by Lucia Franco
Frantic but silent, I stood there until I was lifted into someone else's arms.
Kova.
"See what happens when you let go of fear?"
I didn't say anything. I just inhaled his scent that reminded me of cinnamon and warmth, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. I dropped my head into the curve of his neck and smiled against him.
"You win, malysh. You win." His lips brushed against my neck and I panicked slightly since we were in public. "You persevered with a purpose and you let your passion shine. This is only the beginning of small victories that will lead to big dreams. Triumph above all."
Kova lowered me to the floor. I stood before him, gazing into his eyes, studying his face. Appreciating all he did for me. My heart softened around his words. My hands came up and covered my mouth as it started to sink in. Tears burned my frantic eyes. I qualified elite!
"We did it." My voice cracked. Chills broke out on my skin and I bent my head down. I almost cried.
"No. You did it. You."
"But I couldn't have done it without you."
If he hadn't given me the courage I needed so desperately right before I went out on floor, I had a feeling we wouldn't be having the same conversation right now.
It was in that moment that I realized how much I relied—and trusted—in him.
He shrugged into me with his arms. "Semantics."
He pointed to the scoreboard above my head and smiled. Kova was ecstatic, and it tickled me.
"Want to take a picture of it?" he asked jokingly. I still couldn't believe it.
A year of challenging practices, days filled with frustration and tears, sweat and blood, and I’d finally done it.
I'd been so close to stepping out of bounds. I almost lost it all because I had a moment of uncertainty and doubted myself.
But Kova brought me back. He centered me and helped make my dream a reality, because he believed in me.
I owed him so much.
Forty-Four
My glory was short lived.
So was my energy.
After the meet, I was high on adrenaline and excitement, my body numb to everything. I was a mixture of feeling like I could walk on water and sleep for fifty hours.
The rest of the night was a blur. After dinner with my parents, we retired to their enormous suite on the top floor fit for royalty. Dad and Kova spoke over glasses of bourbon and vodka, while I was left to the scrutiny of my mom in the living room that overlooked the city. Hoarse chuckles and clandestine wisdom sifted innately around the suite. Two friends deep in conversation, catching up. For more than half the time, I gazed out the window, absorbed by the twinkling colors that illuminated the skyline. Break lights glowed like burning embers, and I wondered where the people were in a rush to go.
I could stare all night. It was so much more beautiful in the dark.
Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as I expected. Mom was…elated for me. And I wasn't sure how to respond to that. I wanted to make her happy, to be proud of me and my accomplishments, but every time I opened myself up to her warmth it always seemed to backfire on me.
I sighed silently. All I could do was try.
"I know it's months away, but do you have any time off during meet season? I'm trying to plan an Easter brunch and would very much like if you could be there. If not, no worries."
"I'm sure I could make it happen, even if it's for the day."
I pulled out my cell phone and opened my calendar. I knew I had many meets lined up, but I didn't know the exact dates.
I stared at my phone, confused. "It seems I don't have any in…" My voice trailed off. I glanced up at Kova, who sensed me almost immediately. Our eyes met.
"What is it?" he asked, cutting my dad off.
I held my phone up as if he could see the screen. "Do we not have any meets around Easter?"
"Your phone is synced with the calendar. It is up to date."
I glanced back at the screen. I saw nothing. Kova placed his empty crystal tumbler down, stood, and walked over to me. Leaning over my shoulder, he rested his forearms behind me on the headrest. With a wave of his hand, he silently asked for the phone and viewed the dates with me.
His thumb slid the screen up and down, his breath cool and smooth rasped softly against my cheek. "It looks like you have time off, which is a good thing since we have Worlds and the Championships the following two months."
Me and Kova eased into a light exchange about gymnastics. He shifted closer to me and I angled toward him, our bodies casually open and welcoming to one another. We spoke quietly among ourselves for a few short moments about my training that month, my parents long forgotten until I heard a glass clank on the counter.
