Stick the Landing

by Kate McMurray

  “Mostly we’re going to comment on architecture,” Natalie said, looking over Topher’s shoulder. “I mean, these are all beautiful buildings, I assume. I’ve only seen pictures of most of them. But we’re not going to have much time to tour them.”

  “Oh, that’s the other thing,” Joanna said. “We’ve arranged for each of you to have an expert in Spanish architecture with you. We’re just waiting for them to arrive here at the studio, then I’ll send you on your way. I think it’ll be another ten or twenty minutes, so if you want to hang out or go watch Wake Up, you’re welcome to do so.”

  The meeting broke, and Topher stalled, a little hungry and wanting another cup of coffee before they left. He considered heading toward craft services when Natalie hooked her arm around his. “Let’s go see which poor athletes they’re interviewing on Wake Up,” Natalie said.

  A big white sofa sat just off set; the crew sometimes pulled it onto the primetime set for evening guests, and it was soft and comfy. After Topher snagged a cup of coffee and half a sandwich, he and Natalie sat there. According to the chyron on the monitor, Wake Up reporter Nikki Kenmore was wrapping up an interview with swimmer Isaac Flood.

  “God, he’s hot,” Natalie said. “In kind of a bad boy way, you know? I bet he has a scandalous tattoo under his Speedo.”

  Topher chuckled. “We’re just going to spend our entire time here objectifying the male athletes, aren’t we?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Nope.” Topher grinned, glad he had someone to ogle guys with. “Flood is the one who got the DUI a couple of years ago?”

  “Yeah, but he went to rehab. Now he has a gold medal. It’s wild.”

  The show broke for commercial. It wasn’t live; some of these interviews were being recorded to air later in the day, so as not to interfere with the athletes’ schedules too much. It was currently about 10:00 a.m. local time, but 4:00 a.m. in the States.

  “Quiet on the set!” yelled a PA, glaring at Topher and Natalie.

  Natalie mimed zipping her lips, though it was clear from the way she hunched over that she was holding in a laugh.

  Then the men’s gymnastics team walked out.

  Topher hadn’t been this close to Jake in two days. He wanted to keep his distance so he didn’t distract Jake during the interview. But Lord, Jake was just so incredibly handsome. Especially all cleaned up. His hair wasn’t gelled to death the way it had been during competition, and instead he looked clean and put together. He wore the official Ralph Lauren warm-up suit that the athletes were required to wear for medal ceremonies and appearances like this. It was cute: red raglan sleeves on a blue zip-up fleece jacket, paired with a nice white T-shirt with blue piping at the neckline. All six team members had the matching warm-up pants too, which were probably comfortable but looked a little stiff. Nothing groundbreaking, design-wise, but they needed to look like athletes, not models.

  Topher had applauded himself on not being a label whore as he’d gotten dressed that morning, but he’d put together an outfit that was Thom Browne-esque, modeled after the collection from a few seasons ago of suits with shorts. So Topher wore a pair of dark tan shorts that fit very precisely and went to his knees, a white short-sleeved button-front shirt, and a bow tie the same color as the shorts. He had a royal blue cardigan in case things got chilly later, and he’d opted for a blue-and-yellow paisley belt and his Gucci loafers to finish off the look. Okay, he was a little bit of a label whore, but he loved these fucking shoes. They were light brown, but the tongue of the loafer had some elaborate yellow stitching, and a blue leather strap spanned over the top to keep them interesting.

  Natalie looked good too, in a Jenny Packham day dress. Topher had guessed the designer immediately when he saw her. That Natalie also loved fashion was a delightful surprise. It really was fate that they’d been paired up.

  Jake looked over and made eye contact with Topher. He looked startled at first, but then he smiled.

  Okay, then.

  Nikki did a fairly standard interview with the team, congratulating them on their silver medal and asking how they’d overcome adversity to finish on the podium for the first time in twelve years. Topher couldn’t hear their responses very well, but the gist seemed to be that they’d trained a lot. Nikki zeroed in on Jake for a few questions, asking how felt about the all-around, which was kind of bullshit considering Corey had also made the all-around and the rings final. Then she wrapped up and they broke for commercial again.

