Bad Intentions

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The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

This work of fiction is approximately seventy-eight thousand words.

Other titles by Nacole Stayton

New Adult

The Upside of Letting Go

In the Lyrics

Contemporary Romance

A Graceful Mess

Savaged

Not All

Who

Wander

Are Lost

- J.R.R Tolkien

O
ur lives are mapped out long before we open our eyes for the first time. Some call it destiny. Some call it fate. I call it bullshit, but that’s neither here nor there. Whatever you want to call it, it’s thought about long before we’re conceived. Then we’re born, and poof—the world introduces us to who it wants us to be.

I was
meant
to be an Olympic gymnast, so naturally I was born tumbling. My mom said that I flipped right into the doctor’s hands and from that moment on, I didn’t stop flipping. From the age of three, gymnastics was more than just a sport to me—it became my life. Everything else just revolved around it.

School taught me about our nation’s history and what molecules were, but gymnastics taught me discipline, responsibility, and gave me purpose—all while prancing around a gym—sometimes with sweat pouring off me, blistered hands and aching limbs.

The harsh reality is that life can be cruel—even downright ugly. In the blink of an eye, my identity was stolen. I stopped flipping, and simply became a spectator of my own sport. The memory of that day still haunts me…

With a calming breath, I climbed on the balance beam. Four inches in width, the soft leather material made my feet stick like glue as I maintained my balance on the tiny platform.

Pivoting, I leaped into an Omelianchik and landed perfectly. The judges would eat that up. Arching my back, I prepared to dismount. Within seconds, I knew something was wrong. A stabbing pain shot up my spine and caused me to yelp. The sound of the crowd gasping echoed off the walls as I smacked against the mat with a loud thud.

Devastated.

Broken.

Empty.

My world spun out of control, wreaking havoc and teeter-tottering on its axis. I remember the excruciating pain, the narrowing of my vision, and the heartache in my chest when I was able to comprehend what had happened. From that moment, I would no longer be Adaley Knight, junior Olympic gymnast. I would forever be a broken version of her, and a shell of the competitive athlete I’d been destined to be.

My parents tried like hell to make me feel better, they even ignored their own rules and invited my boyfriend, Mark, to spend the night. Granted, he had to sleep on the living room couch, but it had been a giant milestone in our relationship. Sadly, not even his presence extinguished the fury that burned deep within me.

Even though it wasn’t their dream, we were all shattered in some way. Long gone was the sparkly, peppy daughter they had raised. She had been replaced with a teenager who no longer enjoyed volunteering, watching her dad practice his sermons, or even attending church, for that matter. I gradually slipped into a depression and became my own worst enemy.

If I would have just listened to my body and stopped pushing myself so hard, maybe I would have noticed it had been slowly deteriorating from the inside out. The doctors say that spondylosis doesn’t just happen. Because of a defect in the connective tissues between my vertebrae, every time my spine flexed, it increased the chances of a stress fracture. My spine had been flexing for thirteen years by the time
the accident happened.

I hated the doctors. Every last one of them. I hated the hospital rooms, and I hated my parents for making me see specialist after specialist. And, more than anything, I hated the way the townsfolk looked at me like I was a broken piece of fine china.

It took what seemed like an eternity, but once I finally came to terms with the fact that life had given me the middle finger, I slowly started to accept my dreaded fate—I wasn’t ever going to compete at a national level again. Sure, I could coach, but nothing would ever be the same.

After what seemed like months, my sulking and self-loathing had lasted long enough. It wouldn’t help fix my spine and stop the aching pain that required prescription drugs. The only real choice was to pick myself up—just like I’d done so many times before—and use the lessons I’d been taught. The world was my oasis, and I was still determined to find exactly where I belonged.

The only problem was that the perfect bubble I’d lived in had imploded the day of my accident. In an alternate universe, maybe I wouldn’t have been doomed. But living in a small town where people expected me to rise up, plaster a fake smile on my face, and pretend that everything was okay, was mentally exhausting. I was suffocating while trying to live up to the gimmick that my life would go back to normal.

I had forgotten what my normal was.

With gymnastics, at least I’d known exactly what my future entailed, but without gymnastics, I had no reason to keep playing by the rules.

I’m careful, but I want to be reckless.

I’m cute, but I want to be sexy.

I’m innocent, but
I want to be bad.