We both glanced up from the sound and found my mother looking at us. Her eyes filled with disdain as they shifted to Kova, then to me, where they stayed.
A knot lodged in my throat. We'd let our guards down for a split second. There was no way she’d missed the natural harmony that occurred between us.
We eased back into the conversation. My heart hammered and I held stiff as a statue while Kova spoke. I'd been under my mom's examination too many times in the past to ignore her inquisitive eyes. Her stare seared my flawless skin with incomprehensible questions. While Dad was fixated on his phone, my mom continued to glare at us. I swallowed hard and glanced at Kova, trying my best to give him a look of cognizance, a look I'd given him in the past that would hint discreetly for him to pull back and slow down. He picked up on it immediately.
Kova scratched the back of his head and stood, clearing his throat.
"Are you always so intimate with all your gymnasts?" Mom asked as if she were inquiring about the weather.
All color drained from my face. "Mom!"
"Joy." Dad scowled low and deep. A warning.
She ignored us both, her eyes glued on Kova with a vengeance. "Refresh my memory, Konstantin, how many hours a week do you both train together?"
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his pressed slacks. Shoulders relaxed, not a worry on his face.
"Close to fifty hours. Give or take."
"Uh huh." She tilted her head ever so slightly. "That's a lot of time to be alone together, wouldn't you agree, Frank?"
My heart raced so hard and fast I felt every pulse in my body thrashing against my veins, the rapid beating in my ears so loud it was all I could hear.
"If you paid more attention to your daughter than your charity cases, then you'd see that's been going on for a year now. Clearly, it's paid off. Adrianna did excellent. She exceeded our expectations."
If only I could muster a smile.
Kova added, "I am not the only one who trains with Adrianna. Coach Madeline does as well. We rotate the gymnasts among each other all week."
"How convenient," Mom replied, sipping her wine. Her eyes hadn't left Kova's and she completely ignored the sneer Dad made.
I almost died, but thankfully, Kova was quick. "Yes, we rotate the girls so they do not get too used to our training methods, otherwise it would be useless for everyone involved. They all train the same number of hours, together."
A lie.
"Ana is a stunning girl, isn't she?" Mom stated, no question asked. Kova refused to answer. "You know, after the New Year’s Eve party, my housekeeper found a sports coat on the balcony of her bedroom. It didn't look like Xavier's…"
There was no way to stop my reaction. My eyes shot wide and blood drained from my face. My memory went back to that night and I tried to remember anything about a coat…and it hit me. Kova had shrugged his coat off that night to put over my shoulders to keep me warm. I didn't recall him leaving it behind until now.
"It was Hayden's," I said quickly. "He said he misplaced it. He'll be happy to know it's been found."
"That's interesting." She sipped her wine with knowing eyes and a smirk so cunning that I shifted in my chair. She was hiding something. I knew she was.
"What are you getting at, Joy?" Dad crossed his leg
in front of the other. His curiosity piqued, but annoyance prevalent more than anything.
"Nothing. Merely observing how gorgeous your daughter is." Her honeyed voice dripped with suspicion. Mom's eyes dropped to mine. I knew better than to look away—it would scream guilt and I made it a point not to waver as she put me under the spotlight.
Maybe I was too good because I caught a glitter of something in her eyes before she quickly blinked it away.
I swallowed hard and feigned exhaustion with a yawn. I stood, but I stood too fast and flinched with a hobble, gasping in pain. I closed my eyes and squeezed them shut. A twitch of heat jerked in my leg. Shit. I grimaced, grabbing onto the chair.
"Everything all right?" Kova asked. He gingerly held my bicep to steady my balance.
"Yes," I gritted through the pain that was no doubt connected to my Achilles. I stood with a bent knee. "My muscles are just a little tight right now. That's all."
Kova's eyes narrowed. "Hmmm. When we get back to town, make sure you see your doctor."
Creases formed between my bows. "Why? I'm fine."
"I do not like the way you are standing. You are clearly in discomfort."
