Balance (Off Balance Book 1)

by Lucia Franco

  Dad opened the door, flipping on the light switch as he walked in. A quick glance at my reflection in the mirror on the adjacent wall had me pulling back in shock. My face was blotchy and swollen from crying. Hair lay stuck and matted to my face. I was a hot mess.

  I squinted at my dad, trying to adjust to the light, the sorrow in his heavy eyes showed. It was clear he was remorseful over his decision and the way he reacted. The last time I’d seen him, he was dressed in a clean, crisp shirt and tie. Now the tie was gone, a few buttons were undone and his sleeves were rolled up. He was disheveled and worn out, and I knew I was the reason. I’d acted like a spoiled brat and argued with him, something I always tried to refrain from. Usually it was my older brother who caused so much turmoil for my parents, not me.

  “Yes, Dad?” I tried to lighten the tension. A soft smile charmed his face. I was a daddy’s girl through and through, and he knew it.

  “May I sit with you?” I nodded, and he sat next to me, the mattress dipping a little. He moved the tangled hair from my cheeks and eyed me carefully.

  “You look like you’ve been crying, which can only mean I’m at fault.”

  I flattened my lips and cast my eyes down. “I may have been.”

  “I apologize, sweetheart.” He ran a tired hand down his face. “About the gymnastics...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Listen, it’s not that I don’t want you to do it, it’s that I don’t want you moving so far away on your own. You’re still young and the world is a dangerous place. What if something happened to you? I wouldn’t be able to get to you fast enough.”

  My voice softened over his concern. “Dad, you’re always traveling for work.” My words caused him to wince, and I instantly felt terrible for stating the fact. But it was the truth, and I had to get my point across. “What would be the difference?”

  He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “You’re right. I do travel a lot for work, and I’m sorry I’m not around enough, but the difference is I’m an experienced adult and you’re not.”

  I slouched in defeat. “I know. I was just hoping you’d give it some thought. It’s not like I’d be completely alone. I’d live in a shared apartment with a den mom and other gymnasts.”

  “Not your mom, though. I don’t even know those women, Adrianna. You’re my daughter, I can’t trust them with you.”

  I gave him a serious look. “Dad, we both know Mom isn’t the kind of mother to do something like that for me.” The kind of mother who gives and does anything for her children to see them thrive. Joy Rossi had more important things on her agenda.

  My dad sighed. “You’ve put up a good argument and I have thought about it.” I perked up. “I might have a compromise. I have a business associate on the West Coast who happens to coach gymnastics. Let me give him a call and see what he says.”

  My jaw dropped. “The West Coast, Dad? You’ll send me all the way to California, but not New Hampshire?”

  “Not California, the west coast of Florida. Cape Coral. You know, three hours from here? Not fifteen hundred miles.”

  I paused, pursing my lips together. “You have a friend who’s a coach? How did I not know this?”

  “You met him when you were younger, though you probably don’t remember. He bought some real estate from me many years ago and we’ve always stayed in touch. Every so often we’ll flip a house together, or he’ll ask for advice on property. His name is Konstantin.”

  The name didn’t ring any bells. “What level does he coach?”

  “That I don’t know. I only know he’s a former Russian Olympian and is good at what he does.”

  Hope sprouted inside of me to the point I couldn’t contain my smile. Russians were crazy, their gymnastics training even crazier, which caused my stomach to flutter with anxiety. I wouldn’t complain, I’d take what I could.

  Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this sooner.”

  “His past doesn’t come up in our real estate transactions. I didn’t know you weren’t happy at your current gym,” he countered. “If you’d told me your coaches weren’t cutting it, Konstantin could’ve stepped in sooner.”

  Touché.

  “When are you going to call him? Can you call now? Please?” Enthusiastically, I shook his arm and jumped, bobbing on my knees. “Dad!”

