by Julie Cross
By Julie Cross
Copyright © 2014 Julie Cross
ChApTeR OnE
~Tj~
I swing the door open to my cabin and continue to rub my jaw. Damn, that little chica can throw a punch. The entire left side of my face is throbbing like a bitch. And there’s a good chance her boyfriend is gonna cause equal or greater pain to the other side when he finds out what I did.
Jordan tries to pull off the peacekeeper act, but I know there’s a dude who can throw a punch inside that boy. It’s after midnight so of course he’s asleep. I stare down the light switch for a full three seconds and then flip it on.
Better get this over with.
He rubs his eyes, squints, and rolls out of bed. “What’s going on?”
“Your girlfriend just decked me.” Okay, I probably shouldn’t have started with that.
His feet land on the cabin floor, his eyes narrowed at me, or maybe he’s still squinting? “Wait… what?”
“She punched me,” I explain.
His jaw tenses, but instead of swinging at me, he’s reaching down, snatching a T-shirt and shorts from the floor. “Why did she punch you? And what the hell were you doing with my girlfriend at midnight?”
Finally. A raised voice. Suspicion.
I don’t like being the subject of suspicion, but I’ve been in this role so often I’m comfortable with it. It’s familiar. Like an asshole uncle at Thanksgiving dinner.
“I dragged her out of bed, tricked her into going in the gym, forced her to do a dismount, and then she punched me and ran away,” I say, all in one breath.
He tugs his head through the T-shirt and stares at me, his forehead wrinkled. “Did she do it?”
“Punch me? Yeah, I already told you that. I think my jaw is gonna be bruised.”
“Good,” he snaps. “But I meant the dismount. Did she do a fucking dismount?”
“Yeah, but—”
He’s already striding toward the cabin door and heading outside, not needing to hear anymore. I know where he’s going and I probably shouldn’t follow, but now I’m thinking I may have made a brand new mess trying to clean up another one.
Great job, TJ. What else is new?
Jordan’s got to know I’m behind him the whole time he’s walking down the path, but he doesn’t say shit about it. Unfortunately, there’s a blond chick guarding the door to Karen’s cabin.
“You can’t come in here,” she says to Jordan, her arms folded across her chest. “Stevie gave me strict instructions.”
He attempts to reach around her for the door handle. “I don’t want to talk to Stevie, I need Karen.”
The blonde—Ariel—easily blocks Jordan, folds her arms across her chest and then her eyes grow wide when she sees me. “Oh no! You are definitely not coming in here.”
“So that means I can?” Jordan’s growing more impatient by the second.
Shove her out of the way, Jordan. I praise myself for not saying that out loud, but whatever. Ariel can sprain her ankle on this cabin porch for all I care. I’m sick and tired of Nina Jones going on and on about her dance elements on floor and her bar routine and how the international judges are going to shit their pants over it. Stevie’s tumbling will kick any and all dance elements’ ass and Karen’s bar routine is ten times better than Ariel’s. When she actually does the whole thing instead of shaking in fear.
I close my eyes for a second and replay her dismount again. The one she did right before decking me in the face. I sigh with relief all over again. It’s weird how much lighter I feel. That fall had messed me up almost as much as her.
And maybe I shouldn’t have gone that far, forcing her to do it, but no else was doing a damn thing. Even Jordan. Whatever shit they’ve got between them right now made him screw this up big time. Of course, he’s not the one who caused her to slam her head into the bar in the first place.
No, that one is all on me.
CHAPTER TWO
~KAREN~
“Calm the freak down,” Stevie, my oldest teammate says from her spot on my bottom bunk. “Stop pacing and stop looking like you’re about to punch your hand through a wall. It’s already swelling. A broken hand is the last thing you need right now.”
I glance down at my right knuckles. They do look a little puffy, but I don’t feel any pain at the moment. I shake out my arms and breathe in slowly. But the anger and emotions flood instantly back into place.