"You should listen to your coach," Dad added. "He knows what he's talking about."
"Yes." Mom dragged out the S sound. "Listen to your coach." She finished in a syrupy, sarcastic voice.
I scoffed. "Kova, I'm fine. I'm just sore."
Dropping to his knees, he ordered me to sit. He took my foot into his hand and massaged his way around my previous injury while Mom watched. My stomach contracted with discomfort but I held still, my lips in a firm line and face neutral as Kova glanced up when he pinched the back of my ankle.
I gave him my best see there's nothing wrong look while biting the inside of my lip and dying inside.
His touch was light, tender, and I still drew blood. He pinched again, and it was the same sting I felt zip up my spine when I ended my first tumbling pass on floor. I swallowed hard and stared into his eyes, hoping to prove to him there was nothing wrong. I couldn't afford another setback, especially after testing elite. I thought something snapped in the back of my ankle, but I needed to awe the judges with my floor routine, so I persevered and pushed harder than ever before. Eventually, I forgot about it.
It was the same event Kova talked me through. The one where I discovered that I was fierce and strong and that I needed to let my passion burn bright for everyone to see.
"I have been doing this a long time, Ri—Adrianna. I know an injury when I see it."
My heart sank and I didn't dare glance in my mom's direction. He almost slipped up.
"There's nothing there," I insisted.
"You have to see your doctor soon?" Dad asked, his eyes barely leaving his phone.
I nodded. "Yes."
"Good. Make sure you have them recheck your foot when you're there," he said. Your foot. I grimaced. It was actually the back of my ankle and calf, but who cares.
Kova placed my foot down and I let out a silent breath of pain. He glanced at me, but I masked the terror in my eyes and smiled. He sat back down and went into some mundane conversation with Dad, all the while my mom's eyes were trained on me like a cat in heat as she sipped her wine.
A stone boulder sat heavy in my stomach. There was something seriously wrong with my leg that left me panic stricken. But worse, the look in my mom's eyes shook me to the core. I knew in my gut she was scheming. If only I could see what she had up her Chanel sleeve.
Forty-Five
I'd woken up in a foul mood.
Tired and in pain, I crawled out of bed like a ninety-year-old woman who needed a walker. Swollen eyes to match my swollen ankle. I was a broken record on replay every damn day and I was getting sick of my own thoughts.
Between trying to set two different appointments for two different doctors—one specialist, one physician—getting lost driving, almost running over a turtle from spotting a damn alligator on the side of the road, waiting for hours to see the doctors, and test after test, I was ready to call it a day.
The only thing that saved me from losing it was a bottle of Motrin and the strongest coffee Starbucks offered plus two extra shots of espresso.
A bowl of penne a la vodka would've been nice too. But I didn't dare.
The outcome from both doctors had been craptasic. Another day, another hurdle.
Pulling up to World Cup, I carefully stepped out of my truck and applied pressure to my good leg, which the doctor had advised against. Added pressure and added weight could eventually cause a tear on that side too.
With my keys and cell phone in one hand, I pulled open the glass door and limped inside the gym with a puckered face and fresh out of fucks to give. I was beyond aggravated I had reinjured myself. The frustration slowly dissipated as I inhaled the chalky, powdery scent that permeated the air. I treasured that scent and this place. It was home, where I was supposed to be, but once again it felt like it was being ripped from my grip, and I'd do anything to hold on to it.
The last time I'd come to see Kova after a doctor's appointment, I'd worn a green dress chosen with him in mind. This time, I wore navy blue shorts, a basic graphic shirt from Target, and a pair of stone-gray Converse. My auburn locks were tied up in a disaster of a messy bun. I wasn't in the mood for any shenanigans.
I spotted Kova through the glass window of the lobby where he was training the men's team. I caught Hayden high up in the middle of holding a skill on the rings. His triceps quivered, his face as red as a fire hydrant, but that didn't prevent him from smiling at me. A little more of my irritation melted away.
