “Well, the story is one where me and you, along with the hottest, most intelligent and best athletes, are chosen to represent the United States of America in Paris, France. We will arrive in Paris stronger, faster and more flexible than we have ever been. And every single athlete from across the world will fear us.”

  “And then, we’ll all win the gold medal,” I whispered, thinking again about Theo’s dad’s endless number of medals from his days at the top of his gymnastics game. “And everyone will say our name, in every little town from the Northeast to the Southwest, to Florida, even…”

  “Even Florida?” Chloe cackled.

  “Yes.”

  In the middle of our little fantasy, there was a knock at the door. Chloe scrambled up from my bed and hopped toward it. She glanced back and said, “Do you want me to open it? Maybe it’s your doctor.”

  “They just barge in if they’re doctors, don’t they?” I asked.

  Chloe shrugged. She gripped the handle and turned it slowly. The first thing I saw in the crack of the door was bright flowers—a bouquet of red roses, bursting out like a firework and blocking whoever was holding them. Chloe’s face was difficult to read.

  “Oh. I guess you have even more visitors,” she said. She drew the door wider.

  Then, three boys appeared—like characters out of a book, heroes coming to save you. Theo, holding the roses, his dark blonde curls tossing just above his shoulders and his blue eyes glistening, yet somber with worry; Clinton, looking angry and volatile, his shoulders thick and rolled back; then, there was Zed—the tall runner, with a bright smile and green eyes that almost always seemed to show that he was up to something.

  “Hey Rooney,” Theo said. “Looks like you’re alive against all the odds.”

  Chapter Two

  I gave each of the boys a confused smile and arched my brow. The sheets felt all scratchy around me, and I was conscious for the first time that I was wearing just a hospital gown. Guaranteed, my hair was a disaster from the pillow. I reached up to feel for the first time that I had a bandage wrapped around the base of my neck, where I guess I had smacked hard on the metal part of the balance beam.

  Chloe clipped the door closed behind them. Nobody spoke right away. All I could think about was the last time I had been with all of them back at Theo’s estate. Theo and Zed and I had hooked up in the bathroom—god, that was fucking hot—and then Clinton had barged in and everyone had called me a slut. Seconds later, I’d rushed into the darkness of the chilly Colorado mountains and had had to call Jeanine, my previous trainer, to come save me.

  Finally, I said, “Disappointing that I lived through it?”

  Zed laughed, which actually broke the spell. He still wore his track uniform, which he had raced in earlier that day, and a medal hung around his neck. He was the fastest runner in his age bracket—both Nationally and, I had heard, world-wide, and it was almost like distance under his feet didn’t matter at all. He could get anywhere quickly.

  Zed sat at the edge of my bed and squeezed my ankle beneath the blankets. “Don’t feel bad for yourself, Rooney. You gave this school something more to talk about than their own selfish feelings. That’s something, right?”

  Theo eased around him and passed the flowers to me. It occurred to me that this was the first time anyone had ever actually given me flowers. My heart fluttered in my throat. These boys—they were cruel, they were opportunistic, but there was something about what had happened to me that had drawn them into my hospital room. Despite their arrogance, it was obvious they were worried about me.

  “I’ve never seen anyone take a fall like that,” Theo said. “What got into you up there?”

  “That balance beam was broken. There was something wrong with it. And I guess I just didn’t know what to do when I saw that the top part had fallen to the floor…” I said, my nostrils flared. I inhaled the thick scent of roses and let out a small sigh. “Thank you. They’re beautiful. And you don’t even have to use them for my funeral.”

  “Although they would make killer funeral flowers…” Clinton offered.

  “Thanks, Clint,” I said. I giggled, feeling my cheeks flush crimson.

  “Listen, Rooney,” Theo started. His face was stoic and kind of pale. “It was really fucked up what happened to you. The school is talking about how afraid they are you might be pressing charges and I don’t think it’s a bad idea, honestly. I can’t even imagine what the outcome could have been—a broken neck for one. Your entire career would have been over, just because of a fucked-up balance beam?”

  Nobody spoke for a moment. I wanted to make some kind of joke, anything to switch the emotion around, but the truth was, I was terrified and I didn’t know how to overcome it. I scooted higher on the pillow and watched as the boys grew even more uncomfortable. What had gotten into them, wanting to come console me?

  “You heard Poppy talking about it, didn’t you?” I said then. I surprised myself with how forward I was, but I didn’t exactly have anything to lose, did I?

  Again, Theo and the boys glanced at each other. Clinton shrugged and said, “Nobody knows for sure what happened.”

  “I do,” I stammered and looked at the three of them.

  “Sure. But if you don’t want to press charges, and you don’t want to tell anyone what Poppy is up to—then what?” Theo asked.

  “I—I’m going to make her pay for what she did. One way or another,” I said. My voice was low and gritty. “She’s going to think about this day as the last day she had any kind of control over me. And I’m not going to do it in a dirty way. I’m not going to fucking try to break her neck. But I’m going to destroy her. Little by little.”

  Zed gave a little shrug. “That’s the spirit! Team building, done in Denver Athletics style. I love it. Love the attitud
e. Should we all go in on high-fives?”

  I couldn’t help it. I broke into laughter again, almost wanting to take it all back. It wasn’t like I could do anything to stop Poppy without getting well again, and it felt vaguely idiotic to sit there in my hospital gown and threaten her. I rolled my eyes and whispered, “I know. I sound so stupid. Whatever.”

  “It’s been a long fucking day,” Clinton offered. He wasn’t ordinarily the kind voice of reason, not in any respect, but he now stepped in front of the other two boys and gripped my wrist. His skin against mine was so warm, so loving. I felt myself loosen.

  “Don’t think about it now,” he said.

  Suddenly, the door creaked open again. All of us turned quickly to see Thomas Everton step into the room. He was Theo, but just twenty-something years older than him, with calm eyes that were now fixed on me. Clinton brought his hand off of my wrist, and Zed stood up quickly, as though what they were doing was against the rules.