Chapter 20
HANNAH
“Better, Hannah, but you’re still off direction. Look at where you landed. Straight arms. Ankles together. Stick the landing every time.” Coach Rodier claps once and nods for me to do it again.
We’ve been working on vault today, breaking down every part of the routine before piecing it together. Skills I thought I had mastered years ago are suddenly too difficult for me. I feel like the biggest fraud to ever step foot in this gym.
I channel all that frustration as I walk back to the end of the runway.
I fight the negative thoughts that ask me what the hell I’m doing here, and why am I spending so much money potentially wasting my time and Coach’s when I’m never going to get it.
They’re thoughts I don’t truly believe but I entertain them anyway in a ten-second pity party.
Before I turn to take my place and face the vault and Coach, I take a breath and release all the negativity. I can fucking do this.
I stare down the runway, psyching myself up. As soon as I start sprinting, something feels off. I realize as I approach the mat for my roundoff that it’s my timing. If I keep going, I’m going to enter too soon and likely miss the apparatus all together.
Coming up short, I look to Coach. “Sorry. I think I shortened my third step.”
Freaking amateur. I curl my hands into fists as I go back to the start.
I’ve only just gotten into position when Coach calls out, “Wait.”
I look up, focus broken, to see him walking toward me.
I can sprint twenty-five meters, the distance to the vault, in three point two seconds.
It feels like it takes three minutes for Coach to reach me.
I’m already preparing myself for whatever he has to say.
I like that he’s not a coach that doles out too much praise but today I’m doing enough berating of myself for the both of us.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
It’s surprise and not disobedience that makes me slow to follow his direction.
“Close your eyes,” he repeats.
My lashes fall like a curtain. It’s somewhat of a relief to be unable to see his disappointed expression.
“I want you to visualize the routine. Start at the beginning and move through it in real time.”
I’ve done this exercise so many times. Part of my weekly training now includes an hour of this daily, but even before coming to Premier I logged a lot of time lying in my bed and imagining what it would be like to train in this very gym, perfecting these skills.
So much time it would be incomprehensible to anyone else.
I know the power of the mind and body connection.
I believe it. But I’m so tired of planning and preparing for a future.
I want to do it. Action, practice, repetition—these are the things I put on hold for so many years, and when I got another chance to work toward my dream of getting to the Olympics, I swore I would work as hard as I could.
And I have lived up to those words. I can’t make up for the years I wasn’t training, but I can get the most out of every minute I have available now.
“Again.” He must be counting the seconds or visualizing it with me because he seems to know exactly when I’ve landed on the mat, arms raised over my head.
He makes me do it three more times before he says, “Now, this time I want you to put yourself there. You aren’t merely seeing yourself perform, you can feel the mat under your feet and your hands hitting the vault.
Every detail is important here, just like when you’re doing it in front of the judges.
To be the best, you must first convince yourself. ”
“Again. Now feel the emotions. Pride. Determination. Tenacity. And above all…”
I finish the routine in my head, sticking the landing, chest raised, head high. Goosebumps dot my skin and my eyes open. “Hope?”
“That’s right. You do everything in your power and then reach for a little extra from the gymnastic gods.” His lips pull into a smile. A real one. He doesn’t show any teeth, but his mouth makes a definite curve.
“You mean like Simone Biles or Avery Oliver?”
He continues to smile at me, and oh my gosh, am I really joking around with Coach Rodier? I never thought I’d see the day. It loosens some of the tension coiled tight in my stomach.
“Each time you visualize your routines, you do it this way. Don’t simply see the movements, live them.
I know you’re frustrated by how slowly we’re moving with your training, but it cannot be rushed.
You have the skill and the work ethic. You brought yourself a long way all on your own by doing it your way, but if you could have advanced to that next level doing those same things, you would have already done it. ”
The truth of his words seeps into my bones. He’s asking me to trust the process. To trust him. From a girl who has taken care of herself and let very few people help in any meaningful way, that’s harder than it sounds.
“Okay.” I nod.
“Good. Now, let’s do it again.”
After working with Coach on vault, I spend the remainder of the day working transitions on uneven bars and finish up with a short cardio training.
By the time I’m done, all I want is a shower and then to lie in bed and listen to the latest podcast Wren sent me.
She promised this one was “slightly less unhinged.”
