Chapter 1
Teagan
My life has been a whirlwind since I got kicked off the team two weeks ago. The makeshift story about my retirement the team went with had been enough to convince the press that I retired, along with my own personal post announcing my retirement to the world.
I declined to do any interviews, not wanting to speak on a topic that wasn’t even true.
And my socials have been blowing up with compilation videos of my career and well wishes posts from my fans.
I nearly turned my comments off because I can’t bear to see the influx of people thanking me or whatnot. Because it’s all bullshit.
I have no idea how the media have accepted my fake retirement so easily. I’m twenty-four, which is up for debate for being old in the gymnastics world, but I was crushing the competition.
It should seem odd that I retired so suddenly, and yet, there’s nothing.
There are a few things I’ve seen online with fans questioning the legitimacy of it. But for the most part, it’s quiet in that sense. And I think it has to do with the gym’s PR team covering their tracks.
Ever since I returned home to Detroit and announced my fake retirement, I’ve been in a slump.
Gymnastics has been the only thing I lived and breathed since I was five. What the hell am I supposed to do with myself all day without it?
I’ve been going to the gym and keeping up with my weight training so that I’ll be ready to rejoin the team.
Despite how fucked up the situation is, I’d do anything to make it to the Olympics again, even if it means working with the scum of the earth known as my coaches.
Sure, I could try to compete for another gymnastics house in the country, but Coach Samuels is my best and only chance at making it to the Olympics.
But once I’m home from my workout, I become a boring person. I don’t do anything. It’s made me realize that I have no hobbies. Growing up, I never really had time for them. How am I twenty-four years old and have no idea what I even like to do outside of gymnastics?
My phone rings on my coffee table with my agent’s name on the screen. I was just about to get dinner started as my brother is coming over for our monthly get-together that we’ve been doing since he got traded over a year ago, but it’ll have to wait a few minutes.
“Talk to me, Nina,” I say, getting right to business as I pace between my living room and kitchen. I’ve been waiting for this call for two weeks. Once I told her what happened, she promised me she’d figure out a plan.
As much as she wants to tear Coach Samuels apart by going after him, she knows how much getting back on the team means to me.
“Oh, I’m good, thank you for asking. I’m glad you’re enjoying your time off,” she prattles on sarcastically.
“See, I didn’t even need to say that. You did it for me.”
“Always the smart-ass.” She chuckles. “Anyway, I have something that I think will help improve your image to the coaches and maybe get you back on the team sooner than later.”
My heart rate picks up. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
“Let me tell you what it is first,” she replies warily.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes, not that she can see.
“You become a trainer at the Elite Sports Academy.”
My shoulders deflate at her offer.
The ESA is the most prestigious sports training program in the United States, and although it’s what made me the gymnast that I am today and it’s where I met my best friends, spending my days with children is the last thing I want to do right now.
“Is there any other way?”
“You know I’d tell you if there were. Working with kids and returning the favor to the academy that made you who you are today is a heartwarming story that I think your coaches will enjoy since they’re upset with your attitude,” Nina explains.
God, I hate when she’s right. As much as this wouldn’t be my first option, part of me likes the idea of giving back to the place that gave me everything.
“What levels would I be coaching?” I ask with a resigned sigh.
“You’ll be coaching gymnastics at all levels.
The academy mentioned that you’d be teaching the younger students in the morning and move to the older ones in the afternoon.
The old coach is dealing with health problems in their family and needs to take a leave.
So, the academy reached out to me yesterday after seeing your post. They wanted to know if you’d like to join their program as many retired athletes do. ”
I groan, which only makes Nina chuckle.
“Do you really not like kids that much?”
“They’re okay for a bit, but I like it when they go back to their parents the best,” I mutter.
“Well, the good thing is that’s exactly what you’ll be doing,” she explains cheerfully.
“I still don’t love it.”
“It’s the best thing I can do to help you. And think of it this way… You get to spend your time doing what you love most,” she points out.
