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After an endless amount of repetitions, literally over hundreds of the clap and half twist, the gym was now empty and the sun had set. Upon my request, we stayed an hour longer than scheduled so I could start with the full twist tomorrow. I was insanely tired and sore, and I couldn't wait to go home and crash.
Kova walked over to where I sat while I removed my grips and wristbands. He shifted on his feet.
"I'm completely depleted. I feel like I won't even be able to drive home at this rate," I said and dropped the gear into my bag.
"I will drive you."
"No, thanks. I'd rather have an Uber serial killer driver take me before I get into a car alone again with you."
"Suit yourself."
I walked out to the parking lot and climbed into my car. Slamming my truck door shut with more vigor than necessary, the light dimmed and I was encased in darkness, still parked in front of World Cup.
I pulled my cell phone out and did an Internet search of the Russian Kova spoke earlier to Katja. It had been bothering me and I wish I knew what he’d said to her.
I wish I had never looked.
He calls me malysh, but she was his beloved.
All it took was the weight of the word and the loneliness of the silence in the night surrounding me to break down two seconds later. Uncontrollable hot tears streamed down my cheeks while I cried my eyes out against my steering wheel, replaying Kova's last words. His tone said he was sorry, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, but the "my beloved" part was crushing. I couldn't wrap my head around the words he’d said to me or why he even would speak them in the first place if he was calling his wife his beloved. I was missing a part of the story. I knew it from the pieces of their conversation I’d overheard. But he’d told me he was sorry and said he didn't come. People didn't act that way unless they were guilty, unless they were angry and couldn't communicate what they truly felt. I wasn't going to give him an excuse, but it was almost like he was mad and projecting.
I sank into my seat, my body diffusing at the already fragile seams. Bone-jarring sounds passed through my lips, ones I'd never heard myself make before. Nothing made sense. My chest hurt, tight with self-pity, and my fingers circled the leather of the steering wheel. If the light were on, the blood beneath the skin of my knuckles would show just how much I was restraining.
I had no one else to hold me. And I needed something to hold on to. I was too unsteady.
I wasn't sure how much more of this I could take. I didn't need this, but I couldn't get past the thought of Kova having sex with Katja while I was in the same building, or the things he'd said to her. Before this marriage, I'd felt closer to him than ever before and I’d thought he felt that way with me too, but maybe it was all an illusion that I wanted to see. Maybe that's what he wanted. Maybe I was just a pawn in his game. His callous words hurt, and I was sure I'd never forget them, but it was the bite and caress of his tongue that belted me harder than I could handle. Like a damn knife to my throat. He wanted to hurt me, but he was sorry too. I didn't get it and for some asinine reason, I didn't think he did either. I showed him what I was made of at the cost of my dignity today. A terrible combination that initiated a deeper strive in me.
Tomorrow I'd walk in with my head held high. I'd foolishly let down my guard. I had too much to lose, and I refused to allow some coach to take it from me.
But tonight, tonight I'd cry myself to sleep. Come two days, I was boarding a plane for another competition.
* * *
"Adrianna?"
Coughing a few times, I glanced over my shoulder at Kova, who stood next to Madeline without so much of an ounce of emotion on either of their faces. I had my hand on the glass door about to walk out of World Cup when my name was called.
"Yes?"
"We would like to speak with you privately before you leave, if you have a moment."
"Of course."
It wasn't like I could say no, even though I was about to collapse from fatigue any second. The last two weeks were some of the most chaotic and exhausting weeks of my life. Between a meet last week, another one that had just passed, two-a-day practices in between, I was running on only four to five hours of sleep a night.
Kova tipped his head toward the hall. "In my office. It should not take long."
I shot a fleeting glance at Madeline, but her face was stoic. I hoped they made this quick.
Following close behind, I tried to wipe off some of the chalk from my thighs and arms, as if I needed to clean up for some stupid reason. I tightened my ponytail and pushed back the flyaways from my face, wracking my brain trying to figure out why both coaches would want to speak with me, and why they looked so serious. Practices had been going really well and I hadn't screwed up.
Kova held onto the doorknob as I walked past him to enter his office. I shook my fingers out, hoping to release the onset of nerves. I felt like I was in school and caught doing something I shouldn't have been and now I was in trouble.
Madeline sat in one of the empty seats and crossed her legs while I took the one next to her. I placed my bag by my chair and waited. Kova strode around his large desk that was covered in files and papers and sat down. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. My eyes caught the flash of metal from his wedding band. Fucking platinum. Instead of looking away like I had in the past, I forced myself to look at it as a reminder of what he’d done. He caught my gaze but didn't follow it.
"Madeline…" Kova gestured for her to speak.
Madeline turned toward me. "Coach Kova and I have had an in-depth conversation about your progress, the meets you have coming up that we feel are best for you, along with various opportunities that may present themselves based on your performances. Are you aware the National Qualifier meet is in a few weeks? The U.S. Classic?"
