36. Finley
36
Finley
All my hard work comes down to this—one practice, a couple of routines, a demonstration of skills I’ve practiced hundreds of times in this gym.
Never before in front of the UPC gymnastics coach though.
I barely slept last night, thinking about the importance of today. I insisted on not staying at Zach’s because he’d distract me with activities that were decidedly not sleeping. So instead of cuddling up to my boyfriend, I watched the clock beside the bed in Veronica’s house, praying I’d drift off. Several painful hours later, it finally happened but it wasn’t enough.
A fist pounds on the door. “Finley? You ready?”
“Yep, almost,” I call, continuing to take deep breaths, in and out, willing my heart to settle, my mind to calm.
I love everything about competing. All eyes on me. The pressure of the judges. Cheering for my teammates. Chalk in the air. The smack of the mat when I stick my landing. Nothing tops nailing a routine and having the noise of the gym rush back all at once in celebration of my performance.
It’d been years since my last good memory of competition. And today, out there, so much of what helped me thrive as a gymnast will be missing. All that awaits is one man who’ll decide if I’m worthy of a second chance and the coach who has backed me every step of the way. I don’t want to let Veronica down after she stuck her neck out for me.
And I don’t want my gymnastics career to end.
The door rattles again, the knock more casual and less frantic.
“One minute.”
But it’s not Veronica’s voice that answers me. “High-flyer, can you let me in?”
I rip open the door and launch myself at Zach, so thankful he’s here. He’s not expecting it, but those reflexes of his, honed to perfection by years of playing hockey, allow him to easily catch me. My legs wrap around his waist, my face nestling in the crook of his neck. I breathe in deeply, pulling his heady scent into my lungs. Home.
My faculties come back all at once. “Wait—what are you doing here?” I loosen the grip of my legs and find my footing on the floor.
When I step out of his arms, Zach gives me an appreciative scan. “It’s so good to see you.”
I keep my gaze on him, waiting for an explanation for why he’s here.
“What? Am I supposed to play it cool, pretend you don’t affect me?”
I roll my eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Zach’s forehead wrinkles. “What was your question?”
“Seriously?” I playfully shove his shoulder, flashing a teasing smile. “You weren’t listening?”
“I was. Or I tried to.” He shrugs, a sheepish expression on his face. Pink cheeks and an impish smile. “What was the question?”
“I asked what you’re doing here.” I cross my arms over my chest.
He’s supposed to be somewhere else right now. I’d known it and gotten over my disappointment. A few days before leaving Maine, my parents returned my phone, and I received Veronica’s texts about the tryout with the UPC coach. I texted Zach first—he’s the person I want to share everything with—and he broke the news he had practice at the same time. My heart sank knowing I wouldn’t have him in my corner. But I’d never ask him to sacrifice his job for me.
Zach’s hands slide into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m here to cheer on my girl while she kicks ass and blows that coach away.”
“But you have practice.”
“The team has practice. I’m excused, and we can talk about it later. Right now is about you. Veronica says you’re hiding. What’s going on?”
I groan. “I’m not hiding . I needed a minute before I go out there and perform the most important routines of my entire career in front of a man who holds my fate in his hands.”
Zach points toward the gym. “Don’t think about him. Think about this as if it’s any other practice when I sat on the sidelines in awe as you flip around like it’s as easy as breathing.”
One hand drifts to my cheek, his thumb moving back and forth on my skin. “It’s me and you out there, all right? And in case it’s not obvious, I’m going to love you no matter what happens. I’m so proud of you, Finley. I’ve watched you balance college and gymnastics and working at the café, and somehow you made time for me and you found a way to manage it all. You do everything so fucking well. Regardless of what happens or doesn’t happen, I admire the shit out of you.”
His words kick my heart, and like a pi?ata, my overwhelming feelings for him fall out. I don’t realize I’m crying until Zach smooths away my tears. He tugs me to him, and I go willingly, affixing my body to his.
No one has ever said words like that to me. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible to know this person will stand by my side whether I succeed or fail. Like I’d do for him.
His fingers trail over my hair, the motion so soothing, that I relax for the first time in more than twelve hours.
“I’m so lucky you belong with me,” he murmurs.
With him, not to him. One word makes all the difference.
“They’re going to know I’ve been crying,” I say through a watery laugh, pulling out of his embrace. My hands run over my face, clearing the remaining tears.
“They don’t matter, Finley. Only you. And you’ve got this.”
I splash some water on my face, then blot it with a paper towel. Better, but still not great. Good thing I won’t be judged on my appearance.
“Thank you for being here, for choosing me. I never thought I’d have this.” I motion in the air between us. “I didn’t think something as good as this could exist.”
Zach swallows hard. “Me neither,” he croaks, then clears the emotion from his throat before speaking again. “Show them what I already know—Finley Harris is a force to be reckoned with.”
