Release

by Lucia Franco

  "What do you want me to say? That I like our coach? Okay. Fine. I do. He's gorgeous as hell and he's got the body of a Greek god. You can't tell me you don't think so."

  "Oh, I think he's sex on a stick, but that doesn't mean I'm going to bone him."

  She went for the jugular. "I'm not boning him, Reagan."

  We’d finally reached the end of the eighth lap and slowed down. Using the back of my hand, I wiped the sweat dripping down my face. Reagan took a few moments to breathe before she spoke again.

  "Everyone likes him, Adrianna. But people don’t react the way you did the other day if they weren’t invested. Don’t bullshit me."

  Panting, I asked, "Why did you do it? Why did you help me?"

  She shook her head and shrugged, staring ahead like she was asking the question herself.

  "I don’t know. I guess I had a moment of compassion and felt bad, which I rarely do. If people have the cognizance to make the stupid decision in the first place, they can handle the outcome. You knew what you were doing, but for some dumb reason I can't explain, I felt bad."

  "What happened to you?"

  "What do you mean?" She looked at me, perplexed.

  "You're so cynical. Unforgiving. Something had to happen to make you this way."

  "I was born a bitch with a monstrous chip on my shoulder, Adrianna."

  When I gave her a pointed look she continued. "Okay, fine. Let’s just say when your ambition and means don’t exactly align it can change a person. Harden them. I have the talent and drive to surpass this place"—she nodded toward the gym in general—"but my parents don’t exactly have the funds for more than this. And I want more. I got my full ride to a Division One college. And I got it by letting nothing and no one stop me." She arched a brow, as if to point out that I'd been doing the opposite.

  I understood her underlying message. She hadn’t let anyone get in her way, especially me. She was a girl after her own dreams.

  "By the way, we're not having a powwow here. I'm just telling you like it is this one and only time because of your sexcapades with our coach. Believe me, it won't happen again."

  I laughed. "You can be such a bitch sometimes."

  "I am what I am."

  I knew we'd never be best friends, but I now viewed Reagan in a different light. She had to grow a thick skin to stay afloat so she wouldn't sink and drown. I knew that feeling. It didn't excuse her being a bitch, but at the same time I understood why she was the way she was.

  * * *

  Midway through floor practice, I couldn't hide the throbbing in my ankle anymore. It was a low and dull heat, tingling with little sparks, but enough for me to suck in a quiet breath through my teeth at the end of a tumbling pass and limp back to the end of the line.

  "Go get your tape, Adrianna," Kova ordered.

  I turned around to respond but did a double take. There was a pinkish knot at the top of his forehead with a slight indentation where the corner of my notebook must've hit him. I hadn't noticed it when we’d come back in from running, but now that it'd been a few hours, I saw it as clear as day. He was going to have a bruise from it.

  I pursed my lips together and fought a smile. Victory.

  "Adrianna." His voice was firm this time. I looked at him and his eyes dropped to my feet. "Get your tape." I stared at him for a few seconds then subtly nodded. "And no Motrin," he shouted when I walked away.

  I mumbled under my breath and ignored him. I applied the same mentality to him as he did to me—what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  Quickly, I reached for the side pocket of my bag and popped two little orange pills, then I reached above to the shelf and grabbed my coconut water. Swallowing, I recapped the container and then dug through my duffle bag for my tape when my hand caught the corner of something.

  The notebook.

  Again.

  I was going to murder him.

  Irritation filled my veins. He must've snuck it in while we ran laps. I had a fierce urge to open it and see what Kova wrote, but I knew if I did it would consume me. Enrage me.

  Oh, who was I kidding? There was no way I could go all day and not read it. Flipping it open, I noticed there were two new entries. I went to the second to last one first.

  I am eternally sorry. I know you do not want to speak to me, but you need to know this was not what I wanted.

