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Slowly, he looked in my direction, as if he was ready to body slam me to the floor. My heart pounded painfully against my ribs. I wasn’t sure what I’d done that was so wrong.
“I do not want to see your face until tomorrow. Am I making myself clear?”
Breathing deeper and pulling from within, I pushed back. I was ready to blow, and not in a good way. The Sicilian in me was coming out.
“You can’t make me go home for this. It was a stupid fall, and no one else has been sent home for falling!”
His eyes softened. “You misunderstand. If you do not go home and recover, tomorrow is going to be painful for you.”
This man confused me. One minute he was growling and ready to strangle me, the next, like right this instance, he was concerned and caring.
I nodded. Actually, he was right. “I don’t understand you.”
“You are not supposed to.”
Then he stalked off and left the room as if nothing happened.
Sometimes when the day ended and everyone went home, I liked to come into the gym late at night just to lie on the floor and stare up at the ceiling, visualizing my routines over and over. My body would flinch and jerk as I pictured myself nail each skill and dismount, pleasing my coaches.
Every gymnast had access to the gym with just a swipe of their card, yet I’d never seen any here the few times I came.
In the hushed silence of the night, being surrounded by the equipment was freeing, and it brought a sense of security that filled my soul. No one to yell at me or stare down and tell me how wrong I was. No cold shoulders from my teammates. No side-looks or smirks to shake my confidence. It was just me and the gym as I breathed in the chalky air.
Switching on one light, it illuminated over the parallel bars, leaving the rest of the gym cased in darkness, which was just what I wanted. I liked the obscurity. It was serene and comforting.
A nice little bruise had formed on my pubic bone. I’d had falls on beam before, but this one was probably one of the worst since I’d fallen back-to-back. I iced myself religiously three times, soaked in a bath, and took four Motrin to alleviate the swelling. And nearly a week later, I was good to go.
Walking toward the blue-carpeted spring floor, I zipped up my sweater. The chill hit my bones, a tremble waked through me. Without the heated bodies to fill the gym, it was actually quite cold in here. Once I was in the dead center, I laid down and a shiver crept up my spine.
Meet season would soon be here and I needed to mentally prepare. I wasn’t sure which meets Kova would put me in, but since this year was an Olympic year, elite season dates changed. I had roughly four months to go, then December to June would be nonstop. The competitions were much larger than what I was used to, competing outside the state, and competing against new athletes, mostly younger than me and with harder skills. The younger part worried me the most, though I would never in a million years admit it to anyone. The last few months had been pure hell, both emotionally and physically, and divulging it would make me appear like the weakling I felt I was at times. So I bottled it up and kept my mouth shut.
Just like I did back home.
Expelling a deep sigh, I had to find trust and belief from within to gain the confidence I needed. I had experience and maturity due to my age and upbringing. Hopefully that would work in my favor.
I slipped my ear buds in and began playing The End by Kings of Leon. His deep, baritone voice along with the beats drowned out the negative voices in my head and allowed me to think freely. I was able to forget the weight of my life for a little while without the added pressure of anyone. The music spoke to me and I listened.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been there when something caught the corner of my eye. Craning my neck to the side, I looked toward the light from the door and my stomach dropped.
Coach Kova.
I had no idea what he was doing here. Surely, he got enough of the gym being here all day.
He looked to be on a mission as he strode toward the now illuminated rings, determined and completely oblivious I was present.
Thank God. He probably figured he berated the gymnasts enough they wouldn’t be here after hours.
Wait, I take that back. He only berated me to that extent. I was his punching bag on a bad day.
Reaching behind his neck, he fisted his gray shirt and pulled it over his head. It slid off his back smoothly, like a piece of silk, and dropped it to the ground. I sucked in a breath as he undressed under the muted light. I’d never seen him without a shirt before. Other than an occasional tumbling pass where his shirt would rise up and show a hint of his stomach, it was all the skin of his I’d ever seen.
He toed off his sneakers, leaving only a pair of black basketball shorts on, then cracked his neck, rolling it around in circles. He threw his arms out to the sides, swinging them around wildly to stretch them out. From behind, his golden back was lean, honed to absolute perfection, the muscles flexing as he stretched out his upper half. I couldn’t help but lie still and stare at him in awe. His back was a work of art. Just like him.
He was fucking gorgeous.
I whimpered internally. Only I would see having a hot coach as a curse.
Kova jumped and grasped the rings. The corded muscles in his shoulders tightened and I watched as he began whipping his pointed toes back and forth while he held steady. Arching his back, then hollowing his chest, he had great form.