  He chuckled at my eagerness, the light in his eyes returning. My dad and I had the same exact shade of green eyes. I resembled him the most. From my dark hair, thin straight nose, and skin tone, we were very similar. And just like my dad, when I got excited about something, my eyes turned a brilliant jade color. Although, I wasn’t sure where the deep crimson tones in my hair or freckles came from.

  He faked a sigh, restraining a smile. “Come into my office and I’ll give him a call.”

  “Really?” I shrieked. When he nodded, I threw my arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. “Oh, thank you, Dad! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

  He patted my back lovingly. I jumped from my bed and trailed closely behind. Once we were back in his office, I plopped down into a studded leather chair in front of his desk. I placed my hands under my thighs so I didn’t fidget while my father got situated.

  And by situated, I mean pouring himself a glass of bourbon.

  “All right, remind me again what level you are. What’s the goal you want to achieve?”

  Sadness crept inside me. I wish he knew without me having to remind him. The man could spout off twenty different business transactions from the top of his head, but he couldn’t retain a few facts about his daughter.

  “I’m a level ten, but I want to test for elite. Find out if he coaches elite first and if he has an elite program.”

  He nodded and dialed a number, enabling the speakerphone. The phone rang a few times until a deep voice picked up.

  “Allo?”

  My brows creased together. A-low?

  “Konstantin, my friend, Frank Rossi here. How are you doing?”

  “Frank, it is good to hear your voice. You are just the man I wanted to speak with actually.” Dad mentioned he was Russian, and his heavy accent confirmed it.

  “Is that so? Perfect timing, then. Did you happen to get my Christmas gift? I sent a bottle of my favorite vodka to you and that pretty girlfriend of yours.”

  Konstantin paused, laughing lightly. “I will have to ask Katja when I get home. Her appetite for vodka is just as voracious as mine. I hope she did not drink it all without me.” He chuckled, as did my dad. “Thank you in advance. That was very kind of you.”

  “How is Katja doing? Have you guys decided to settle down yet?” Dad asked, swirling his glass tumbler of bourbon. As much as I liked hearing him catch up with his friend, I was anxious for him to get to the point.

  “Ah, not yet,” he responded with a deep sigh. “It is not for her lack of trying. All in good time.”

  Dad chuckled and my heart started to beat faster over his next set of words. “I have a question for you. Are you still coaching gymnastics?”

  “Funny you should ask. I am, and I just happened to buy World Cup from the previous owners about a year ago. I was thinking about expanding it, but I wanted your expertise on whether it is worth it or not.”

  “Ah...” Dad’s brows lifted, a sparkle twinkling in his eyes. I knew that look. It was his chance to dabble in something look. “How perfect the timing is, then. Do you recall telling me when my precious daughter was ready to switch to give you a call?”

  He paused. Silence filled the air. My heart stopped. “I do.”

  “She came to me earlier and wanted to transfer to some gym in New Hampshire. Do you know of any gym over there?”

  “Not one worth remembering.”

  Dad’s eyes bore into mine. He raised a pointed brow and smirked. “Well, she said it’s one of the best gyms on the East Coast. But I can’t imagine anyone being better than you.”

  Konstantin chuckled. “You flatter me
. I had no idea your daughter was still training. Tell me, what level is she.”

  I held up two hands to remind him.

  “She’s a level ten, but she said her gym doesn’t have an—”

  “Elite coach,” I whispered.

  “Elite coach, which is what she’s telling me she needs,” Dad said. “Are you elite?” I cringed at my dad’s question. He wouldn’t be elite, he would coach elite.

  “I do have an elite program and team of elite girls. How old is she?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Hmm. She can’t be just a level ten at fifteen, that’s quite old for an elite. Is she training for college now?”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure what she plans to do, or can do. I just know she wants to train at a topnotch gym.”

  That hurt my heart, like a knife to the chest. I’d just told him a few hours earlier what my plans for the future were.

  “All right.” He cleared his throat. “I have a dinner meeting I need to get to, can I give you a call in the morning and we can go over this?”