Sometimes I hate how well she knows me. Nina may be my agent, but she’s also become a friend over the years since we started working together.
“I guess…” I trail off, then abruptly ask, “Do you think I’d be allowed to use the equipment and train?”
“I’m surprised it took you this long to bring it up,” she says. “All coaches have full access to use the facility as needed.”
If I’m working mornings and afternoons, I could schedule specialized evening training sessions for myself. Working out to stay in shape is one thing, but being able to use gymnastics equipment is another.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“I’ve already started the acceptance email,” Nina says matter-of-factly. “You’re to report to the Academy on Monday at eight in the morning. You’ll meet with Lisa Olson, who’s the head of the gymnastics program. She’ll have a contract for you to sign and explain everything you’ll need to know.”
“How long will I need to do this?” I ask as I make my way to the kitchen, open my fridge, and pull out the items needed to make dinner as my brother will be here soon.
“Until the end of the year.”
I’m about to protest that it’s too long when Nina cuts me off. “It’s just a few months of your life. You need to be seen doing good things if you want them to take you back, remember? Unless you want to be in retirement forever.”
She says the word as if it personally offended her. The sentiment is shared, because nothing pisses me off more than the situation I’m currently in.
I ignore the thoughts swirling in my mind. “Thanks, Nina. I hope this works. I’ll do my best. I swear.”
While this may not be my ideal plan to get back on the team, I have to trust Nina. She’s had my best interest since we met when I was sixteen and she’s never led me astray.
“You will. You always do.” She reminds me of my ability to push through, then ends the call.
If there’s one thing about me that I do know, it’s that I never give up. And if I’m going to be a teacher, you can bet I’ll try my hardest to succeed.
Opening my playlist, I throw on “Cherry Waves” by Deftone and chop peppers, trying to ignore the worries prodding my brain.
I’ve never been around kids. I don’t know how to make connections with the students. I can be a drill sergeant no problem. It’s the other part I’m worried about. The human one.
I can’t think about it for too long, though, because there’s a knock at my door.
I set the knife down and make my way to the door, then open it to reveal sandy-colored hair and dark green eyes.
“You look awful,” my older brother sputters, eyebrows pinching together.
“I’ll send your compliments to the chef,” I reply sarcastically, rolling my eyes as I step back and let him enter my condo.
“Getting into this place is like breaching a secret fortress every time. You would think they’d let me in with ease now,” he complains as he hangs his Detroit Panthers track jacket on the coat hanger.
“Would you rather I be somewhere less safe?”
I live in a two-story condo complex. It’s secured with extenuating questions to get inside. It allows celebrities to live within city limits with protection for those who don’t want the commute of living in a gated community.
He huffs out a breath. “No, but you’re retired now. Why not move to my gated community? You can put roots down and figure out what’s next.”
The thought makes my stomach cave in.
“Ian, I just retired two weeks ago and have been taking time for myself. Can’t a girl breathe for a little?” I walk back to the kitchen and resume my chopping. “Grab the chicken from the fridge and chop it. Make yourself useful.”
Ian jumps right into action, washing his hands before grabbing the chicken from the fridge as he lets my words settle into the silence.
It’s how I know he’s about to go into lecture mode. The calm before the storm as I like to call it.
“Get it over with,” I demand as I chop some broccoli and carrots.
The frying pan sizzles when he dumps the cut-up chicken into it, and once it settles into a low hum, he says, “Why did you retire? You’re at your prime, if you ask me. You would’ve won gold at the Olympics, again.”
I stab the knife a little harder than necessary into the stalk of the broccoli, not wanting to talk about this in the slightest.
After mentally counting back from ten, I bullshit like I’ve never had to before.
With a casual shrug, I say, “It got boring. Sure, I’m great at what I do, but it’s not fun anymore. I need something new.”
“Gymnastics got boring?” he says, sounding baffled. “The only thing you’ve lived and breathed since you could walk? I find that hard to believe.”
