The Thomas Flair - E.J. Russell Page 0,17
gym?”
“N-no.”
“Mouthing off to the coaches? Slacking off on conditioning?”
“No.”
“Then don’t you think it’s time—” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, since Danny was only a couple of yards away. “—to give me a fucking break?”
Sol swallowed, and for an instant, Tony saw the shadow of the shy, uncertain kid who’d walked into the gym looking for something to anchor him after his life had been turned upside down by his medical condition.
But then the moment passed, and Tony could see it coming—the denial, the rejection. And he couldn’t really blame Sol, because he had really, truly fucked up. He’d hurt Sol in ways Sol didn’t even realize yet—and never will, if I can manage it—and failed the team. But this was a new team, and he wasn’t about to fail them, whatever it took. As Sol drew breath to speak—probably to tell Tony to go fuck himself—Tony cut him off.
“How about this? Handstand contest.”
Sol blinked again. “What?”
“A handstand contest, same as we used to have at Central. If I win, you start treating me like your teammate.”
“And if I win?”
Tony straightened his shoulders and looked Sol square in the eye. “If you win, I’ll withdraw from the program. Go home and let you all get down to it. Because you’re right. This isn’t about you or me. It’s about the team. So what do you say?”
Sol glanced over Tony’s shoulder, where Danny had arrived in time to hear the challenge. “A-all right.”
Tony clapped his hands. “Then let’s do it.”
“What? You mean now?”
“No time like the present.” He nodded at Danny. “Wanna be the ref for us?”
Danny’s expression could best be described as WTF, dude? And Tony couldn’t honestly say he had an answer. He’d worked his ass off to earn this second chance. But he’d wanted the chance with Sol. And he was about to risk it all on a bet that would be over in under three minutes.
And I thought I’d sworn off taking stupid risks.
But if his presence hurt the team, hurt the reputation of US men’s gymnastics, hurt Sol again, then it wasn’t worth it, anyway.
Danny stuck his fingers in his mouth and blew an ear-splitting whistle that nearly got lost in the cavernous gym. “Yo, guys! Come on back. There’s a challenge on deck.” As the rest of the team trotted over, Danny grabbed Tony’s biceps and towed him into the middle of the spring floor. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You’re not seriously going to quit if Sol wins, are you?”
Tony shrugged, the twinge in his shoulder from his earlier rings workout hinting that he’d probably picked the wrong time for this particular challenge. “Like I said. We need to unify the team.”
“The team’ll be plenty unified. Shit, we don’t even know who the team is until the selection committee makes their decision. Why are you letting Sol push you into a corner? Why is it your job to make him act like a fricking adult?”
Tony glanced over at Sol, who was surrounded by the guys who’d migrated to his anti-Tony group. “He’s got a point. My track record sucks. I guess I want to let him know that I’m willing to put everything on the line for the team.” Everything on the line for him.
Because being near Sol, seeing him every day, yearning for the closeness they’d once had—and more, if I’m honest—yet having Sol further out of reach than when he’d just been a figure on a screen at some far-off competition? Well, apparently medical science was a bunch of horseshit, because Tony was living proof you could function—more or less—with a hole the size of a discus in your chest.
He slapped Danny on the shoulder. “No risk, no reward, right?”
Danny shook his head, but beckoned to the other guys. “Handstand face-off between Tony Thomas—” Danny glared at Tony. “Salute the judges, fool.” Tony snorted, but raised his arm in the gymnasts’ salute. “And Sol Ashvili.” He lowered his eyebrows until Sol saluted. “First one to fall, roll out, or tap out is the loser. Ready?” Tony grinned and Sol jerked his chin down. “Hands down.”
Tony bent over and placed his hands flat on the spring floor. Sol did the same next to him, and Tony couldn’t resist a glance at Sol’s face. He looked serious and determined—but that’s how Sol always looked before an exercise.
“Aaannnd…” Danny stretched the word out like taffy. “Go!”
Tony kicked up, pointing his toes and tightening his abs, because if this was his last time