I had pushed too far.
"Go," he said. "Now." His voice quiet and calm before dismissing me to return to his work.
I fled his office and retreated to my bedroom, slamming the door just as the tears started to fall.
Gymnastics was everything to me—it was my heart and soul, the air I breathed. It was the one thing that allowed me to be me. To express myself creatively in the way I chose, not how someone else decided for me. I'd rotated between eating, sleeping, and flipping for as long as I could remember. The competiveness, the challenge of mastering a new skill. The way I defied gravity—my heart soaring, the sound of applause, the gasp from the audience—made the sacrifice worth every bit of pain and manipulation my body went through. Nothing could take that feeling away.
It was the one place I could be free from the restraints my family's name had on me.
My name is Adrianna Rossi. I'm fifteen, and a competitive gymnast. Elite gymnast, to be exact. Or I would be, as soon as I had the right coach.
I had completed all levels required according to USA gymnastics in order to move forward and test for elite. It was only a matter of time before I held the coveted rank. I trained day in and day out for this. My days consisted of four-hour training sessions in the gym, a tutor to homeschool me, and a private chef to prepare my calculated caloric meals.
As I fell onto my bed, devastation hit me hard. The rejection crushed my heart and it felt like my dreams were slowly being ripped away.
Like most hungry gymnasts, my ultimate goal was the Olympics.
If I graphed the training along with my age, I could possibly compete in my first Olympic Games by twenty. Possibly, being the key word. While twenty was still considered youthful by normal standards, it was ancient in the gymnastics world. Though, it wasn't unheard of to compete in The Games at that age. One of my favorites, Svetlana Khorkina, competed until she was twenty-five years old and in three Olympics, the first being when she was seventeen. Oksana Chusovitina, competed in six Olympic Games, also starting at seventeen. So my goal wasn't completely farfetched, I just needed the proper training. I was good, but I wanted to be great. And the only way to be great was to train with the best.
Though I was young, I wasn't naive. I knew what kind of mental and physical abuse my body would go through in order to reach the professional level. I needed a drill sergeant with a sharp eye.
Needed it, and wanted it.
I didn't fully understand why my dad objected to me leaving. I knew he thought of gymnastics as a hobby, but he'd always done anything to placate me. He never told me no and usually threw money at whatever my heart desired. It wasn't as if he spent much time at home anyway. Frank Rossi was too occupied with expanding and maintaining his real estate empire. Rossi Enterprises was one of the top developers, with properties worldwide. He left my mom in charge of raising my brother and me, which was a joke.
When I first began gymnastics at three years old, my mother used to sit at my practices and attend my meets. It was all about appearances back then, but I was young so she really didn't have much of a choice. However, the older I got, the less of an effort she made. I think the last meet she came to I was twelve years old. Mom was usually too busy with her charity work or trying to keep my older brother, Xavier, out of the media.
At first their lack of interest bothered me. I wanted them to want to be there, to watch me tumble and flip and balance on the beam. To see me move up to another level or stick a dismount without wobbling. I craved my parents' attention like all children do, but after years of begging, I eventually gave up and learned to adapt to their indifference. Nowadays, Mom rarely came to practice, and neither of my parents attended many competitions.
Their actions forced me to be independent, something I quickly learned to value. That being said, I refused to give up. I wouldn't let anything, or anyone, take my goal away from me.
* * *
I wasn't sure how much time had passed when I heard a faint knock on my door. I cracked my eyes open and was surprised by the darkness surrounding me. Another louder knock sounded, and I prayed it wasn't my mom.
"Yeah?"
"Ana?" Relief coursed through me at the sound of my dad's voice. "Can I come in?"
A fatigued sigh rolled off my lips as I sat up on the edge of my bed. "Come in."
Dad opened the door, flipping on the light switch as he walked in. A quick glance at my reflection in the mirror on the adjacent wall had me pulling back in shock. My face was blotchy and swollen from crying. Hair lay stuck and matted to my face. I was a hot mess.
I squinted at my dad, trying to adjust to the light, the sorrow in his heavy eyes showed. It was clear he was remorseful over his decision and the way he reacted. The last time I'd seen him, he was dressed in a clean, crisp shirt and tie. Now the tie was gone, a few buttons were undone and his sleeves were rolled up. He was disheveled and worn out, and I knew I was the reason. I'd acted like a spoiled brat and argued with him, something I always tried to refrain from. Usually it was my older brother who caused so much turmoil for my parents, not me.
"Yes, Dad?" I tried to lighten the tension. A soft smile charmed his face. I was a daddy's girl through and through, and he knew it.
"May I sit with you?" I nodded, and he sat next to me, the mattress dipping a little. He moved the tangled hair from my cheeks and eyed me carefully.
"You look like you've been crying, which can only mean I'm at fault."
I flattened my lips and cast my eyes down. "I may have been."
"I apologize, sweetheart." He ran a tired hand down his face. "About the gymnastics. . . "
"Yeah?"