TJ.
Must. Murder. TJ.
The cabin lights are on, I succeeded in not only waking Stevie during my noisy return from the gym, but also Ariel and her roommate, Raelyn.
I already explained to Stevie in a few words and lots of grunts what had happened in the gym with TJ—of course, with their constant feuding she gladly took my side.
“Okay, I get why we’re keeping TJ out, but why Jordan?” she asks.
Why Jordan? Good question.
My anger comes down a few notches and I stop pacing across the cold tile floors. Outside, I hear Ariel yelling, probably at TJ, maybe at Jordan. My stomach twists into knots thinking about him. I hate this wall between us. I hate the guilt of keeping his secret. I hate worrying so much about him. Why is he forcing this on me?
“Come on,” Stevie urges. “What happened with Jordan? Get it out in the open, ‘cause if this keeps up, both of you will end up walking around with your heads up your asses and that’s gonna suck.”
She’s right. And technically, I only promised Jordan that I wouldn’t tell Coach Bentley. We never agreed on anyone else.
“Karen…” she prompts again.
I twist my hands together and nod. “Promise you won’t tell Coach Bentley?”
Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open. “Oh God, you’re pregnant…”
“What?” I spit out. “No! Jesus… no.”
Stevie lets out a huge sigh of relief, her dark hair falling all around her face and she leans forward and rests her head in her hands. “I wasn’t sure, with you sneaking out in the middle of the night.”
“I did that once,” I say, shocked that she knew about my little nightmare-induced excursion the week before last. “And nothing, you know… happened.”
It’s a little awkward to talk about this with Stevie knowing that, for at least a very short moment, she had admitted to wanting to have some “normal teenage experiences” with Jordan before she knew about us. But so far, I’ve never seen any indication from Stevie that she actually has feelings for him. And of course I’m way too chicken to ever bring it up with her.
She lifts her head, eyebrows raised. “Nothing happened?”
My face flushes. “Okay, not nothing, but yeah, nothing.”
“So what’s the secret that I can’t tell Coach Bentley?” she asks, getting us both back on track.
I examine my fingernails, choosing the longest one to bite and making a final decision. “You know how Jordan has been sick a lot?”
“Uh-huh.” She rolls her eyes and gestures around the cabin as if to remind me of that fact that Jordan’s now-cured case of strep throat is the reason we all had to haul our stuff down the path and move into a new cabin next door. Though I think Nina’s been looking for a reason to move us far from the boys since we got here and found out about the housing arrangement.
“Well… he went to see this ear, nose, and throat specialist and she says Jordan not only needs to get his tonsils out right away, but he’s also got this abscess on the back of his throat that needs to be biopsied.” My legs literally go weak, having finally shed the weight of that secret. I plop down on the floor and pull my knees to my chest, resting my head on them.
“You look pale,” Stevie observes. “Have you been eating enough?”
“If by enough, you mean the Nina Jones diet plan, then yes.
” I shake the dizziness from my head. It is the middle of the night and I just got finished working through some issues both physical and emotional, so I’m not expecting to feel energetic or anything.
“Then no,” she admits somewhat reluctantly, as if revealing a secret. Then I watch as Stevie gets up and digs in her suitcase. Seconds later she’s in front of me, holding out a granola bar or something. “It’s a protein bar. Eat it.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need another reason for Nina to discredit me.”
Stevie sighs, dropping the package on top of my legs, then sits back on my bed. “Since we’re sharing secrets… I realized a couple years ago that no two elite gymnasts were meant to follow the same diet. I need more calories than many of the others and I think you’re the same. You feel like it’s manageable now, but after a few more days, your legs will start to feel heavy at the end of workouts, then eventually in the middle, then all the time. Leaving you a few pounds lighter and no energy to actually practice like you need to. You started your period, right?” I nod, my face flushing again. “And you grew, right? You’re what… five one now? Five two?”