I roll my shoulders, taking one last deep breath. “I won’t let you down.” Zach huffs out a laugh when I wink at him. “Prepare to be impressed.”
“You ready?” Veronica greets me as I stroll into the gym. She stands beside Coach Miller on the edge of the floor, her head barely reaching his shoulder.
I force a smile. My body still surges with nerves. “Absolutely. Sorry for the delay.”
Veronica waves a hand. “It gave Coach Miller time to catch up with his favorite gymnast.” She winks at me, then pitches her voice low to talk to Coach. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with us.”
Zach enters the gym and goes to the alcove, the spot where he watched me train when Veronica ordered him away for distracting me. His presence centers me.
It’s me and you out there, all right? And in case it’s not obvious, I’m going to love you no matter what happens.
Coach Miller pats her on the shoulder. “I appreciate it.” His attention shifts to me. “So, Finley, Veronica speaks highly of you. I saw you compete years ago too. Your gymnastics was always impressive. How long have you been back in training?”
I fight the urge to cross my arms. “Since last summer, but I’ve been training relentlessly. I’m not back to where I was… you know… before, but I’m confident I will be by next season.”
“Are you okay sharing what made you step back from the sport?” he asks.
I appreciate his phrasing, the way he gives me the option to opt out of answering. Last summer, I would’ve run from this conversation.
I look at Veronica, then Zach, thinking about how telling each of them didn’t go the way my mind told me it would. I thought they’d want nothing to do with the “crazy” girl who couldn’t control her emotions. But they both stayed. They love me anyway.
And if this coach judges me for my condition—for something I can’t help—then fuck him. I will find someone else who accepts me as I am. Because that’s what I deserve.
“I needed to focus on my mental health. I have bipolar disorder and had to learn how to manage it. Which I did. I’m healthier than ever, and I can answer any questions you have.”
He nods slowly, taking in my explanation. The confession doesn’t cause him to drop eye contact or scrunch his face with worry or disgust. “Thank you for telling me, Finley. I value honesty. It’s something we need to talk about more if you join the team, but we’ll cross that bridge then.”
I nod. “Where do you want me to start?”
He gestures over his shoulder. “I’d love to see those famous beam skills.”
A genuine smile stretches across my face. “You’ve got it,” I say before striding to the apparatus I’d dominated when competing in elite gymnastics. My other events are solid, but I thrive on that four-inch beam. I mastered it after forcing myself to spend hours practicing difficult skills repeatedly until I defeated the fear of falling.
Veronica approaches while I’m setting up the springboard. “You got this, Fi.”
“I know,” I tell her, straightening to my full height after placing the springboard in the exact place I need for my mount. “But thank you.”
“You don’t need me anymore, huh?”
“I’ll always need you. You’re a huge part of why I know I can do this. So let me show off how good of a coach you are.”
She shakes her head, but I glimpse a smile blossoming on her face before she heads back to Coach Miller.
I step onto the springboard, my back to the beam, and breathe in deeply. I take one glance over my shoulder, then raise my hands in the air, and bounce on the springboard to gather momentum for my backflip. I catch the beam with my arms while my legs remain straight in the air before they drop and I swing myself onto the apparatus.
Zach leans against the alcove wall, his hands clasped together as if in prayer.
I mouth to him, I love you .
His mouth forms the words, Stick your landing .
I block out everything around me, limiting my vision to no further than each end of the beam. I don’t notice the pin-drop silence in the gym, instead focusing on my own voice in my mind as I complete leaps, jumps, flips, and twists, working my way up the beam, then back down it again.
I grin when I land my last flip, readying myself for dismount. Perfection is impossible in this sport, but we strive for it every time we perform. This routine has been pretty damn good. A couple of balance checks, and one missed connection between elements when I paused to gather myself before doing the next flip.
More important than my execution, I’m having fun despite the pressure of this moment. It’s something I haven’t experienced in years .
Cheers break out after I complete a Gainer—a cartwheel into two twists off the beam—my feet sticking to the mat. Zach cheers from the alcove, hooting and clapping loudly, my personal cheer squad. The best one I could ask for.
I turn toward Veronica and Coach Miller; both have wide smiles on their faces.
“Bars next?” I ask.
Every routine that follows goes the same. Mistakes happen, but nothing devastating. On bars, I seamlessly complete a connection from the high to low bar that I’d failed nine out of ten times a month ago. I perform a riskier vault, betting on my training to complete it. The risk paid off, earning me a thumbs-up from Veronica and a cool nod from Coach Miller. Every time I stick a landing, happiness rushes through me because I’m that much closer to my dream.
When my floor music cuts off—my last event—it almost doesn’t matter what Coach Miller says. I’ve fought hard to reach a healthier mental state, clawed my way back into gymnastics, and learned to trust my judgment. Based on the cheers coming from Zach in the alcove and the broad smile on Veronica’s face, I know I’ve made them proud too.