by M. E. Carter
Table of Contents
Matters to Me
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Matters to You Sneak Preview
Acknowlegements
Copyright © 2020
By M.E. Carter
Editing: Erin Noelle
Cover Design: Murphy Rae
Formatting: Uplifting Author Services
eBook ISBN: 978-1-948852-20-3
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. No part of this publication may be stored or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, people – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.
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To Janett, who absolutely would have adored this story and these characters. Here’s to a life well-lived.
ONE
Lauren
“Push hard, Lauren!”
Stepping back on my toes, I inhale deeply, slowing my breathing. I’ll need all the oxygen here in three… two… one… LAUNCH…
“Go hard! Go hard!” My coach yells from the side of the mat, not that I’m paying close attention while performing. One of the first things you learn as a competitive gymnast is how to block out any distractions around you. Distractions mean mistakes, and mistakes can mean injuries. That doesn’t mean Coach will stop yelling, though.
I run five steps…
Giant hurdle step…
Round off…
Back handspring, back handspring…
PUNCH my body in the air, pulling my arms in tight and twist…
Relaxing my arms before my feet touch the ground and…
“Dammit, Lauren!” His loud shout is unnecessary since I’m sitting on my butt instead of standing in a finish position.
I knew before my feet touched down I had underrotated. As soon as I landed, they slipped right out from underneath me, leaving me no way to stop my fall. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I throw it, no matter how many different arm placements I use, I can’t seem to land that fucking double full with an extra half twist. The worst part is that no one in this gym seems to give a shit if I get it right or not. None of my so-called teammates are even pretending to watch. It kind of sucks.
All my life, I’ve lived and breathed gymnastics. My gym at home was a safe haven, the place I would go to for not just a workout, but also social interaction.
Until suddenly, my reputation was smashed to bits, and I discovered that one elite athlete who doesn’t like you can pretty much ruin all your relationships in a matter of minutes. It was a hard lesson learned, but it also allowed me to change my dreams from being elite to joining a college team.
I had this fantasy that I’d get here, and we’d pull together as a team, our eyes on the common goal of kicking the ass of any other university that dared think they were more skilled than us.
Again… my dream was crushed. Turns out, a lot of college gymnasts are bitter and jaded. They put on a good show with their glittery makeup and cheerleader-esque bows. But really, they’re Olympic rejects still grasping at one last chance of glory before the real world catches up with desk jobs and children. It makes it hard for anyone to feel like they fit in, especially if you’re a walk-on like me.
In the beginning, I kept making sure that my deodorant was still working, and my smell wasn’t why people stayed away. Then I figured it out… no scholarship means no respect. No respect means no value whatsoever. No value means no concern for your well-being.
It makes it extra hard to figure out how the hell I keep doing this skill wrong. Somehow, I keep underrotating. I wouldn’t mind just adding another half to make a triple full, but I need the point value I’ll get by putting two tumbling elements together. And I can’t add another skill if I can’t get the fucking rotation right.
Frustrated, I shake my head and trot off the mat to move out of the way for my teammate’s tumbling pass. I try to shake off my lingering anxiety by remembering I still have a couple of months until this routine needs to be perfected. The season doesn’t even start until after the New Year, so it’ll be second nature by then, right?
Right. Keep telling yourself that, Lauren. Don’t freak out. Don’t get frustrated. Concentrate.
Using the techniques I learned in therapy to calm my anxiety, I take some deep breaths and remind myself that doing the skill wrong isn’t a reflection of who I am as a person. This is just a small challenge to overcome. The best course of action is to figure out where the glitch is and fix it. Easier said than done.
“Lauren.”
I look over at my coach, who is stalking toward me. He’s not happy about my lack of progress with this skill. We’ve only been working on it for a couple of weeks, but we should have moved on to adding the connection by now. Putting my hands on my hips, I continue with my deep breaths, pretending it’s from exertion and not nerves while he’s talking to me. Or berating me. I briefly wonder which it will be.
“Lauren, we’ve talked about this.” Berating it is. “You’re underrotating because you’re loosening up too quickly. You need to let your arms tighten up a bit longer. Do we need to do this on the trampoline again?”
I shake my head. “No, Coach. I’ll get it. I can stay late and do it a few more times if I need to.”
He shakes his head and I know what he’s going to say before he does. “You know that’s not an option. We’re capped at twenty hours a week, and I’m not going to lose my accreditation because you can’t land this skill.”
