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I was always in denial.

I’d put a four down in my journal that morning. It was more like a six or seven.

I knew I should've been honest, but it felt too late to change it now. I wanted to toughen up and somehow make that seven a four. I thought if I ignored it enough that it would simply start lowering itself.

It didn’t.

I was on bars. I was doing the same routine I'd done nearly perfectly dozens of times now. I didn't want to have to pull back from it. I couldn't afford to stop. I needed every minute, every second I could get.

“I want to see you try another Jaeger,” Rove called out to me.

I nodded, trying not to feel light-headed. That was just the fluorescent lights, right?

I fixed my grips and kipped onto the low bar. When I jumped to the high bar, I was seeing stars, but I ignored them.

Pretty, I thought. They were just pretty stars.

But the stars sparkling in my vision were elicited by a sudden stabbing pain in my back and it was becoming nearly impossible to breathe through it like Rove had taught me. The ache in my abdomen also began to feel like the weight of ten bricks was resting against it.

I missed the bar.

And I had to bail out onto the mat. Thankfully, I was able to do it safely but the silence from Rove was palpable.

When I stood up, he was already heading toward the spotting block.

“Again,” he said, and I clenched my jaw, heading for the low bar.

I kipped, then jumped to the high bar where he was now standing ready to spot me.

I did a cast to handstand, still pushing through the blinding pain, and Rove’s hands fell on my hips. He held me there for a second.

“Number,” he demanded. When I didn't immediately answer, he pressed me. “Red,” he said, lower now.

I still didn’t reply. I tried to swing down but he held me back, stopping me from going. “I asked for your number, Red.”

“Seven,” I finally said, and it came out in a gasp.

“Get down.”

I lowered to front support, but my hips met the bar, the stabbing pain accelerated, and I pitched forward.

He muttered a curse under his breath, and his arm reached out, stopping me before I toppled forward. “You stubborn little thing.”

He helped me over onto the spotting block with him and I clung to the bar for a second, my arms shaking. And that’s when I felt it.

That unmistakable warmth.

My breath caught.

A sinking feeling rolled through me as heat spread low in my leo, swift and immediate.

Horror crawled up my spine so fast it made me even more breathless. I wished I could pass out. Lose consciousness. Anything to not face this moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me, one hand still clasping my forearm. “Scarlet?” he pressed when I didn’t answer.

My mouth opened, then closed again. The humiliation was suffocating me, making it hard to breathe or talk.

I looked away from him immediately, gripping the bar harder as panic climbed up my throat. How was I supposed to tell him out loud?