The Summer Games: Out of Bounds (8 page)

Chapter Eleven

Brie

Bringing armfuls of
baked goods back to the guesthouse guaranteed I was officially the MVP of my gymnastics team. Everyone jumped at me like rabid dogs when I pushed through the front door. I even caught an elusive smile on June’s lips when she bit into a warm muffin on her way upstairs, which almost made up for her lack of direct gratitude.

I hadn’t fully thought through my plan when I broke into Erik’s house that morning, and at first he’d seemed less than enthusiastic to see me in his kitchen, but it’d gone better than I expected. He didn’t kick me out right away. He actually tried to have a conversation with me, asked me about my tattoo, and touched my arm as if he didn’t
completely
despise me. Sure, he could have stayed a little longer before walking away and demanding I clean up the mess, but it’s not like I expected him to become my friend overnight.

I didn’t even dwell on his exit; I focused on what it’d felt like when he’d bent low to inspect my tattoo. His breath had hit my bare skin and I’d shivered, though I don’t think he noticed. I’d glanced down to make sure he couldn’t see my nipples hardening beneath my tank top, and fortunately, the material was loose enough to hide the evidence of what his proximity did to me. It was easier that way, easier to push the sensation aside and chalk it up to the fact that I hadn’t had sex in nearly a year.

All in all, the morning had gone well in my mind. I’d had the chance to bake and after dropping off the baked goods on the kitchen table and changing for practice, I realized I felt calmer than I had in days. I’d made dozens of delicious, perfectly shaped muffins and suddenly, I felt like I had control over my life again. Just as I suspected—carbs were magic.

We headed to the gym and beat Erik there by a few minutes. By the time he joined us, we were warming up for our workout. I tried to catch his eye, to continue our conversation from his kitchen, but he wouldn’t look at me. He stood off to the side of the mat and sipped from a thermos. I walked over, trying to continue the forward momentum we’d started in his kitchen.

“Did you change your opinion after finishing your banana bread?” I asked, hopeful. “Was it the best you’ve ever had?”

He pushed off the wall and brushed past me.

“Time to get to work.”

My smile fell as Lexi shot me a confused glare.
Did he just ignore me in front of everyone?

Yes.

Yes he had, and he continued to ignore me through the remainder of practice. It made absolutely no sense. What had crawled up his butt since he’d left the kitchen that morning? When he needed to speak to me, he spoke to the group. “One more routine.” “One more pass.” “
Everyone
needs to keep their form tighter on their dismounts.”

“Everyone or just Brie?” Molly whispered under her breath.

I shot her a smile as I rechecked my grips.

“Who’s up?” Erik asked, clapping to get our attention.

“Brie,” Lexi volunteered.

He nodded and took a step back. “Let’s go.”

It was as close to a direct order as I’d get from him. I clapped excess chalk off my grips and walked up to take the bars, trying to catch his eyes. He wasn’t watching me. His attention was on the high bar.
How can he coach me if he can’t look at me?

I shook my head and jumped to the lower bar to start my routine. My hands hit the wooden bar, skimming across the surface as I transitioned my kip, split my legs, and tightened them together over my head in a handstand. I rotated around and around, feeling the strength in my arms. My first release move was simple, transitioning from low bar to high bar, but midway through my routine, I had a release on the high bar that required a spot. I half expected Erik to ignore me, but he stepped up onto the mat just before I finished my giant. I released the bar, finished a full twist, and reached back for the bar. I could feel him under me and when my hands made contact with the high bar again, I sighed with relief. I didn’t want him to have to catch me if I fell.

After that, my routine was nothing but smooth sailing. I dismounted, twisting for a double front with a half turn, and took a baby step on the landing. It was hardly a deduction, but I knew Erik wouldn’t let it slide. My gaze shifted to him. He nodded, no smile present on his stupidly handsome face. “Now without the step.”

I rolled my eyes and brushed past him. If that’s all he was going to critique then I was wasting my time. I loosened my grips and walked off the mat. If I’d competed that routine in the Olympics, I would be walking away with gold and he knew it.

Through the rest
of practice, Erik did his best to avoid me, so I followed his lead and did my best to ignore him as well. I was content to work on my skills, relaxing into a rhythm I hadn’t found since arriving in Seattle. By the time the lower level gymnasts started to trickle into Seattle Flyers, the rest of my team was ready to go home. Practice was officially over and we were all sweaty and tired, but I wasn’t quite ready to pack it in for the day. I was working on my standing full on beam and I hadn’t landed enough to satisfy me.

“We’re going to head back to the house,” Molly said, heading over to where I was resting near my beam.

I nodded. “Would you mind coming back for me later? I just want to stay for a little while longer.”

She told me to call when I was ready to be picked up and then I went back to practicing on my own. Another few hours passed. By the time I was confident in landing the trick, the sun had already set; I hadn’t realized how long I’d been working out alone. I just needed to stick one more and then I’d call Molly. One more and I’d feel good.

I knew better than anyone that gymnastics was about repetition. I didn’t compete a skill until I’d stuck it a million times in practice. If I could land it when I was bone tired, covered in sweat, and ready to collapse, I could land it in any circumstance. Solid practice and repetition was the only way to feel confident when a thousand pairs of eyes were focused on you, and the Olympics wouldn’t just be thousands. I’d have to compete this standing full in front of
millions
.