  “Take five, guys. Lori, the one over there with the purple polo shirt, will tell you how to get back to your van.”

  “Ooh, let’s go talk to them,” Natalie said.

  She was off the sofa before Topher could protest. She ran over to Jordan and said, “Hey, congrats, guys! I didn’t get to tell you before.”

  “Hey, Natalie,” Jordan said. “What are you doing here?”

  “The network is sending me out to see the sights today. This is my partner in crime, Topher. Do you know him? He used to be a figure skater.”

  He’d met everyone at least once now and had watched enough gymnastics to remember everyone’s name, at least. He shook hands with each team member, letting his hand linger in Jake’s a little longer than was probably necessary.

  “You all were great yesterday,” Topher said. “I watched from the stands. Congrats on the silver.”

  “Thanks,” said Paul, beaming. “This is so exciting. I’ve never been on TV before.”

  Lori of the purple polo shirt said, “Hey, you just need to proceed down the same elevator you came up. The one down there at the end of the hall. Your driver will be waiting for you in the lobby.”

  “Can I use the little boy’s room first? I’ll meet you guys in the lobby,” Jake said.

  Lori directed Jake to the restrooms while the rest of the guys got in the elevator. Topher knew exactly what Jake was doing, so he turned to Natalie and said, “Excuse me a sec,” and then followed Jake to the bathroom.

  Before he’d even finished pushing through the men’s room door, Topher found himself folded up in a pair of strong arms. Jake laughed softly and said, “Thank you for being psychic.”

  “Are we alone?” Topher asked.

  “Yeah. I checked. And I only have a minute, but I couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste.”

  Then Jake was kissing Topher, so Topher went with it, opening his mouth and snaking his arms around Jake. God, Jake could kiss. His lips were soft, but he applied just the right amount of pressure, and he tasted like the butter mints the network had in bowls around the studio.

  Topher was never going to be able to eat one without thinking of this. And Topher loved those butter mints. He’d love them more now.

  He pulled away gently but didn’t loosen his grip on Jake. “We’ll get caught,” he whispered.

  “I’m going in a sec. But I was thinking… it’s the all-around tomorrow. Then I get two rest days, and the event finals start Saturday. Then I’m done. Chelsea and I decided to stick around next week, though. I’d really like to spend some time with you, if I could.”

  “Do you think you could get to my hotel? It’s only about three-quarters of a mile from the Olympic Village.”

  “I’ll walk if I have to. Corey promised to cover for me if I sneak out.”

  Topher smiled. His heart raced; they were really going to do this, weren’t they? He gave Jake a peck on the nose. “We’ll text in the meantime. And call anytime. I mean it. I love talking to you.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Jake sighed. “I better go join my team. I’ve got time in the practice gym scheduled for this afternoon. It took us almost forty minutes to get here this morning. Traffic in this city is bonkers.”

  Topher backed off. “Okay.”

  “I’d rather spend today seeing the sights with you and Natalie.”

  Topher smiled. “Don’t say that. Go train and win a gold medal. For me.”

  Jake smiled back. “Yeah? You want me to win it for you?”

 
“I mean, if you need extra motivation. It could be like a knight winning a tournament to win the heart of the fair lady. Except instead of a fair lady, you have fair me, and instead of jousting against a guy on a horse, you have to fight with the pommel horse.”

  Jake laughed. “I like the sound of that. Okay. I’ll win a gold medal for you.” He kissed Topher’s cheek, gave him another quick hug, and left the men’s room.

  Topher tried not to swoon.

  JAKE WATCHED Chelsea vault from the monitor in the practice gym. She’d totally nailed her balance beam routine—she’d executed all of her skills cleanly and stuck the landing. Chelsea was the best gymnast in the field, and Jake didn’t think anyone could dispute that.

  Viktor walked over with his arms crossed over his chest. “Your sister will win gold.”