Kova looked over his shoulder and held up an index finger. I could see dark circles under his eyes from where I stood. He looked tired. The thought of how my injury would affect not only me but also him flooded my mind. He's put so much time and work into me, I didn't want to let either one of us down. Nodding, I turned and made my way to his office. The pain in my ankle was reduced to a low dull and I plopped down in one of his chairs with an exasperated sigh. I was thinking about it too much and needed to stop. My head lulled back and I closed my eyes, fatigue coming down on me once again. I laced my fingers together on my stomach and waited.
Within a few short minutes, I heard footsteps approaching down the hall.
"Ria."
I opened my eyes and my heart did an obnoxious little jump. I should've told him to stop calling me the nickname he had given me, but I couldn't find it in my heart. I liked the sound of it only on his lips.
My eyes immediately zoomed in on his toned arms. His muscles flexed as he walked around the desk, twirling in a downward spiral like powerful golden ropes. I wanted to reach out and trace them with my fingers from the curves of his shoulders to his wrists. Covered in white dust, he wore a sleeveless shirt with his predictable basketball shorts. Even his backwards hat had chalk on it. Air seized my lungs, a little knot clamped the back of my throat. I was so drawn to him, like a magnet ready to collide with its counterpart.
Kova ran a tired hand down his face. "I pray you have good news for me?"
I sat up straight and cleared my throat. "Good news is I have micro tears in my Achilles a little bigger than the last time," I said sarcastically. He sat stone-faced, unimpressed with what I considered good news, but I needed something to help me pass this hurdle I was suddenly faced with. "The MRI didn't show a complete rupture, which actually surprised the doctor. He was sure I tore it completely. Strangely enough, he concluded that I have an abnormal ankle joint. Apparently, I've been compensating on one side. Who knew? My foot has less than ten-degree flexion due to my ankle bones, so my Achilles takes the brunt of the landings. The area around my Achilles, the bursa, blows up and squeezes the Achilles, which is where the pain is coming from. So, they're going to do platelets-rich plasma injections," I said slowly, trying to make sure I got it right, "to promote fast healing and then do the Grayson Technique. He insisted I rest for several weeks, but I told him that wasn't an option." I paus
ed to glare at Kova, dipping my head a little to reinforce my next words. "Because it's not an option, Kova. I know I should go easy when I condition and train, but we'll see. He told me with the PRP I should start to see signs of increased function within four to six weeks, as long as I don't do any extra aggressive physical activity, but physical therapy that’s set up through my doctor." I added the extra in there.
"Graston Technique."
Damn it. I knew I got the name wrong. "Tomato, tomahto."
"Did your doctor say how many injections?"
"Four. At the most, six. But he said only time will tell."
"And how—"
"Oh! And he said no anti-inflammatory medicine, no matter what. That's a bummer considering Motrin is part of my food group."
Kova gave me a droll stare. "I am well aware of that. And how often is the blading to occur?"
My brows furrowed. "Blading?"
"Yes," he sighed. "Blading is a nickname for the Graston Technique, Adrianna." I stayed silent as he continued. "They run a steel bar over your Achilles to smooth it out." His brows lifted and he moved his hands back and forth like he was rolling out dough, exhibiting how it would happen. "It is usually done to help prevent swelling and immobility." He stared at my blank face. "It is a more extreme form of massage, if you will."
I didn't move a muscle. And barely moving my lips, I blandly said, "He didn't explain that part to me. I'll have to find out when I go back for the PRP." Blading did not sound like fun. It sounded like torture.
"Who is your doctor?"
I rambled off the name of the office as he leaned over and unlocked one of his desk drawers. He pulled out a manila folder and opened it, flipping through the pages inside.
"What are you doing?"
"Ah, so I was right," he said, reading the paper in his hand. "They have trainers at this office who go around to the sports clubs in the area and work on athletes with injuries so they don't have to leave the gym. The blading only takes about ten minutes or so, this is perfect if you need it a few times a week."