  “Perfect, sounds like a plan. I look forward to hearing from you. While we’re at it, we can also discuss your expansion idea on your new gym.”

  “Even better.”

  When Dad hung up the phone, I didn’t feel any better. I frowned. It didn’t sound like a sure thing once he heard my age. I almost wished he hadn’t been on speakerphone.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. There isn’t anything I can’t make happen now.”

  Staring out the window, I couldn’t see beyond my transparent reflection as we passed another mile marker. My heart fluttered and a small smile curved my lips thinking about how long I’d waited for this moment. In fact, I couldn’t remember a time I’d been this happy...or impatient, edgy, and restless. I was a wheel of emotions. The knots in my stomach pulled tighter as anxiety swirled through me at breakneck speed.

  I took a deep breath and rested against the cold leather seat, praying it wasn’t much farther.

  Two months ago, Dad had come through and gotten me into World Cup Academy of Gymnastics, which happened to be one of the top rated gymnastic training centers in Florida. With my heart set on finding the best gym, I had tunnel vision after a teammate had mentioned the one in New Hampshire. It never dawned on me to look anywhere else. From what I gathered, Dad made a generous donation to World Cup, therefore allowing me the opportunity to train at the facility. Being a struggling athlete, I was desperate to reach the next level. I didn’t want to rely on my dad and his business relations, but if it helped get me closer to my dream, then so be it.

  As my dad had always said, “You use your connections.” I was ready to do whatever it took. This was the one—and only time—I was truly happy about coming from an affluent family.

  I’d done some research and found out World Cup wasn’t just any gym. Previously owned by former top ranking coaches around the world, it was renowned for its training and ability to take athletes to a new level. The coaches were very particular, elite gymnasts were handpicked, and it took natural-born talent and dedication to be one of its members. Some of the best gymnasts had come out of this gym, trained by a group of intense coaches who pushed their limits with their level of training.

  It seemed like hours had passed by the time we veered to the right, finally exiting the Florida turnpike. Curving around and following the snake like bend down the street, we pulled up to a gray building with dark tinted windows a couple of minutes later.

  “So this is what you want?” my father asked as he made his way around the Escalade. He placed his hands into the pockets of his expensive, tailored pants and surveyed the place as the wind billowed against him.

  “More than anything,” I replied, unable to hide the smile on my face. I’d been rendered speechless while I stared at the large structure before me. This was what I’d wanted for the past year, and now it was mine. Happiness surged through me fast and my smile grew larger.

  My mother stepped out wearing bright red high heels with a matching red dress. Leave it to Joy Rossi to dress like the First Lady. She pulled her stark white jacket tight around her waist, her eyes skittering around, not a blonde hair out of place despite the wind’s effort. Judging by the scowl on her face, you’d think we were in the dingiest place on earth.

  “This is probably where muggers hide at night and bums come to sleep. Of all the gyms, I can’t believe Konstantin picked this place. It looks...disgusting.”

  I couldn’t tell if her shudder was from the breeze or the fact that she thought I had purposely picked some remote serial killer town with no running water or electricity.

  “Joy,” my father warned.

  I shook my head, not agreeing with her judgmental attitude. How she came to that conclusion in a matter of two minutes was beyond me. Deep down, I knew Dad would never have agreed to this had he not done his own research and thought it was unsafe.

  Glancing around, all I could see were commercial buildings nearby and hunter green dumpsters placed sporadically outside. Obviously, it was a part of town where industrial businesses were located—a commercial area—not fancy, five-star restaurants where my mother was used to dining, or ritzy boutiques where they didn’t sell anything that wasn’t couture or in season. Unfortunately, she didn’t see things my way. What she saw were dim colors with no life, and most importantly, a place where she would gain nothing.

  I saw my future. I saw my dream staring at me from behind the concrete walls, daring me to get my ass moving.

  Dad held his arm out, gesturing for me to lead the way, and I headed up the walkway toward the entrance. Grabbing the cold door handle, I pulled it open and stepped inside World Cup with my parents following closely behind.