“Five one.”
“See? Your diet has to be adjusted to accommodate your body’s changes. Sometimes I think people forget that part. We’re so used to being careful we don’t realize when we’re doing damage.”
I look down at the protein bar and as if fate had gotten involved in this little debate, my stomach growls and I slowly unwrap the package and take a bite. I immediately make a face, but continue chewing despite the dry crumbly texture.
“They taste like cardboard but they’re top-notch, lots of vitamins, iron…” Stevie shakes her head, refocusing. “So Jordan. Tonsils. What’s the big deal?”
“He’s freaked out,” I say, wolfing down another bite. Okay, maybe I am starving myself a little if this thing is appetizing. “He doesn’t want anything to do with the surgery. Doesn’t want to tell Bentley. I can’t talk to him without getting pissed off because he’s making me lie for him and he’s being stupid. He needs to deal with this and get better.”
She looks at me like I’m insane. “Seriously? That’s your relationship problem? I figured it was about the blond ex-girlfriend or something.”
Liberty.
My stomach twists just thinking about her and Jordan even though I know it’s over and I also know that Jordan talked to her and they’re okay. She’s sort of nice, too. But I’m trying to forget that part.
“Don’t you think his health is more serious than an ex-girlfriend?”
Stevie shrugs. “I didn’t say it wasn’t. I’m just surprised you haven’t gone to greater lengths to convince him to grow a pair and get going on the tonsil removal.”
I stare blankly at her. “Greater lengths? Like threaten to tell Coach Bentley? Think he’ll forgive me if I do?”
Should I even be worrying about his forgiveness when Jordan’s health is involved? God, I’m selfish.
Stevie snorts back a laugh. “Not threats. Bribes.”
“Like money?” I’m still not following.
She shakes her head, laughing even harder. “Sexual bribes. Get him alone and tell him what you’ll do if he agrees to talk to his dad and have surgery.”
If my face was pink a minute ago, it’s bright red now. My gaze flickers toward the closed door as if that’s going to tell me if anyone might have been able to listen in on this humiliating conversation.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to… to…” I stutter, unable to say, have sex. Or more specifically, have sex with Jordan, though there isn’t much difference between the two phrases for me. I don’t think I’m ready. Then I think about the night I snuck out and slept in Jordan’s bottom bunk bed with him. Okay, maybe a little ready.
She holds up her hands to stop me from trying to spit out the words. “No, no, no, I don’t mean you should have sex. You should never have sex unless you’re ready and frankly, it’s a terrible idea right now. I’m just saying whatever you haven’t done, just go for it. Take it to the next level. That’s all. You love him, right? He’s all about you, so probably a teeny tiny favor would do the job.”
Now that sounds reasonable. But is she right? Could getting Jordan alone and telling him I’ll… I’ll… well, I still need to fill in that blank, but regardless, I’ll do that and he’ll take care of himself? It’s not just a reasonable plan, it’s an extremely appealing one, too.
“You really think that will work?” I ask Stevie, still skeptical. “How do you know? Where are you hiding your boyfriend?”
“At the bottom of the foam pit, of course,” she jokes, rolling her eyes again. “No boyfriend. But I’ve done my share of dating. I kind of used my retirement time to live a little.”
I’ve always wanted to know what Stevie did during those months of retirement. She never came into the gym, never called. Blair and I sent her cards and flowers right after her injury, but beyond that, contacting her had felt like rubbing our healthiness in her face. But we talked about it all the time. We also worshipped Stevie and it was hard to think about her outside of the gym, weak and incapable. It wasn’t until she came back and started training again that I finally saw Stevie Davis as someone like me—human.
I finish the last of the protein bar and I’m on my feet again. “Okay, I think I have an idea for applying your plan.”
chapter three
~jordan~
I stop mid-argument with Ariel when the cabin door swings open and Karen steps onto the porch. She glares so hard at TJ, I’m sure it’s going to cause him actual pain. She turns to me and there’s almost a smile on her face. Or maybe it only looks like a smile after that death glare.
