of them were laughing as they walked into the gym, which wasn’t the best way to be unobtrusive. Barry frowned at them, but Xiao, who was standing in the middle of the spring floor as the team jogged around its perimeter, simply gestured for them to join the line.
Then after warm-up, while Sol watched, counting down the strength moves in his head, Tony stuck his rings dismount cold for the first time.
Oh yeah. This team is definitely making a statement.
And after the Games? He and Tony would make another one, even if it was four years late.
One more day until qualification. One more day before it all starts.
It was the last day of podium training before the official start of the games. They were finishing up the second set on their last rotation—the dreaded pommel horse—and fatigue was setting in for all of them. Tony, as the second one in the lineup, had already completed his two exercises. Both were identical, since he wasn’t aiming for finals, just to post a respectable number for the team and go clean.
A collective groan rose from the other end of the gym where spectators—hard-core fans, the press, and judges in an unofficial capacity—were watching the athletes from Russia on high bar. Tony squinted, trying to make out what had happened. The guys from Russia had it rough enough already, since they weren’t allowed to be their country’s team—no flags, no official insignia, no anthem if they won—because of the four-year anti-doping ban that got slapped on Russia in December. They’d lost two of their top guys as a result, but their roster was so deep it almost didn’t matter. Other than the hit to their morale.
Tony switched his attention to Sol, who was waiting his turn next to the stairs. He was their anchor on horse and had a real chance at an event gold. Sol had his eyes closed, his arms flapping comically at his sides, his upper body weaving like one of those roly-poly dolls with the round bottom. Tony buried his smirk. Visualization. He had to admit it seemed to work—his own routines were a lot more consistent now—but it could sure look goofy from the outside.
When Sol opened his eyes and climbed onto the podium, Tony clenched his fists at his sides. Why was he always more nervous watching Sol than he was doing his own exercises? Maybe because I can control my own body. But although he willed Sol to do well, to nail his routines, he couldn’t actually assist in any way. That was the conundrum of a sport that was a collection of individuals performing separately rather than a team who had to interact to accomplish a scoring goal. Sometimes I wish I’d chosen football like Dad always dreamed.
Sol saluted, and as he grasped the pommels, Tony’s mouth was so dry it was like he’d eaten the damn chalk for breakfast.
Sol mounted the horse, and just like every other time since the two of them had advanced beyond basic skills, Tony was mesmerized by Sol’s power and grace. His circles were smooth, his body position straight, the extension on his flairs… God, he was perfect. He never broke his rhythm, never let his legs separate, and when he flew up to the handstand for his dismount with that extra pirouette? Touchdown! And not a single hop or step on landing.
Yes! Grinning, Tony punched the air, waiting for Sol to do the same. And waited. And waited.
But instead of raising his arms in the post-exercise salute, Sol slowly toppled sideways onto the mat.
“Jesus!” Tony rushed up the stairs, reaching Sol only seconds before Xiao. He knelt next to Sol and put a hand on his shoulder. “Solly, stay put. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Sol pushed himself up and Tony steadied him with an arm around his back. “Headache. Got a little dizzy.” He smiled, but it was a pathetic effort. “I’m fine.” By this time, Barry and a couple of officials had hurried over. Sol winced. “Really. Let’s not make a big deal out of this.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “You just collapsed in front of a crowd. It’s not exactly a secret.”
A medic joined Tony next to Sol. “A stretcher will be here momentarily. Can you tell me what happened?”
“I don’t need a stretcher.” Sol waved him away. “I need to check my levels. Probably grab a snack. I’m still having trouble timing my meals.”
The medic blinked. “You’re diabetic?”
“Yes. The organizers know.” Sol held out a hand and Tony