  The smell of chalk permeated the air and my stomach quivered at the first intake of the aroma into my lungs. It was a distinct scent, and taste, to a gymnast, practically part of our food groups, difficult to explain to anyone not involved in the sport. Similar to baby powder, but chalkier smelling. Muffled music blaring through the speakers, a spring board rebounding, and the sound of uneven bars ricocheting as they’re released, grabbed my attention. It was music to my ears. The kind of sound that got my adrenaline moving and my pulse thumping, beckoning me to drop everything and wrap my hands around the bars or feel the spring floor beneath my bare feet.

  Taking another deep breath, I exhaled, unable to hide my splitting grin. My heart was ready to explode. Finally, I was where I was supposed to be.

  Glancing around the empty lobby, I wasn’t sure where to go, but the window to my right showed a view of the huge facility. It was completely deceiving from the outside...cue the anxiety. Intimidation definitely hit hard in that moment.

  Gymnasts, both male and female, were scattered about, white chalk dusting their skin. I could see not just one, but two floors, three sets of uneven bars, and seven balance beams, along with two vaults. There was also a tumble track, various equipment for men, and a high bar with a foam pit and resi-mat, a huge mat on top of a foam pit used for practicing softer landings. Farther back were a bunch of doors. I had no idea what they were for, but I was curious to what they led to.

  Even my parents seemed to be in awe of the gym, if their wide eyes were any indication. A shiver shot down my spine and goose bumps coated my arms in enthusiasm, as a rush of adrenaline began beating through my veins at the sight before me.

  The sound of a slamming door from behind me shook me out of my trance, compelling me to look over my shoulder. My parents followed the sound and I spotted a tall, fit man. With his hands on his hips, his eyes surveyed the lobby and connected with my parents’ before trailing down and locking with mine, his narrowing gaze holding me in place. All the air left my lungs. His powerful presence demanded attention, and without a doubt, he had all of mine.

  Never in my life had I seen someone so unbelievably gorgeous. There was no other word I could use to describe him. His commanding eyes made me think it was possible he could be a coach, but no coac
h I’d ever seen had been so attractive. Come to think of it, none of them had ever been under the age of forty without a potbelly and receding hairline. This man was solidly built and full of muscle.

  A silent breath escaped my lips as he stalked toward us with power and poise. My heart nearly hurdled into my throat as I stared like he was some sort of Adonis. Dark stubble dusted his square jaw, full lips that begged for attention, straight as an arrow nose. Combined with inky black hair and olive skin with golden undertones, sweet baby Jesus, the man was perfection.

  Crossing the room, he extended a hand.

  “Frank, it is good to see you again.” His forearm flexed, the veins signifying the muscular strength he wielded. It was incredibly difficult to tear my eyes away as he gave my father a firm handshake. He was absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous. Avery would call him fucking hot. My best friend loved to add “fucking” to the beginning of everything.

  “Kova.”

  This was my dad’s friend, and he owned this place. Interesting. He looked like he was fresh out of college, no more than twenty-five max. Dad didn’t have very many young friends I was aware of—I could count on one hand the friends I had met who were younger than him. They typically had graying hair, crow’s feet, and overworked, aging skin. The complete opposite of what was standing right in front of me.

  So Kova was Konstantin. Where the nickname came from was beyond me, but the more talking they did, and the camaraderie I witnessed, the more I realized this was indeed the man my dad had told me about.

  I remembered hearing the name Konstantin years ago in the gymnastics circle. He was one of the most decorated gymnasts to date, bringing home more medals to Russia than any other male athlete ever had. He’d competed in two Olympics and dominated each of them. He was supposed to try for a third Olympics but pulled out at the last minute due to unforeseen circumstances. Rumors circulated, some even saying steroid use was the reason he didn’t compete, but to my knowledge he never publicly gave a reason for his absence.

  “Welcome to World Cup Academy of Gymnastics.”