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“What kind of pain do you have?”
“My calf hurts. Certain activities cause it to flare up. It’s like a burning sensation, but if I rub it out a little, I’m okay. Most of the time I just push through it.”
“That was your first mistake. You never push through the pain, it will only prolong an injury. Keep going.”
“Sometimes the pain goes into the back of my ankle. At times, when I point and flex, it hurts.”
He began to massage the tender muscle and it took everything in me not to groan from relief. His fingers were magical. I clutched the edge of the exam table.
“Your ankle is swollen.”
Looking down, I compared both and realized he was right.
“Did you ever at one time feel like the back of your ankle snapped, or did you hear a snapping?”
“No.” He paused, looking at me for clarification. “I really haven’t.”
“I will call your parents and they will need to take you to the doctor to be further examined since you are underage and cannot be seen without a guardian present. Until then, we will massage it and ice it.”
My stomach tightened and I sat up. “There’s no need to call them. I can just wrap it up and I’m good to go. Really, I’m okay.”
Letting go of my leg, Kova placed both of his hands flat on the table on the sides of my hips. Lowering his voice, he said, “Adrianna, I am not going to risk you being injured more than what you already are. This is my gym, and it is my responsibility to make sure everyone is safe and healthy to practice. From the looks of it, you might have a moderate Achilles injury. But without proper medical attention, I cannot tell exactly what it is or how to treat it, and until then, you will not practice.”
My nails dug into my palms as I fought back the tears. Darkness surrounded me. My breathing became labored. There was no way this was happening. Swallowing back my frustration, I asked, “Can I at least ice it and finish today?”
He didn’t answer me, just massaged the back of my calf. It felt heavenly, like he knew exactly how to work out my tight muscle with a touch of his fingers. Expelling a heavy sigh, I wiped the one tear that fell from my eye.
After a few minutes of attention to my leg, Kova quietly said, “You should wear shorts for now.”
I eyed him, but before I could ask, his fingers grazed my skin. “People might ask what these are.” Looking down, I noticed small circles of faint black and blue bruising on my upper thigh. They were close to my bikini line where Kova was feeling. I sucked in a breath and let him continue his gentle touch.
“I didn’t notice them before,” I said softly. “But I could easily say I bruised them on bars.”
Concern carved his sharp jaw. He looked genuinely troubled from the bruises he left on me. “Do you have any more marks?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“I hurt you,” he stated more than questioned.
“You didn’t hurt me, Kova,” I whispered. “If you were hurting me, I would’ve told you to stop.”
He paused, looking at me. “Would you have?”
I wanted to say so many things, but I couldn’t find the words. The air thickened as we stared into each other’s eyes. Flashes of that night speared through my brain, flushing my cheeks and parting my lips. He knew my answer.
Kova’s fingers trailed along my bikini line, dipping a little too far. My breathing slowed. We were in the gym in broad daylight where anyone could see what he was doing. Luckily his back was to the door of the therapy room, shielding his forbidden touch.
“It is hard for me to keep my hands to myself,” he whispered so quietly it was almost hard to hear. “I cannot stop thinking about that night—how wrong it was, how good it felt to be inside you. How much I surprisingly did not care about the repercussions.” His palm spread across my inner thigh, pushing it open. “Of all the years of coaching,” He pulled me up to a sitting position to face him. “The persuasion from the mothers I fought off, the temptation of the gymnasts, then you come along and break it. I have been coaching for many years, had colleagues tell me about relationships with their athletes. I abhorred it.”
My eyes widened, my heart stammered. The fiery heat of his touch only made my blood simmer more as I thought back to the night he took my virginity. My legs dangled off the table, his hands remained on my thighs.
The next words he uttered were ones I didn’t expect. “It is not safe for me to be alone with you.”
“Why not?”
“Adrianna, we cannot get into this here, but you know why.” He paused, then spoke the most devastating words possible.
“That night was a mistake,” he confessed. My lips parted with my heart, a shallow breath bursting from my lungs. “On so many levels.”
