frantic with desperation.
“Do you feel like there’s something between us?” I blurt out. “Because I do. I’d be lying if I pretended otherwise.”
“I…” He trails off and rubs his jaw. I’m overcome by a desire to kiss that spot, but I refrain. “I do. Of course I do, Avery. Come on. You’re beautiful, and so unbelievably strong, and I feel so at home talking to you. I like that we’re cut from the same cloth: competitive, hardworking, goal-oriented. It’s rare to find someone like that who also has room in their life for someone else.”
Against my better judgment, a thrill runs through my body. My brain feels like a jumble of confetti and trumpets and parades. And then I notice the way his voice lilts downward at the end, like there’s a “but” coming. My heart races and then skids to a stop.
Sure enough, he starts with, “But—”
I have to cut him off. “Here’s the thing, Ryan. Whether or not it’s convenient, or whether or not it’s a good idea, I can’t just walk away from the fact that being around you makes me happier than I’ve felt in a long time.”
I sound ten times braver than I feel. It’s terrifying to be so honest with him, but I’m in too deep now to turn around. I have to keep going—I owe it to myself to at least try to win Ryan over. I take a deep breath and barrel on.
“And this isn’t just about me. You have a great job and a great life, but I know you want more. I bet you’ve been lonely. That’s why you jumped into a relationship right after retiring from gymnastics. That’s why you flirt with me, even when you say you know better. I know what it’s like to want a real connection and not find it, and it’s awful.”
Ryan is still just inches away. I take in the soft, dark depths of his eyes, the faint scar over his eyebrow, the smattering of stubble along his jaw, his tensed, broad shoulders. He swallows.
“You’re right,” he says quietly, not breaking my gaze. “About all of it.”
“Okay…” I say, feeling hopeful, though not secure enough to relax just yet.
“I’m just not sure that’s enough,” he says. “Not when there’s so much at stake. As long as we’re responsible for Hallie, she comes first. There can’t be any distractions.”
Distractions. The word reverberates uncomfortably and settles into the pit of my stomach. That’s what I’d be: a distraction. I can’t look at him. I’m not a monster—I don’t want my love life to stand in the way of Hallie’s shot at Olympic glory. But I don’t think it’s quite that simple. She would never need to know. I fiddle with the zipper of my jacket.
“Look, I’m not saying no to this. To us,” he says, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “I’m just saying we need to think carefully here, because the Olympics are right around the corner. And you, more than anyone, can understand how devastated Hallie would be if she doesn’t make it.”
I’m sure Ryan didn’t mean to do it, but linking my feelings for him now to the depression I felt years ago just crushes me. It’s cruel.
“I have to go,” I mutter, blinking back tears.
Ryan doesn’t protest as I head back inside.
FEBRUARY 2020
• CHAPTER 13 •
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Hallie asks at practice a week later.
I hold her feet as she dangles her upper body off the back of the vault, then muscles her way up into a sitting position. Her abs swell in size by the second.
“What?” I spit out, caught off guard.
I’m very careful to resist the urge to peek across the gym at Ryan. In fact, I’ve spent the majority of the past week avoiding him, because it’s painful enough to replay our awful last conversation in my head every night before I fall asleep. I don’t want to have to relive it in his presence, too.
“I asked if you had a boyfriend,” she repeats, finishing another rep of crunches.
She rarely, if ever, asks about my life outside the gym. I don’t share, either. Did she Google me? If so, there’s a handful of tabloid stories about me and Tyler—I hope she didn’t uncover those.
I laugh nervously. “No. Why?”
Her face turns beet red, and it’s not from the physical exertion. She can do this workout in her sleep.
“I was just wondering because you’ve seemed kind of sad all week, and I