I nod and look to the floor, biting back the sting of his words. He’s right. The NCAA doesn’t play, and if they say we can’t practice more than twenty hours a week, including we
ights and endurance training, that’s final. I can always try to sneak in some practice time at the local private gym, but if Coach caught me, I would be in serious trouble.
“Listen.” His eyes soften a bit as he moves closer. For all his military-like instruction, Coach also knows how badly I want this. I’m the lone walk-on athlete. The only person on this twenty-four-member team who is here because I convinced him to give me a shot. I’m the only person who comes in every day because I want to be here, not because my scholarship dictates I have to. He knows I want to go beyond proving I can hang with the big dogs. “You have a little time before we have to change up the routine.”
I wince. That’s the last thing I want to do. I need the connection points or there is no chance he will even consider putting me in the line-up for the national championships. That’s been my goal all along—to compete at nationals on the floor exercise. I haven’t done it yet, and I only have two seasons left in my entire gymnastics career. To add even more stress to my life, since I’m not vying for an all-around spot, there’re only two slots up for grabs.
I have to nail this skill. Have to. The intrasquad meet is coming up, and while we’re only competing against each other, it’s huge in determining who competes and who sits in the stands.
“That’s our last resort, Lauren,” Coach says gently, and I know he’s picking up on my vibe of discouragement. “No getting ahead of ourselves yet. Now run the pass again.”
Stepping up to the mat, I put myself in position again. Deep breath in three… two… one… LAUNCH!
Five running steps…
One giant hurdle…
Round off…
Back handspring, back handspring…
PUNCH…
I launch into the air, raising my arms overhead and immediately pulling them tight to my body, and twist once… twice… an extra half…
And land with two bouncing steps forward.
I step back and raise my hands to “finish” because even with it being a mistake, the skill has to be officially completed. One glance tells me Coach is still disappointed, but at least I’m upright this time.
Jogging off the floor, I hear, “You’re overthinking it.”
I blink a few times, trying to figure out if he actually spoke or if my schoolgirl crush has finally gotten the best of me and I’m hearing voices. “What?”
The cocky smile that has melted my panties since the day he walked into this gym is directed at me. Conrad Turner, the newest member of our team, has been impressing everyone since the day he graced our presence. Not just because he’s more handsome than should be legal and prefers working out in just his gym shorts, which only serves to show off his impeccable abs, but because of his incredible skill level. His pommel horse routine is like nothing I’ve ever seen. The spins at the end of the horse are the stuff straight out of our guys’ team’s wet dreams. It’s definitely caught the attention of our women as well. But how can it not? Those back and shoulder muscles are on display the whole time. That’s the stuff our women’s team’s wet dreams are made of.
An elite gymnast for most of his teenage years, Con, as he prefers to be called, quit his Olympic bid when he decided he wanted the full college experience instead. Or so the story goes. That was two years ago. Since then, he attended Tennessee State, but for some reason, transferred here this summer. He’s remained pretty tight-lipped as to why he left. The only thing he’s said about transferring schools is we had a program he couldn’t turn down.
My guess is we also had a scholarship he couldn’t turn down, but hey, I’m not complaining. He brought the abs he’s sporting with him, so I have no reason to be upset.
Strutting closer to me as he unwraps the tape from his hands, he says it again. “You’re overthinking it.”
I tighten my ponytail, which is just an excuse to arch my back a bit and push my breasts out. They’re not big by any means, but they’re there. His eyes flicker for just a moment. Con and I have been doing this flirtation dance for weeks now. He’s easy to read.
“Funny. I don’t usually overthink things.”
Con flashes me a flirty grin, eyes completely trained on me. I know how this goes. Flirting is like my second language, whether it goes anywhere or not. This time, though, feels different. We’ve had conversations before, but somehow the air feels more charged this time. Like things are shifting. I hope it finally goes somewhere.
“I bet that gets you in trouble sometimes, huh?” he asks, still inching closer until our bare feet are practically touching. “Just going with the flow.”
I shrug nonchalantly. “Depends.”
“Oh yeah? On what?”
“On if the trouble is worth the consequences.”
He considers me for a moment, and I know he’s trying to decide if I’m giving him permission to continue this sexually-charged conversation. At least it’s sexually-charged on my end. And yes, I definitely give him permission. He’s been on my radar since this summer. I’ve just been patiently waiting for him to look past the giant bows and glittery makeup to notice me. Flirting is easy for me. As I said, it’s like my second language. It’s seeing past the distractions of the other female options on the team that takes some time.
