Chapter 1 - Tyler #2
Gradually, he'd realized he was becoming pissed and jealous. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment when his feelings had changed, but he did remember an evening he spent pacing in his room, torn between his arrow-straight Olympic-bound career and the burning desire to march into Eli’s room and tell him that creep he’d picked up wasn’t good enough to lick his ass.
And then offer… In the end, he’d focused on the approach of the Games and the knowledge that Eli’s flings were short-lived.
He’d played it cool and he didn’t think Eli had noticed anything.
After one careless remark, Eli had figured out that Tyler was gay too.
Since then, they'd been even closer, as friends.
But Tyler had never told Eli exactly what kind of guy made his heart beat faster.
That was one more thing he intended to put off until after the Olympics.
Tyler didn't have time to deal with Eli right now. He didn't have the heart for this. Damn Eli for doing this to him. Tyler needed to be at the top of his game, to get out there and compete with those Chinese and Japanese guys with their perfect routines. He couldn't afford a distraction.
Maybe if he put his objections that way, Eli would stay.
Eli wouldn't want to make things even harder for him, screw up his concentration even worse.
If Eli realized he couldn't get Tyler to quit, surely he’d stick around and support him like always, with a friendly joke or an icepack or just a quiet presence to watch a movie on those evenings when Tyler couldn't wind it down enough to sleep.
Eli threatening to leave was probably all a bluff, to get Tyler to quit, and he was just going to have to call that bluff.
A guy didn't get named to the fucking Olympic team of the whole US of A and just walk away because his...his roommate...asked him to.
He'd call Eli's bluff, and they'd have three weeks together like always, until Tyler left for England, and then when he came back.
..When he came back, Tyler decided, he would tell Eli how he felt.
He'd tell him how he looked for Eli's smile when he came home at the end of the day, how the smell of Eli's skin in the humid air of the bathroom after he'd had a shower could get Tyler helplessly hard, how intensely Tyler worked sometimes to get those hazel eyes to go warm and gold in amusement, or approval.
He'd come out to the world for Eli and it would be okay.
Whistling softly, almost convinced, Tyler picked up his bag and headed for his room.
***
A week later, Tyler turned his car into the parking lot for the Olympic Training Center.
The place was familiar, and yet suddenly different.
For most of the year, security was low-key, and the athletes in training came and went with a wave at the gate.
Being asked for his ID and carefully checked drove home the new intensity.
This was it. The place was busy with top-level athletes of all disciplines, from boxers to swimmers, pouring in to start final training.
His new teammates, and new coach, would be here.
The drive for the gold was on.
The past week had been an odd kind of limbo, working out at the Center, pushing himself and yet waiting for the real ride to begin.
He'd come home more often than not to an empty apartment.
Eli had been out a lot, and when they were both home they talked about boring stuff, like whose turn it was to clean the bathroom.
Eli hadn't said anything more about moving out, and Tyler hadn't quite dared to ask.
He felt like he'd been holding his breath for a week, in every sense.
Now it was time to breathe.
He sat in his car and stared at the building.
He'd already spent long hours here, preparing for the Olympic trials, and before that, training for all the meets that had brought him this far.
He was used to arriving at seven in the morning and putting in seven or eight hours of work—skills, strength and conditioning, massage, physiotherapy, ice baths, whatever it took.
But the next three weeks would be one step beyond even that.
Coach Andre Chilescue had been named to head the team, and he'd flown in yesterday.
The man had a reputation as a hard, fair, and motivating team leader.
Starting now, Tyler's focus would be to eat, sleep, and breathe the Olympics.
He got out of the car, ignoring the little twinge of his back as he straightened.
Sitting was the worst thing for the pain.
He was fine when he worked out, better than fine.
He could almost fly. He shook off an image of Eli's face, of a sarcastic crack about being more worried about the landings.
Doubt was a killer in this sport. A moment's hesitation would bring you down faster than all the bad form in the world. He was fine.
There was additional security at the door of the training center too.
Once the trials approached, the center made every effort to keep reporters and fans away from the training areas, so the athletes could work undisturbed.
