Chapter 24 #3
But it was like a fucking gut punch, finding out that someone had hurt Sasha, too.
And Sasha had been so matter-of-fact about it, his voice almost robotic as he described the abuse; he’d actually seemed annoyed by Danny’s upset reaction, like he didn’t think it was anything out of the ordinary.
That was probably the worst part, realizing how often it must have been happening at Round Lake for him to feel that way.
Jesus, no wonder Kirill’s so pissed off all the time.
“Now, the key is, you have to pound the cabbage leaves with a mallet, like what Danny’s—honey, you with us?”
“Huh?” Snapping back to the kitchen, Danny realizes he’s been standing there with the mallet loose in his hand, a pile of leaves still waiting for him to pulverize the stems. “Oh, right, sorry,” he says sheepishly, hefting up the mallet again.
The cabbage rolls are a hit—everyone has seconds and thirds, and Sasha swears the recipe’s even better than his aunts’ (but not, Danny notices, his mom’s).
Afterwards, Andy takes care of the clean-up while Danny, Sasha, and Diane camp out in the living room, though they’ve barely started flipping through the channels when Sasha yawns and stands up, saying he’s tired and going to bed early.
Normally, Danny would take this as an invitation to wait five minutes and then slip away after him, but Sasha looks…
not tired, but a little off, like maybe he wants to be alone.
So Danny sits through an episode of Love It or List It (which he’s actually kind of into—his mom’s a realtor, and her commentary’s hilarious) before he excuses himself and heads upstairs, stopping by Sasha’s room and knocking at the door.
“Yes?” Sasha asks, his voice coming from somewhere near the ground. When Danny opens the door, he finds him in a planked position, ass up in all its sweatpanted glory, grinding back and forth on a foam roller.
Danny had totally meant to have a conversation, but it can wait until Sasha’s finished massaging his hip flexors. “Hi,” he says, hopping onto the bed and leaning over for the best view. “Don’t mind me.”
Sasha shakes his head but keeps going, eventually changing positions so he’s sitting on top of the roller and working his glutes. Danny approves.
“You ready for tomorrow? You’re gonna be so sore.”
Sasha nods, grimacing. Every gymnast knows how rough it is coming back from vacation, the second day somehow always even worse than the first.
“It’s okay,” Danny says. “I’ll massage you.”
Sasha snorts at that, like he thinks Danny’s joking; but Danny actually has a ton of massage therapy stuff in the basement, and now he’s getting all sorts of ideas.
Bookmarking those thoughts for tomorrow, he asks, “You excited about coaching?”
Sasha nods again, but there’s something hesitant in his expression, and Danny ventures a guess.
“You nervous?”
“A little,” Sasha admits, switching legs. “This is my first time coaching in English. And I don’t know your students.”
“You’re gonna be awesome,” Danny promises. “Just do the silent scary Russian thing and the kids’ll do whatever you tell them to.”
He’s teasing, but Sasha frowns, bringing the foam roller to a stop. “Coach Garrett—he said something about… about Soviet coaching? He has problem with it?”
“Oh. Yeah. He had a Russian coach who was, like, a total hardass.” Danny sifts through some of the stories Coach Garrett’s told him over the years, wondering uneasily if any of them have happened to Sasha, too.
“He used to make them run laps in, like, a hundred-degree weather, and if someone passed out, he’d get pissed and make them do extra conditioning because they were ‘weak’ and ‘not working hard enough.’ And they weren’t allowed to talk in practice, either, like, he’d yell at them if they said anything to each other. ”
Danny shivers at the thought, and Sasha notices, his expression becoming more subdued. “Not all Russian coaches are bad,” he says quietly.
“I know,” Danny promises.
For a moment, Sasha sits still, balanced on the foam roller. His eyes are downcast, and while Danny can’t tell what he’s thinking, odds are he could use a hug—he just doesn’t know it yet.
“Come here,” Danny says, sliding off the bed and holding out his arms.
Sasha groans, but Danny can see a smile lurking at the corner of his mouth as he stands up. “Are you going to hug me every night?”
“Yup.” Danny reels him in, squeezing tight. “You should just leave your door open.”
Sasha sighs, like it’s someone else who’s tucking his chin into Danny’s shoulder, and Danny grins. Yeah, Sasha loves his hugs.
This one’s going to be extra-long, too—for everything Sasha went through as a child, and for how it’s clearly still affecting him as an adult, even though he won’t admit it.
“Hey, Sash?” Danny murmurs, after it’s been at least a solid minute.
“Hm?”
“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but… I just wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened to you. And if you ever do want to talk about it, I’m here.”
“Thank you,” Sasha replies, but from the slight tension in his body, Danny knows he’d better not hold his breath.
He can’t say he’s surprised—Sasha’s always been reluctant to talk about things like this, important things, first his father’s death and now his coaches’ abuse.
It’s like he pushes his pain so far down inside him, he’s afraid to let anyone else near it.
Danny wants to help. Wants to tell Sasha he loves him, so fucking much, and it’s okay if he’s upset or hurt, because Danny will be there for him no matter what.
But this isn’t the right moment to say “I love you” for the first time, and he has a feeling that Sasha still wouldn’t confide in him anyway, would just say it’s over and done with and there’s no point in rehashing it.
“Just… tell me if it happens again, okay?” he asks, since at least it’s something. And even then, he still has to wait several seconds for Sasha to nod into his shoulder. “And if there’s anything else going on, like… not just at the gym but like, if anything else is bothering you…”
Sasha tenses even more, as if he’s stopped breathing, and Danny pulls back to scrutinize his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Sasha looks away, but Danny can’t tell if he’s lying or uncomfortable with the close-up eye contact. “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about this more.”
“Okay,” Danny agrees softly, letting it go. He’ll just have to hope Sasha got the message, hope he’ll confide in Danny when he’s ready. “Can I hug you again?”
After a beat, Sasha says, “Yes.”
So Danny pulls him back in, holding him close, and when Sasha exhales, his whole body relaxes against Danny’s—like maybe, for now, this is enough.