We’re proud of you, sweetheart.
After what feels like an eternity, the conference room door creaks open. Thompson’s face gives nothing away as he beckons us back in. My stomach drops—I’ve never felt more aware of how one moment could destroy everything. Em’s gnawing her nails raw, Coach’s brow is furrowed deep enough to plant crops in, and Todd’s worrying his tie.
Once we’re seated, Thompson clears his throat. “Mr. Hastings, after careful consideration…” He pauses. The bastard actually pauses. “You will be permitted to coach through your suspension period.”
The relief hits like a tidal wave. Em’s eyes light up.
“Furthermore,” Thompson continues, “we see no reason to extend your competition ban.” He holds up a hand as Coach starts to speak. “Your abilities are…exceptional. The sportneeds athletes like you. However”—his eyes narrow—“SafeSport protocols remain in effect until the prescribed date. Stay clean, stay quiet, and the disciplinary review should go smoothly.”
Coach explodes with joy. “SLAVA BOGU! MOLODETS!”
Em launches herself across the room with a shriek of delight, nearly tackling Coach in a hug. “We did it! We actually did it!”
Anna Rusu’s sharp voice cuts through the celebration. “Are we clear, Mr. Hastings?”
“Crystal.”
Gratitude washes over me, but underneath there’s a familiar pull that whispers about celebration. About losing myself in the artificial brightness of downtown Denver, chasing the chemical certainty that used to make everything make sense.
Thirteen days since I last saw Reese, and the urge to obliterate myself with something stronger than winning sits heavy in my chest. Her words loop in my head like a bad song:I think you can do anything you want.
I look at Em’s face and watch Coach’s expression. Something shifts, settles. This isn’t about me anymore—or maybe it is, but in a way that matters.
For the first time, I’ve got something solid to grip onto. Not the hollow promises of bodies or PR or the next big win.
Something real. Something Reese saw in me before I could see it myself.
As we drive back to our hotel, Todd at the wheel, my new troupe singing along to the French house music blaring through our rental car, I take out my phone and start deleting numbers.The ones that represent everything I’m trying to leave behind. They disappear in quick succession: dealers, enablers, all those people who were never people to begin with, just avatars of my worst impulses.
Training starts at 6:00 a.m. tomorrow. Em and the rest of the kids deserve someone who shows up fully present.
Little Fighter
Hey Mari told me you’re going to be able to go to Em’s meets. Congratulations! Those kids are so lucky to have you.
Thank you for giving me space. I’d love to talk in a couple days. Are you free New Years Day?
Dante
Thank you.
Give me a time and a place and I’ll be there.
Little Fighter
My house in LA at 1pm?
Dante
See you then.
Chapter 49
Reese
Rap.Rap. Rap.
For seven minutes, I’ve stood in the entryway, fingers tracing absent patterns against my jeans. Two weeks feels like an unfamiliar distance after months of Dante and I orbiting each other daily.