"Listen, it's not that I don't want you to do it, it's that I don't want you moving so far away on your own. You're still young and the world is a dangerous place. What if something happened to you? I wouldn't be able to get to you fast enough."
My voice softened over his concern. "Dad, you're always traveling for work." My words caused him to wince, and I instantly felt terrible for stating the fact. But it was the truth, and I had to get my point across. "What would be the difference?"
He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "You're right. I do travel a lot for work, and I'm sorry I'm not around enough, but the difference is I'm an experienced adult and you're not."
I slouched in defeat. "I know. I was just hoping you'd give it some thought. It's not like I'd be completely alone. I'd live in a shared apartment with a den mom and other gymnasts."
"Not your mom, though. I don't even know those women, Adrianna. You're my daughter, I can't trust them with you."
I gave him a serious look. "Dad, we both know Mom isn't the kind of mother to do something like that for me." The kind of mother who gives and does anything for her children to see them thrive. Joy Rossi had more important things on her agenda.
My dad sighed. "You've put up a good argument and I have thought about it." I perked up. "I might have a compromise. I have a business associate on the West Coast who happens to coach gymnastics. Let me give him a call and see what he says."
My jaw dropped. "The West Coast, Dad? You'll send me all the way to California, but not New Hampshire?"
"Not California, the west coast of Florida. Cape Coral. You know, three hours from here? Not fifteen hundred miles."
I paused, pursing my lips together. "You have a friend who's a coach? How did I not know this?"
"You met him when you were younger, though you probably don't remember. He bought some real estate from me many years ago and we've always stayed in touch. Every so often we'll flip a house together, or he'll ask for advice on property. His name is Konstantin."
The name didn't ring any bells. "What level does he coach?"
"That I don't know. I only know he's a former Russian Olympian and is good at what he does."
Hope sprouted inside of me to the point I couldn't contain my smile. Russians were crazy, their gymnastics training even crazier, which caused my stomach to flutter with anxiety. I wouldn't comp
lain, I'd take what I could.
Beggars couldn't be choosers.
"I can't believe you didn't tell me this sooner."
"His past doesn't come up in our real estate transactions. I didn't know you weren't happy at your current gym," he countered. "If you'd told me your coaches weren't cutting it, Konstantin could've stepped in sooner."
Touché.
"When are you going to call him? Can you call now? Please?" Enthusiastically, I shook his arm and jumped, bobbing on my knees. "Dad!"
He chuckled at my eagerness, the light in his eyes returning. My dad and I had the same exact shade of green eyes. I resembled him the most. From my dark hair, thin straight nose, and skin tone, we were very similar. And just like my dad, when I got excited about something, my eyes turned a brilliant jade color. Although, I wasn't sure where the deep crimson tones in my hair or freckles came from.
He faked a sigh, restraining a smile. "Come into my office and I'll give him a call."
"Really?" I shrieked. When he nodded, I threw my arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. "Oh, thank you, Dad! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
He patted my back lovingly. I jumped from my bed and trailed closely behind. Once we were back in his office, I plopped down into a studded leather chair in front of his desk. I placed my hands under my thighs so I didn't fidget while my father got situated.
And by situated, I mean pouring himself a glass of bourbon.
"All right, remind me again what level you are. What’s the goal you want to achieve?"
Sadness crept inside me. I wish he knew without me having to remind him. The man could spout off twenty different business transactions from the top of his head, but he couldn't retain a few facts about his daughter.
"I'm a level ten, but I want to test for elite. Find out if he coaches elite first and if he has an elite program."
He nodded and dialed a number, enabling the speakerphone. The phone rang a few times until a deep voice picked up.
"Allo?"
My brows creased together. A-low?
"Konstantin, my friend, Frank Rossi here. How are you doing?"
"Frank, it is good to hear your voice. You are just the man I wanted to speak with actually." Dad mentioned he was Russian, and his heavy accent confirmed it.
"Is that so? Perfect timing, then. Did you happen to get my Christmas gift? I sent a bottle of my favorite vodka to you and that pretty girlfriend of yours."
Konstantin paused, laughing lightly. "I will have to ask Katja when I get home. Her appetite for vodka is just as voracious as mine. I hope she did not drink it all without me." He chuckled, as did my dad. "Thank you in advance. That was very kind of you."
"How is Katja doing? Have you guys decided to settle down yet?" Dad asked, swirling his glass tumbler of bourbon. As much as I liked hearing him catch up with his friend, I was anxious for him to get to the point.
"Ah, not yet," he responded with a deep sigh. "It is not for her lack of trying. All in good time."
Dad chuckled and my heart started to beat faster over his next set of words. "I have a question for you. Are you still coaching gymnastics?"
"Funny you should ask. I am, and I just happened to buy World Cup from the previous owners about a year ago. I was thinking about expanding it, but I wanted your expertise on whether it is worth it or not."