I pull on my sweats over my leotard and step into my boots. When I grab my phone from my bag, I have a new text from just five minutes ago.
Travis
Plans tonight?
I doubt he meant bed rotting.
Me
Not sure. Why?
Travis
Noncommittal in case my plans suck, huh?
Me
Maybe.
Travis
New restaurant opening. Some of the guys are going and we don’t have any food. You in?
My stomach growls.
He follows up with another text containing a link to the restaurant. It all sounds a lot better than anything I can grab on the way home.
Me
Can I wear sweats?
Travis
Sure, we can be twins if you want.
Another text, this time a selfie of him in his favorite gray pants and nothing else.
We don’t wear sweats, but when Travis comes downstairs in dark jeans and a black sweater, I’m thinking half-dressed was a safer option. He looks good. No, he looks phenomenal.
“Wow,” he says, giving me a once over while he clasps a watch onto his left wrist. “You’re a five-alarm fire. Damn.”
I chuckle nervously. “This is okay? I wasn’t sure about the dress code for a restaurant opening.”
The black dress is simple but it’s the nicest thing I own.
“You look perfect.”
I press a hand to my stomach. “Good because I’m starving.”
The right corner of his mouth hitches up. “Before we go, I have something for you.”
Curiosity piqued, I eagerly track his movements. He slides a hand into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small, black box. It doesn’t immediately dawn on me what’s inside, but when he gets closer, I piece it together.
My throat is dry and my pulse quickens. Neither of us speaks while he opens the velvet box and reveals a stunning diamond ring.
I suck in a sharp breath and then stop breathing all together. I’m not much of a jewelry girl, especially rings because I end up having to remove them so much for training, but even I can appreciate the gorgeous ring staring up at me.
It’s oval cut, more carats than I can even speculate, with smaller diamonds around the band. It’s simple in the way only really elegant things can be.
“I figured you should have one if we’re going to make everyone believe I convinced you to marry me. And telling them the Vegas chapel options were too tacky will just open the door for too many jokes.”
I let out a small, startled laugh. “I wondered why I didn’t have one, but I chalked it up to the unusual situation or thought maybe I lost it.”
“I wanted the ring to be perfect.” He takes it out of the box and reaches for my hand, which is suddenly a little shaky. “Do you like it? You told me you don’t wear rings often, so I went smaller than I wanted.”
“There were some bigger than this?” I ask, only half joking. The weight of it as he slides the ring onto my finger is substantial.
He grins, proud and playful. It makes me wonder what kind of ring he might pick out for another woman someday when he does all this for real. Big and flashy, for sure, I’d expect nothing less.
His hand lingers, cradling mine for a beat, and his thumb runs along my skin just above the band of the ring.
“It’s gorgeous,” I assure him, but I mean it. I doubt I could have picked out anything as beautiful.
With a pleased grin, he drops my hand and steps back. “Ready, wife?”
The restaurant opening is for a new whiskey bar and grill. It has sort of a sophisticated Western vibe. Tonight, they’re serving a small tasting menu and instead of the usual formal seating I expected, they’ve set up couches and chairs around the room and outside in a heated patio.
I meet several more of Travis’s teammates and say hello to Conrad and Danny. Danny’s here with a date, so Conrad sticks with me and Travis, and the three of us find a wingback couch outside.
“Did you check out Hannah’s finger?” Trav asks after we get our drinks. The guys ordered a flight of whiskey and I stuck with water.
Conrad turns his head and squints slightly like he’s not sure he heard him right.
“She’s dripped out,” Trav adds.
Still Conrad has no idea what he’s talking about, so I lift my left hand as casually as possible.
Conrad’s stare finally lands on my left finger and recognition dawns on his face. “Ooh. You got her a ring. Nice.” He turns back to Travis. “You gotta stop stealing middle school slang from Aidan.”
Travis’s grin doesn’t waver. He takes a sip of the first whiskey and then passes the glass to me. “Want to try it?”
“I don’t think I like whiskey.”
“Perfect time to find out.”
I take the glass and bring it up to my lips. The smell is overwhelming but when the liquid spills onto my tongue it isn’t quite as bad as I expected.
“It’s sweeter than I thought it would be.” Swallowing and handing the glass back, I quickly take a drink of my water.