“Hey…” she says.
I’m not sure where we stand right now. I screwed up. TJ didn’t come out and say those exact words, but I know he thinks I should have helped her more. “Hey… are you okay?”
She glances around, taking in all the watching eyes, then takes my hand and leads me down the path, toward the gym.
“If you want me to do something about TJ—”
“I don’t want to talk about TJ,” she interrupts, then draws in a breath and turns to face me. “This weekend. That’s what I want to talk about.”
My forehead wrinkles. “This weekend?”
“You said you would take me camping and Nina’s flying to Houston for a couple days to check on the training center and your dad will be here Sunday, so I figure it’s this weekend or never, right?”
Maybe this is a trick question? She wants me to take her camping? She’s speaking to me without yelling or looking pissed off. What changed? “Camping. Right.” I nod. “Do you want to invite some of the staff or—”
She shakes her head. “Nope. Just us.”
Even though I probably didn’t earn the right to smile at her again, I do it anyway. And then I shuffle my feet a little closer to hers. I reach for her hand and lace my fingers in hers. “Just us.”
Karen moves slowly, but she’s obviously dropped that wall we’ve had up for a week. I stand perfectly still as she leans in and rests her cheek against my T-shirt. But before I can get my arms around her, she steps away and turns her back to me.
“I better get some sleep so I’m not a zombie at practice in a few hours,” she calls over her shoulder, after walking several steps away.
Okay, that was weird.
I’m not even sure what to make of that conversation and I sink into heavy analytical mode during the walk back to my cabin. The night’s drama left me wide awake and the fact that TJ isn’t in our cabin made me suddenly aware that I’m not in the mood to be around him right now. I grab my guitar from under the bottom bunk, a notebook and pen from my bag, and head back out the door toward the lake.
The night air is a little chilly but the view of the completely still lake and the moonlight is worth any discomfort I might feel being out here in just a T-shirt and shorts. It’s been awhile since I’ve had this strong an urge to write a new song and I’m pret
ty sure that’s what I’m about to do. If only to sort through the thoughts overflowing my head.
Somewhere over the course of the last couple years and even more so in the last six months, I catch myself doing this thing where I walk away from a conversation and then I sit alone and replay it over and over again. And not just on repeat, but going through a systematic formula where I listen first to the words and then analyze the tonal qualities, breaking them apart and playing them at higher and lower keys inside my head, trying to form the most accurate conclusion of the significance of the conversation.
This is how I know for sure, even though I hate to admit it, that my dad really does care about me. But when I’m standing there in front of him, tossing words back and forth, I’m always distracted in the moment by things like impassive body language, lack of eye contact, and past memories, and I’m unable to truly hear what he’s saying between his words and what his tone actually conveys.
I think this whole exercise is more proof of guys’ inability to talk about their feelings. I’d rather stay up all night rolling dozens of theories around in my head than ask Tony, for example, how he’s feeling today. But whatever. It is what it is.
Plus, it isn’t always about things I’m too afraid to ask.
Sometimes, I replay conversations from years ago with my mom or sister and I can see brand new meaning to them. Like a foretelling of things we’d talk about when I got older. But they’re gone and all I have is this replay button.
“Is that your new concert piece?” Eloise asked Mom. “I like it. It sounds complicated.”
“It is complicated, but I like the challenge,” Mom said. “What do you think, Jordy?”
My fingers drifted over the strings of my guitar, trying to feel my way through the notes Mom had just played. The piece was too many levels above mine and then on top of that, trying to transfer cello to guitar…
“It’s loud,” I said finally after thinking it over. “But also kinda boring—well, not like boring boring,” I covered quickly after anticipating Mom’s hurt tone. “Like sleepy music. I mean, music you listen to before falling asleep. Which is odd because it’s so loud.”
