Kova turned around and leaned against the lockers. His head fell back and he stared at the ceiling. His face was rigid, his jaw grated together. A sharp pain shot through my chest. I felt everything he exposed when he thought no one was watching. Everything. It took strength not to walk back in there and talk to him.
I shot a quick glance at his reddened knuckles. The skin had broken and blood dripped onto the floor as he clenched his fist.
I could be a lot of things when I needed to, but I refused to console him about his impending marriage.
Fifty-Two
I hadn't slept more than ten hours all weekend due to the hectic schedule of the competition and flying back and forth.
In truth, I couldn't afford to rest. Or to think about what Kova had said to Ethan, and how I'd left him in the locker room. I hadn't let myself. I had a one-track mind all weekend and it stayed that way. Even driving back to Palm Bay, I refused to let myself think about it. It hurt too much.
The clock was ticking. Each meet that I placed in the top three brought me one step closer to the Olympics. First place was always the goal. Despite second place being the first-place loser, I was still happy with it. Silver still put me on the grid. I was competing against gymnasts with no injuries, and much younger. The odds were unquestionably against me, but my drive and determination exceeded theirs and it showed in my performance.
This past meet, the Secret U.S. Classic, I had placed first in vault and bars, and second in floor. I had walked away with two gold medals and one silver. It was a tight squeeze for beam and I was close to getting bronze, but I didn't. Still, I was golden and feeling confident.
Monday came fast and hard. Crawling out of bed these mornings had been a task in itself. Even now I was dead tired and it was midafternoon. Three days of straight practice, two blading sessions—one late Sunday night when we got home, one before I left—and then I was free for an entire week. That had been my goal and focus and what helped me stay motivated.
The blading… Man. What a difference it'd made. Even more, the deep tissue massage. I couldn't believe it, but Dr. Hart had been right. I felt like a new person with a little pep in my step and when competition time came, I had a whole new body. It was remarkable to be pain free while defying gravity. I insisted Kova fit them in my schedule. I told him if my coach couldn't help me and make it work, I'd go to a physical therapist.
He gave me that infamous glare upon my demand.
I got what I wanted.
I couldn't help but wonder how I would’ve fared if I'd had them sooner.
"Bez truda, ne vitashish i rubku iz pruda." Kova had said to me in Russian at the meet. "No pain, no gain."
I hated that saying, and when I had told him so, as well as reminded him I was not in pain, he had just shrugged his shoulders, indifferent. "Not physically, but your pride is," he had replied.
I hated that he was right. He'd asked me how I was doing, and I gave him a generic answer. It was how we maintained our relationship the entire weekend—a question with a basic response. Though, when I stuck a landing or received the most points allowed in my routine, we both grinned from ear to ear and threw around hugs like they were free.
But nothing was free. Everything came with a price.
Over two hours of driving, I pulled into my family's estate, ready to spend the Easter holiday with them. We may reside on a swanky island, but our opulent home was a secret oasis of peace and quiet, and my body was craving that. I needed the rest badly, especially since this month would be extremely chaotic with upcoming championships. And championships were very important. If I didn't place then, I was basically screwed.
My stomach churned, and a sense of dread clouded me as I passed through the iron gates. Without the B12 injections and sheer force of willpower to keep going, I could collapse any minute, but there was an unsettling feeling in my gut and it kept me alert as I parked my truck.