  For a split second I felt bad for throwing the notebook at him, until I remembered that he breathes lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. It was all that I processed. He was trying to fix his fuck-up and feed me lies he thought I'd eat up. Who did he think he was? Did he think I’d be so easy and fall for his bullshit again? Arrogant Russian.

  I flipped the page to the next entry.

  If gymnastics does not work out, you should look into shot put.

  Shot put? What the hell was shot put? Probably some Russian game no one's heard of.

  I shut the book with a grimace and threw it back into my locker. I slammed the door and made sure it was locked, then walked back into the gym with an icy expression on my face.

  I sat down on the blue carpeted floor and brought my knee up. The tape was precut, so I tore off three pieces as Kova came over and kneeled in front of me. The jerk smelled delicious but I refused to look at him. I handed him the tape and leaned back, giving him my foot while I watched as my teammates practiced on floor.

  Kova had one hand on my heel as he flexed my foot and pointed my toes with his other hand.

  "Any pain?" he asked.

  "Nope."

  His hand slid up my calf and gently squeezed the sore muscle. "What about here?"

  "Nope."

  He squeezed a little harder. "Now?"

  "Feels great." I bit out, still not looking at him.

  Then, he went for my Achilles. Literally. Kova pinched the back of my injured ankle, not hard enough to hurt me, but enough to garner a reaction. My nostrils flared, and I ground my back teeth together.

  "How is this?"

  "Feels fine."

  "I bet this feels great too," he shot at me, pinching a little tighter.

  My toes curled in pain. "Perfect, Coach. Just like that knot on your big head."

  Kova froze, and I smiled, feeling a little triumphant. The only things that moved were his piercing green eyes that shot straight through me. I looked at him, still grinning. I didn't move. I didn’t blink. I didn't hint at any other feeling. Just stared right through him and showed him how things were going to be from now on.

  Without saying anything, he taped my foot, stretching the elastic just enough to help alleviate the pain, then stood. He placed a hand out, but I got up on my own.

  "Get back in line," he said.

  "Yes, Coach."

  I'd skipped tutoring, had a small lunch, and worked through the rest of the day until sundown. I didn't have an appetite, but I knew I needed to eat something, so I forced myself to eat a "healthy" fatty protein bar. Shit was not good for you, but keeping my mind off things was key, and if I had to forgo some school work and eat garbage, then so be it.

  Even now as I waited for Kova to finish up so we could start the blading, I wasn’t hungry, but I had a raging headache and my bones ached so bad they felt brittle. My cheeks were tinged pink and I felt hot. The Motrin didn't do shit for my fever, but I pushed myself and kept my focus on point.

  I yawned. I was most likely dehydrated, tired, and in need of sleep.

  As I sat there in an old leo with chalk covering my body, I stared blankly at the wall and thought about how none of us really had time to rest. Not even the coaches. We were all focused and determined. I took every one of their orders and critiques with tight lips. Anything they said to do, I did. They hadn't criticized me for mistakes today, which was a first.

  I glanced at the clock, wondering how much longer I’d be waiting, when Kova strode out. Our gazes met, and he let me see the sorrow he'd hidden all day.

  "Ready?" he asked. I nodded and stood, feeling each step shooting through my bones as
I followed behind him down the hall to the therapy room. Kova flipped on the lights and I walked toward the table and climbed up, waiting, watching. Just going through the motions.

  He moved so quietly, meticulously, as he unwrapped the tools. He too was covered in chalk, his hat backwards, his back so beautifully shaped and strong. There was something intriguing about just watching him. Kova moved a tool to the side and the gleam of his wedding band reflected under the bright lights.

  Air constricted in my throat. Emotion threatened to pour from me. We were alone, and the devastating, glinting symbol reminding me that he was taken gutted me. I wanted to ask him not to wear it around me, but that would show that I cared, and I was trying to act like I was indifferent.

  Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

  "You looked pale today, Adrianna," he said with his back still to me.

  I rolled my eyes and stayed quiet, inhaling my feelings. Either he was dense or plain ignorant if he couldn't see how his actions had affected me.