“Exactly, it’s all I’ve done and I’m nearing the end of my career anyways. I want to pivot on my own terms, you know?” I do my best to sound convincing–without overselling it–because he’ll sniff my lies out from a mile away.
“Are you sure this is what you want, Jen?” he asks softly.
Ian started calling me Jen as a kid because he had a hard time pronouncing my name, and whenever he’s being serious, he calls me that.
I finally meet his worried gaze. Guilt rattles me for lying to him because growing up, all we had was each other and he’s always been my protector. But if I told him the truth about what happened, I know he would lose his ever-loving mind.
“It is. The ESA even offered me a coaching position.”
“As long as you’re happy.”
Happy is the emotion I’ve felt the least lately, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Ecstatic.” I smile, doing my best to make it genuine.
Ian smiles and turns away from me to stir the chicken and I resume chopping the vegetables.
We continue cooking a stir fry together, the conversation easy and less heavy.
We’re sitting at my island, about to start eating, when Ian clears his throat and asks, “Has Mom contacted you at all about this?”
I nearly drop my fork at the mention of our mom. I’ve been trying to avoid any thoughts of her since this all happened, and now that he’s brought her up, there’s no avoiding it anymore.
“No. Why? Did she talk to you?” My heart beats wildly as I wait for his answer.
He shakes his head solemnly. “Nope. The last time we talked was when I got traded last year. She told me that if Detroit goes to the World Series, she’ll be there.”
Sounds like our mom. She’s only ever eager to be there for the big moments and nothing else. Sometimes she still doesn’t show up even for those.
“I figured she’d have something to say about you retiring, that’s all,” he says, his tone turning dry as it always does when we talk about her.
All either of us has wanted is to make her notice us.
To make ourselves more interesting than the places she’s traveling to.
And yet, she’s only shown up once for Ian, during his first playoff run two years ago.
She came when I first went to the Olympics when I was sixteen. Which was eight years ago.
And neither of us has seen her since, only getting phone calls here or there.
“She’s probably somewhere with no internet connection,” I tell him, trying to convince myself of that rather than the simple fact that she doesn’t care.
“Yeah, probably,” he murmurs, then takes a bite of his food. We eat for a few minutes, my playlist providing background noise.
“How’s the team looking this year?” I ask, desperate to change the somber mood we’ve gotten ourselves in.
“Good.”
I release a loud groan because by his one-word response, I know he’s pissed about something. “Are you still fighting with that other pitcher?”
“He doesn’t take charge the way he should as the Ace. He lets people influence him too much. Plus, the guy is old. He should be the person retiring. That way I can take the ace position.”
“The…what?” While I grew up attending every one of Ian’s games, as my sport got more demanding, I’ve had less time to pay attention to the game he plays.
While I understand it, I couldn’t tell you a single person’s name on that team, or any of the teams. Since he signed with the Detroit Panthers, the few games I’ve actually been able to attend were the ones he was pitching in.
“It means I would be at the top of the pitching line-up.”
“Ian, I hate to break it to you, but wouldn’t you need to be a team player to be a leader?” I say bluntly, never too shy to let my brother know when he’s in the wrong.
“You don’t play a team sport. You don’t get it,” he says dismissively.
“I’m just saying, maybe it’s time to try to bond with your team. You never talk about hanging out with any of your teammates or funny moments at practice. None of that.”
“Neither do you,” he fires back, raising a single brow.
I shake my head, but a tiny laugh escapes me. “I don’t play a team sport, remember?”
Talking shit and teasing one another is something we’ve done since we were little, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. While he might be a pain in my ass, I’m grateful to have someone as loyal as him in my corner.
I’ve been alone for two weeks as I’ve been grieving my previous life.
And truthfully, there’s a part of me that was scared to see him because he doesn’t know what actually happened, and I worried he’d be disappointed in me retiring.
But we do our best not to miss our monthly hangouts, and it ended up being exactly what I needed.
Knowing now without a doubt that he’ll always have my back makes me feel a bit lighter than I did before.
And it gives me hope that maybe things will be okay.