I wish I could say I love my teammates, because I’m sure some of them are great women. I just don’t totally fit in with them, and no one seems to care that much. It’s not just that I’m the only walk on. I’m also not into the cheerleader-esque routines. I’m more subdued in my performance wear. Sure, I wear the same competition uniform as everyone else. But the rest of the flash isn’t my thing. I just want to tumble. That also means I don’t stand out. But I’m not interested in first impressions. I’m interested in real ones.
Taking a small step back, Con refocuses the conversation back onto gymnastics.
One step at a time, Lauren. One step at a time.
“When you’re in the air, I can practically see the gears in your brain spinning.”
“You’re probably right,” I admit with a sigh. “But how do I fix it? If I don’t pull hard, I won’t get enough rotation and I’ll land on my ass. I can’t find the magic moment to let go of the motion.”
“Maybe that’s part of the problem.”
“Meaning?”
“You’re thinking so hard about when you should ease up, you aren’t listening to your body. Or noticing where the floor is in relation to your rotation.”
He’s not wrong. I have a tendency to close my eyes on some of these tricks. But when you’re spinning that fast, there’s not much reason to look. You only need to feel where you are. He may have a point, though.
“I need to do the next pass with my eyes open, don’t I?”
That megawatt smile is back. “And maybe loosen up a bit when you see the ceiling for the second time. That’ll give you a full rotation to land. Because right now you’re only giving yourself half the rotation.”
Narrowing my eyes at him playfully, I put my hands on my hips. “How come you say the same things Coach does, but you say it in a way that suddenly makes sense to me?”
“Maybe Coach doesn’t stare at you the way I do. Maybe he’s not trying as hard as I am to figure you out.”
Well doesn’t that just make my lady bits shiver. I quirk an eyebrow at him. My reaction makes him laugh.
“Just try it,” he encourages. “See how it feels.”
“Alright,” I say haughtily with a tilt of my head. “It’s my last pass anyway.”
Coach doesn’t say anything as I step up on the floor, probably just waiting to see what this shit show is going to look like this time. I close my eyes and focus on what I’m trying to do—keep my eyes open and ease up when I see the ceiling.
Taking a deep breath, I launch myself forward.
Five running steps…
Hurdle…
Round off…
Back handspring, back handspring…
PUNCH…
I pull my arms tight to my body. But this time I concentr
ate, not on how straight my legs are or if they’re together. This time I concentrate on the world around me, and the moment I see the ceiling for the second time, I loosen up ever so slightly.
And what do you know? I land on two feet with only a small hop.
Behind me, I hear my coach clap loudly and yell, “That’s a way to do it, Lauren! Now get those legs straight!”
Turning to see Con’s reaction, all he does is nod once, a smug look on his face. I shake my head at the cocky bastard. I’m not mad, though. I wish I could throw it one more time, just to make sure I’ve got it, but it’s time to pack up and get out of here. Time limits are time limits, after all.
It’s a nice end to practice, but after the day I’ve had, I need to let off some steam. What I wouldn’t give for my best friend and roommate Annika to go out to a club with me so I can dance my worries away. I already know she’ll decline my invitation, so I won’t bother asking.
After being brutally raped behind a dumpster last year at our favorite club, she hasn’t been able to pull together enough nerve to go out into that type of environment yet. We try helping her feel comfortable in public. Me, her new boyfriend Jaxon Hart, and his best friend Heath Germaine regularly go out together whenever they want to do dinner or the movies. We all want her to know we won’t let anything happen to her again. It would be hard for anyone to get past those two college football players even if they wanted to. Although sometimes I think the bickering Heath and I do the whole time serves more as a sort of entertainment to Annika. He and I just can’t seem to get along. But as long as our arguments keep her distracted, I suppose I don’t mind hanging out with the guy.
Honestly, I don’t blame Annika for her fear. The entire experience was awful for me, and I didn’t even know about it until a few months later. I can’t even pretend to know how she felt.
Fortunately, Annika is strong and bounced back to her new normal. There are some lingering emotional scars and overly crowded places still give her anxiety. It’s not unusual for me to wake her up from a nightmare if her thoughts are accidentally triggered. But I credit Jaxon with helping her through most of the trauma. Not only did he stop the attack in progress, but he also stood with her during the aftermath. And then they fell in love.