  When I didn't respond, he glanced over his shoulder. I just stared at him with an unreadable look on my face and an empty pit in my chest.

  My head was all sorts of fucked up.

  "Did you hear me?" he asked over his shoulder.

  "Yes," I said, keeping my voice low.

  Kova turned around and leaned back against the counter. We stared at each other, so many unspoken words hung in the air between us. He was itching to talk, but I didn't care what he had to say.

  "You worried me today."

  I didn't respond, just stared. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the counter behind him.

  "So this is how it is going to be?" he asked.

  "What do you think, Coach?"

  Kova's jaw flexed, and his chin dipped deep and slow like he was aggravated. "Turn over," he ordered.

  Turning around, I got on my stomach and propped myself up on my elbows. I felt my entire body sink like a stone with fatigue. Luckily this would only last fifteen minutes and then I could leave. I had my night planned out. Eat, shower, sleep. That way I wouldn't have time to think about anything.

  Kova stood at the end of the table and pulled the tape off my calf and heel. He applied salve and massaged it into the sore muscle.

  "Do you hurt anywhere?"

  "No."

  "I need an honest answer from you, Adrianna."

  I stared at the white wall. "I have no pain, Coach."

  His hands paused. "Why are you calling me Coach?"

  "Because that's what you are."

  "I have never just been Coach to you."

  I kept my voice neutral and steady. "Well, that's what you are to me now."

  His hands slowly moved up my calf like he was deep in thought. "I know you are angry with me, but I do need to know if your Achilles is acting up."

  "Okay."

  "Adrianna, I did not go through training for you to give me one-word answers and lie to me." His accent was so much stronger when he was annoyed. "I spent time and money learning to do this for you. It is important that I know."

  There was so much I could say, but I wasn't going to.

  "Okay, Coach."

  Kova clucked his tongue under his breath. His hands pulled away and I heard the steel of the tools clash together. I knew he was frustrated with me.

  Welcome to my life.

  The chill of the metal touched my skin and I took a deep breath. This was going to suck, but on the plus side, I'd be ready and healed from the treatment for the meet this weekend.

  Kova ran the concaved blade up and down my skin, pressing and smoothing out the calf muscle. After a few minutes, he said, "You are all red and inflamed." I didn't say anything. He moved down to my ankle and scraped around the hollow spots. "You are all gritty here…"

  Kova didn't hold back, not that I expected him to, as he dug and cut into my skin like he was carving stone with a butter knife. I chewed the inside of my lip as I replayed my routines over and over in my head to block out the searing fucking agony. I swear, God hated me.

  "You will be sore when I am done. Tomorrow we will go a little lighter with practice."

  No, I needed the practice, the focus to take my mind off all the shit around me. "I'll take extra Motrin. Problem solved."

  Kova paused. "You know you cannot have that while you are doing the plasma injections. No anti-inflammatory medication at all."

  Shit

  I'd forgotten I couldn't take it and I’d been eating it by the handful. When I didn't say anything, Kova tapped my leg with his instrument.

  "You have not been taking it, right, Adrianna?"

  "Nope," I lied.

  He went back to treating me, this time pushing a little harder. I didn't flinch, but it hurt so fucking bad.

  "You are lying to me."

  "I'm not."

  I glanced over my shoulder and watched him. Focused, Kova's perfectionist fingers peppered over the instruments. His thumb slid up and down the edge of one tool I remember his sexy doctor friend, Ethan, said is more defined to get deeper into the grooves to even out overworked spots. Basically, it was going to be agonizing.

  His bright platinum wedding band clashed with the dull silver and I glanced away.

  I wish I didn't spot it every time I looked at him now.

  "If you take any kind of anti-inflammatory meds, you will hinder the growth and recovery of your Achilles."