  “She’ll win the team medal single-handedly if she has to lift her teammates over the vault table herself.”

  Viktor chuckled. “Go back to the high bar. I want you to be comfortable enough with the modified Tkatchev to do it in competition tomorrow.”

  “All right.”

  Jake finished practice forty minutes later and changed into street clothes so he could watch the rest of the women’s competition from the stands. He and Corey had seats in the designated section reserved for Team USA personnel. Jake’s mother sat there now, and she seemed particularly excited to see him. “I’ve barely set eyes on you since we landed, rybkah,” she said, using his childhood nickname—it meant little fish. Not his favorite term of endearment, but he let his mother slather kisses on his cheek.

  “I know, Mom. But you and Dad have been with Chelsea.”

  “Valentin, yes. Me, no. I’m watching both of my babies from the stands. How was your practice? You win gold medal tomorrow?”

  “It was okay. I feel pretty good.”

  “Alexei is not pushing too hard?”

  “No, Mom. It was a good practice.”

  “Will you do modified Tkatchev in all-around final?”

  “I’m not sure. Event final, yes. Depends how I feel tomorrow. If I think I can do it without falling on my face, I’ll do it.”

  Jake’s mother tilted her head. She switched to Russian and said, “Do you think you’ll fall on your face? Did you fall in practice?”

  “Once,” Jake replied in Russian.

  “It was practice. It doesn’t matter. But only do it tomorrow if you feel safe. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Jake nodded. “Thanks, Mom,” he said in English.

  She put her arm around him, hugged him, and slobbered on his cheek some more.

  “I adore you, Mrs. Mirakovitch,” Corey said with a grin.

  “Ah, you too, darling. You win medal tomorrow too. Gold for my boy, of course, but silver for you?”

  “I will certainly try. And I forgive you for favoring Jake, even though I’m better-looking.”

  Jake’s mother clucked her tongue. “No one is more handsome than Jakob.” She ruffled Jake’s hair. “But Corey, you know you are like son to me.”

  “I know.” Corey smiled.

  In the arena, Chelsea prepared to go up on the uneven bars. Like Jake, Chelsea soared on the bars. Valentin had gotten his start as a bars coach, applying men’s skills to the women’s event, which meant Chelsea also did the modified Tkatchev Jake had been working on, and she usually caught hers. It wasn’t even that people reminded him of this; no one ever rubbed it in. But Jake couldn’t help but notice that often, where he failed, Chelsea succeeded.

  Women rarely even attempted the Tkatchev move on the bars, which required the gymnast to launch him or herself over the bar and catch the bar between his or her legs, but it was becoming more common. The modified one Jake had been working on had a twist in it, requiring the gymnast to turn 180 degrees in the air before catching the bar, and it was enormously difficult. Chelsea launched herself off the lower bar, did two turns on the higher bar, and… did a regular Tkatchev, not the modified one she’d been practicing.

  So apparently he wasn’t the only one with competition jitters.

  Still, it lowered her difficulty score by only a few tenths, and everything else in the routine was flawless, so she’d still do well.

  “Plain Tkatchev,” Jake’s mother said.

  “Yeah. She switched grips instead of doing the twist.”

  “It’s fine. Still best bar routine I’ve seen today.”

  “You’re biased,” Jake said in Russian.

  “I’m a gymnastics expert,” she replied.

  “Are you guys talking about me when you slip into Russian?” Corey asked, even though he knew better. Lana Mirakovitch had lived in the States long enough to speak English almost fluently, but she was usually more comfortable in Russian.

  “Yes,” said Jake.

  “Thought so,” said Corey.

  Chelsea’s score was indeed huge, a 16.255.

  “I dislike new scoring system,” Lana said. “The ten, I understood.”

  “You know the issues with the ten.” They’d had this conversation many times.

  “Yes, but why choose system with added difficulty level. Hard to tell if seventeen is good or fourteen.”

  “Mom.”

  “I’m saying.”