"Ah. . . " Dad's brows lifted, a sparkle twinkling in his eyes. I knew that look. It was his chance to dabble in something look. "How perfect the timing is, then. Do you recall telling me when my precious daughter was ready to switch to give you a call?"
He paused. Silence filled the air. My heart stopped. "I do."
"She came to me earlier and wanted to transfer to some gym in New Hampshire. Do you know of any gym over there?"
"Not one worth remembering."
Dad's eyes bore into mine. He raised a pointed brow and smirked. "Well, she said it's one of the best gyms on the East Coast. But I can't imagine anyone being better than you."
Konstantin chuckled. "You flatter me. I had no idea your daughter was still training. Tell me, what level is she."
I held up two hands to remind him.
"She's a level ten, but she said her gym doesn't have an—"
"Elite coach," I whispered.
"Elite coach, which is what she's telling me she needs," Dad said. "Are you elite?" I cringed at my dad's question. He wouldn't be elite, he would coach elite.
"I do have an elite program and team of elite girls. How old is she?"
"Fifteen."
"Hmm. She can't be just a level ten at fifteen, that's quite old for an elite. Is she training for college now?"
"To be honest, I'm not sure what she plans to do, or can do. I just know she wants to train at a topnotch gym."
That hurt my heart, like a knife to the chest. I'd just told him a few hours earlier what my plans for the future were.
"All right." He cleared his throat. "I have a dinner meeting I need to get to, can I give you a call in the morning and we can go over this?"
"Perfect, sounds like a plan. I look forward to hearing from you. While we're at it, we can also discuss your expansion idea on your new gym."
"Even better."
When Dad hung up the phone, I didn't feel any better. I frowned. It didn't sound like a sure thing once he heard my age. I almost wished he hadn't been on speakerphone.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. There isn't anything I can't make happen now."
Other novels by Lucia Franco
Standalones
You'll Think of Me
Hold On to Me
Off Balances series
Balance
Execution
Release
Acknowledgments
My husband, Tony, who, even when I want to take a lazy day off and be mushy about my author life, pushes me to write and stay on track. You step in when you see me frantic and help smooth out my feathers by taking over family life when I can't pull my half because of writing duties. Thank you for constantly supporting me and these crazy stories I write, and being okay with the amount of time I spend on my laptop each day and never complaining about it.
To my crazy and wild, unpredictable sister who wears many faces, Keena. (I still don't know your last name.) Who'd ever have thought this is what we'd be doing in our thirties? Never in this lifetime did I think I'd be writing romance stories instead of stories about serial killers. And brainstorming with you? Nope. Hush, Hush is a story that could not have happened without you. Each character in this book is a piece of you, each page is a piece of you, and writing this story was an experience I'll never forget. I truly loved every second of writing this book. I find myself smiling and laughing when I think about the conversations we had over these girls and their lives, and how real they seemed to us. Let's do another book together one day!
Jill Mac, you're the real MVP. I don't know how I did this author gig for so long without you. You're literally Lucia 2.0 and have made writing and publishing more books a year more attainable. I can never thank you enough for all the hard work you do for me every single day, and for making sure I don't freak out as often as I used to while I'm writing. Along with Keena, this book wouldn't have ended up the way it did without you. You're a real life Natalie…kind of. I mean the witty personality she has, not her secret life…I hope.
Vashti Dawn, thank you for beta reading for me again. I know my drafts are a hot mess, but you champion through them and offer feedback. Thank you for loving James and this story when I was so worried it wouldn't be perceived the way I'd hoped. Your messages helped me more than you could ever imagine. James Riviera is all yours.
Claire Contreras, Shanora Williams, and Ella Fields, thank you all for your support when I said I was going to take a break and write something different. It was a huge risk for me, but your encouraging words helped push me to write this story I'd been dying to write for years. I can't thank you ladies enough.
Nadine Winningham, I'm running out of thin
gs to say to show how much I appreciate all the time and effort you put into editing for me. I know my books are a daunting job, but you never give up and help me see easy fixes. Thank you forever!
Amber Hodge, thank you for putting up with my craziness, for proofreading another book, for brainstorming with me when I told you about Hush, Hush, and giving me your insight to help guide me so I got it right. I can't thank you enough. Also, I'm stealing Mack.
Dana Bobko, thank you for the amazing Hush swag! I'm so in love! Thank you so much for creating one-of-a-kind, unique items.
To the readers and bloggers who are patient with me and support me regardless, my street team, and the readers in my reader group, I can't do this job without you and I know that. Thank you so much for all the love and tags and messages and comments. You guys are the real deal.
About the Author
A competitive athlete for over ten years, Lucia Franco currently resides in sunny South Florida with her husband and two boys. Paranormal romance was her first love, but she has a soft spot in her heart for small-town and reunion romance stories.
When Lucia is not hard at work on her next novel, you can find her relaxing with her toes in the sand at a nearby beach.
Find out more at authorluciafranco.com.
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