  I was going to throw out every bottle in my condo when I got home. I may have made some questionable choices when it came to my love life, but I wasn't that dumb when it came to my health. I didn't want to further worsen my injury, but I had forgotten not to take it. Taking Motrin was like drinking water to me.

  "I know you have it in your bag, and probably a bottle in your truck. I want them before you leave."

  "Okay."

  "Stop taking them," he said.

  "I said I wasn't taking them."

  "You are a terrible liar."

  "I'm sorry. I'm not as well versed in the field of playing with people's emotions and lying to them as you are."

  "That was a low blow, Ria."

  "Adrianna. Call me Adrianna."

  He waited a long minute before responding. "You make me out to be a monster," he said, sounding distant, and I despised my traitorous heart for feeling bad.

  "You're two-faced. You did this to yourself. Now let's just get this over with so I can go home."

  "We need to make time to talk. There are things you do not know."

  "No. There's really nothing to talk about at this point. You lost your chance when I found out the way I did. You should've had the decency to respect me, but then again, you're Kova, and only care about yourself. From here on out, unless it's during practice and about gymnastics and my future in gymnastics, I don't want to speak to you at all."

  He continued scraping around my ankle. "You cannot ignore me forever."

  "I can."

  "You are my gymnast—"

  "And we only have to talk here or at meets." I paused. "Don't push me on this, Coach."

  I rose up higher on my elbows and looked over my shoulder, letting my unsympathetic glower show him I wasn't playing around. At least I got one look correct today.

  When push comes to shove and you're thrown off a bridge into a dark and frigid world of hurt, you find out how dirty you’ll fight to keep your head above water. I wasn't wild and free anymore. I was a slave to myself and I trusted no one.

  I would recover, but I'd never forget.

  * * *

  For once, Kova respected me and did exactly what I’d asked. At practice, we kept the focus on the sport and training. No heated glances, no inside jokes, no lingering touches. He had listened, adhered to my wishes, and never once pressured me to talk to him. At night, he stayed home and didn't make midnight appearances at my condo like he had so many times in the past. I was secretly relieved because the moment I got home until I went to bed, I drowned myself in an endless pool of tears.

  I could
hardly sleep despite how fatigued I was. If it wasn't the exhaustion, it was the coughing that kept me up. Some nights I sat in a ball under a hot shower and sobbed, and in turn it would help ease the itch in my lungs. When I wasn't crying, I was in my head trying to figure out how naïve I was to miss that he'd gotten married. The only thing that came to mind was the night he’d been texting me when he was drunk and I’d thought it was cute. Now I didn't think that so much.

  I didn't understand why I couldn’t just move on, or why when I stepped over the threshold at my condo and the mask fell that the tears would come seconds later. Who knew someone could be so empty inside and still cry their eyes out from holding everything in?

  In the mornings I used an ice pack to bring down the swelling and all sorts of expensive creams to reduce the puffiness under my eyes. I even wore concealer to hide behind, something I'd never done. Wearing makeup to practices and workouts never made sense until this week. Makeup helped me hide the ugly truth.

  About midway through the week I started to notice that Kova hadn't ridiculed me once during all the time we trained. And considering we spent close to ten hours a day together, it was noticeable. He didn't force me to do extra conditioning, he hadn't yelled at me, hadn't made me do my routines or skill over so many times to the point I lost count. He wasn't acting like his usual, dickhead self, and that concerned me.

  Thing was, I might not have liked his dickish ways at first, but now I was used to it and I found that I thrived on it. So the fact that it stopped all of a sudden and I wasn't getting the same treatment I had been concerned me. It made me feel like he'd either gone soft on me, or just didn't give a shit about my career in this sport any longer.

  He stayed focused and only spoke to me when we practiced, and when he trained someone else, he never looked in my direction. Usually I could feel his eyes on me, but not anymore. His eyes, though, had lacked the dazzling green I used to know and had come to love. He looked grim most of the week with dark circles under his eyes, but I chalked it up to him being worried about the upcoming meets and how critical they were for all of us.