  The additive score system was a good for the sport, Jake had always thought. Under the old system, Chelsea could have been given the same score as a gymnast who did an easier routine but completed it cleanly. The new scoring system allowed Chelsea to push the sport forward and rewarded her for it.

  But Lana was old school. She liked the old system.

  “Americans will win gold medal,” she asserted.

  A quick glance at the scoreboard indicated this was a foregone conclusion. The American women’s team was a solid fifteen points ahead of their closest competitor. The rotation wasn’t complete, but the last American gymnast, their bars specialist, Jessica, would have to not do a routine to lose the lead. She could just do a loop around the high bar and call it a night and they’d still win.

  Which maybe highlighted the difference between the men’s and women’s teams, since the men had lost the gold by so little.

  It didn’t matter now. Jake vowed to cheer on his sister and then do everything in his power the next day to make that gold medal his. It was all he could do. He had no control over other gymnasts who might suddenly excel or fail, who might unveil new skills and shatter previous scoring records. He could only control himself.

  He thought of Topher suddenly, of the lost gold medal.

  In Russian he said, “I’ve met a man.”

  “In the romantic way?”

  “Yes. Here in Madrid.”

  “An American?” Lana asked. “A gymnast?”

  “An American, yes. Not a gymnast. Retired athlete. He’s in Madrid as a reporter for TBC. I really like him.”

  “You do not need a distraction.”

  “I know.” Jake braced himself for the lecture.

  “But you should have a future after gymnastics.”

  That answer surprised Jake. He turned to look at his mother directly and said, in English this time, “Really?”

  “Yes.” She reached over and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it off his forehead. “All I ever want for my children is happiness.”

  It was something Lana had said to Jake many times, but for whatever reason, it really hit him then. He nodded slowly and considered what would make him happy. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the concept; doing what was expected of him was his modus operandi—pleasing others calmed him—and he didn’t often stop to think about what would make him happy.

  Would being with Topher make him happy? Who knew? It was too soon to say for sure. Gymnastics made him happy, insofar as it gave him his greatest highs and most terrifying lows. He loved the sport. He hated the way his gut churned before a meet. He loved the high of nailing a routine. The broken bones and torn ligaments and concussions and everything else had not been picnics.

  Who was Jake o
utside of gymnastics? He didn’t know. Gymnastics was practically his whole identity. And that was something no one he’d ever been with had ever understood.

  But Topher did.

  Maybe that wasn’t the strongest foundation for a relationship, but then again, maybe meeting Topher was like opening a door into a world for Jake to inhabit after he finished gymnastics.

  “We’ve flirted,” Jake said in Russian, “but that’s it. And he doesn’t live in Texas. But… I don’t know. There’s something there, maybe.”

  Jessica’s score flashed up on-screen, which sealed the deal: the American women’s gymnastics team had won the team gold medal, and by a wide margin.

  Everyone in their section lost their minds cheering, Lana and Corey included, so Jake cheered along, standing with everyone and yelling “USA!” when the crowd started chanting.

  As the gymnasts started filing out of the arena, Lana patted Jake’s shoulder. “Focus on the competition first. Then find your happiness.”

  Jake couldn’t help but smile at that. “All right, Mom. Thanks.” And that was sound advice. Jake could do that. Win the all-around gold medal first. Then win Topher.

  Chapter Eleven

  “SEEMS QUIET,” Corey observed as he and Jake walked into America House.

  “Everyone’s at the Aquatics Center,” said Chelsea, walking up to greet them. “That Flood guy is swimming again, and everyone wants to see him win more medals.” She rocked on her heels. “Did you know that I can legally drink in Madrid?”

  “I bet Valentin has opinions about that,” said Jake.

  “No drinks, solnyshka. Rest and practice.” Chelsea puffed out her chest and spoke in Valentin’s accent.

  “What does that endearment mean?” Corey asked.

  “Sunshine,” said Jake. “Are you celebrating with mineral water?”

  Chelsea held up her water glass. There was a paper umbrella in it. “I asked for the bartender to make it look like a cocktail. I won a gold medal today. I deserve something.”