My coach back in Texas had lent me his copy of Malcolm Gladwell’s
Outliers
after a particularly frustrating practice. After reading about the relentless intensity of Mozart sweating at the piano bench, the Beatles grinding in Hamburg, and Bill Gates programming at Lakeside, most people take away the notion that one must spend 10,000 hours practicing something before greatness can be achieved. My coach commended me for taking it a step further: it doesn’t matter how many hours you put into your craft if you’re staying in your comfort zone. Gymnastics is an evolving sport. Skills that earned gold medals in the 90s would get you laughed off the competition circuit today. I had to keep pushing myself further, defying the odds by competing skills that had seemed all but impossible only a few years earlier.

I had to continue to push myself if I wanted to be the best, which is why I was still at the gym long after my teammates had gone.

I pushed up onto the beam and took my position in the center. My left foot was positioned a few inches in front of my right. My toes were pressed into my left arch. I rooted down through my legs, reached my arms overhead, and just then, the lights flickered overhead. On, off, on, off, on.

I paused and glanced up to see Erik standing against the far wall near the entrance of the gym. His arms were crossed over his chest. His inky black hair was messier than usual, as if he’d spent the day tugging his fingers through it in annoyance.

“Let’s go. I’m locking up.”

I’d been so ensconced in my own training, I hadn’t realized the entire gym had completely emptied out.
How late is it?

“Just one more,” I said, holding up my finger.

He flicked the lights off again, leaving me in darkness. “No. You’ve done enough. The beam will still be there in the morning.”

I wanted to argue.
How does he know if I’ve done enough?
He hadn’t been watching.

He flicked the lights back on—as I knew he would—and without missing a beat, I bent my knees, whipped my arms behind me, pushed off my toes, and pulled through for one more standing full. My feet hit the center of the beam for a perfect landing and I smiled.

The lights flickered out again.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

I heard him open the door to the gym and then slam it closed behind him.

The asshole wasn’t going to turn the lights back on, which meant I had to feel around in the dark for my gear. I vaguely remembered where I’d left my gym bag, but my shoes and shorts weren’t with it. I groaned and felt around, eventually giving up.

I was barefoot when I pushed the gym door open.

Erik was leaning against the wall, waiting for me.

“Feel good to ignore your coach?”

I smirked. “Great, actually.”

“You could do that full in your sleep. The last thing you need to do is push yourself too hard and get injured this close to the games.”

I rolled my eyes and turned to the parking lot. His beat-up truck sat alone.

“How were you planning to get home?” he asked.

I dug around in my gym bag for my cell phone. “Molly.”

He grunted and pushed off the wall. “Let’s go. I’ll drive you.”

The ride was tense to say the least. He didn’t turn on the radio and he wasn’t offering up conversation, so I stared out the window and watched the pine trees whip past us. My phone vibrated in my hands and I glanced down to see it was my mom calling.

“Take it,” Erik said.

I didn’t ask why he was being nosy. I swiped my finger across the screen and smiled when my mom’s voice filled my ears.

“Brie!”

I tilted my head so Erik would have a harder time hearing our conversation. “Hi Mom.”

“You sound tired.”

My head fell back against the headrest. “I am.”

“Did your coach keep you at practice until just now? I’ve been trying to reach you for the last few hours.”

“No. No. I was working on beam and lost track of time.”

She laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”

We turned from the main highway onto a gravel road. By my estimate, we still had another ten or fifteen minutes until we arrived back at the house—too long to sit in silence with Erik—so I asked my mom about her day.

“Oh, it was good, babe. Lots of work. You know how social services can be. Most of the time it feels like an uphill battle.”

“Have you put any thought into where you want to celebrate when I get home?” I asked, trying to get her mind off work.

“Brie—”

“Mom.”

“Let’s not talk about this right now. What else is going on? You’re enjoying Seattle, right? Coach Winter isn’t pushing you too hard?”

In the gym or in real life?

“He’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

I was aware of him listening a few feet away from me. He was most definitely taking in every word I said, and I decided there was no point in letting the opportunity go to waste.

“I mean, I’m used to mean coaches, but he definitely takes the cake.”

Erik grunted in the driver’s seat.

My mom sighed. “I’m sorry, honey. Just a few more weeks and then you’ll be done and you can take a much deserved break. No more mean coaches.”

I inhaled her words. I couldn’t wait to take a break; I couldn’t remember the last time I wasn’t working out in the gym every day.

“He’s pretty cute though,” she continued with a laugh. “I know I shouldn’t say so since I’m your mom.”

I laughed and leaned closer to the window. “No comment.”

The truck jerked into park and I jerked forward. I hadn’t realized we were so close to home.

“We’re here,” Erik said with a hard tone.

I glanced over to see him staring out through the windshield, sharp jaw set tight, eyes narrowed. He was annoyed.
What else is new?

“Mom, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

I hung up and pushed my phone back into my gym bag. My hand reached for the door handle, but then I paused and turned back. He was still staring out through the windshield, ignoring me.

“Listen, about this morning. I didn’t mean to barge in and—”

He shook his head before I could continue, leaned over, and pushed open my passenger door. I ignored the feel of his strong forearm as it grazed my bare thigh.

“Get out, Brie,” he ordered. “I’m late for a date.”

All day he’d treated me like shit, and now he was pushing me out of his truck so he could go on a date? I hated the idea of him out on a date. He was supposed to be focused on us and our training.

I shook my head and shoved off my seat. “Thanks for the ride,
Coach
. Maybe tomorrow after you bang some random chick you’ll actually be able to look me in the eye at practice.”