The uniformed guard asked for ID and actually checked it against his list before unlocking the door.
Tyler took a breath and stood tall. He’d done Nationals, he’d done Worlds, but this was the biggest yet: day one of the countdown to London.
He headed to the gymnasts' locker room and changed quickly. As he was stuffing an extra pair of socks into his grip bag, the door banged open and two young guys hurried in. “Stephen, Greg!” He held out his hand. “Good to see you guys! Welcome to Colorado.”
Greg shook hands briefly and then began unloading a duffel into one of the empty lockers, but Stephen grinned at Tyler and clapped him on the arm, excitement lighting his blue eyes. “Good to be here. This team is going to rock!”
“Oh, yeah!” Tyler bounced on his toes, almost twitchy with the need to move. “I'll see you guys in the floor gym, right?”
“Five minutes,” Stephen agreed.
It was closer to fifteen minutes before eight muscular, young, enthusiastic guys were out there, running laps around the competition floor to warm up.
Tyler watched his teammates as they ran, knowing they were doing the same thing to him.
He nodded to Corwin, the oldest guy on the team at twenty-eight, dark and compact, and then kicked up his stride to pass Greg, with his power-shoulders showcasing all that bar and ring strength.
Mark, who'd been named to the team at just nineteen, was much slimmer with lean lines that looked good on his specialty, pommel horse.
His gaze was fixed on the floor ahead of him, his expression intense, as Tyler passed him.
Stephen was a blonder version of Tyler—except for the platinum hair, he could have been Tyler's twin, same build, similar height.
He laughed and dug in to match Tyler stride for stride.
They both carried enough muscle in their thighs for power on floor and vault, enough in their arms for rings and bars but not the kind of upper body that Greg had.
Stephen was an alternate, although he had to have been damned close to making the team.
Everyone looked fit, looked ready. This team was going to kick ass.
A shrill whistle cut their warm-up short.
They gathered in the center of the floor as Coach Andre stalked toward them, his assistants behind him.
Tyler pulled himself up straight as the coach's gaze passed over him. Coach Andre stopped in front of them.
“I won’t make a long speech,” the coach said.
“You're all top-level competitors. You know what the Olympics are. This is the big one. Whatever problems you have in daily life, whatever distractions, whatever bad habits, you leave them at the door. We have three weeks to become the team that stands at the top of that gold medal podium in London. I have confidence that each of you will dig deep and come up with the performance of a lifetime, and we’ll win this thing.
From today, you have just one job: making this a team we'll all be proud of.
“Each of your regular coaches had his own way of doing things, but your asses are mine now. If something I tell you isn't clear, say so. Otherwise you will give me a hundred and ten percent, without question, starting now. Is that clear?”
The coach looked sharply at each of them, and Tyler found himself nodding eagerly with the rest. “Okay,” Coach Andre said.
“7:00 a.m. every morning we meet here. For those of you not living on site—” He stared right at Tyler, the only Colorado native.
“—traffic is no excuse; nothing is an excuse for being late. Start at seven, half hour warm up with your usual routines, then we'll split between the floor gym and the bars gym. Today, you show me what you’ve got. I’m going to pull each of you out tomorrow morning to individualize what you need.
Lunch on site, no one wanders away. We'll finish at seven.
You're free for the evenings, but I don't care what your old coach said, I don't want to hear about even one bottle of beer until those medals are around your necks. You relax, unwind, sleep. Clear?”
Once again the team did their bobblehead routine, although Stephen grinned at Tyler.
Coach Andre folded his arms, his stare cool and assessing. “Good. Twenty more minutes to warm up and I'll assign you to the equipment. Go.”
Tyler found himself against the wall with Stephen, alternating handstand push-ups with stretching. Stephen glanced at him upside down, as they dipped almost in rhythm. “This is gonna be great!”
Tyler rolled out of his handstand and dropped to a split, pulling his back leg up behind him to stretch his hip flexors. Ouch, damn, he hated that. Stephen followed suit, obviously a bit more limber than Tyler. Tyler grunted, “Is it tough being an alternate?”