7. Tasha
CHAPTER 7
Tasha
L ike I predicted, I was feeling better by Monday but not well enough for the morning shift. I was able to switch from my opening slot to the midafternoon hours so I could rest a bit longer. Tuesday was better, and I made up my missed hours at the Coffee Loft before FireVolts practice.
Monty was already there, head-to-heads in conversation with our team captains, Amelia and Evan. They were former teammates of ours and three-time veterans of the Worlds team. Amelia coached a tiny team and a mini elite team, and Evan was on the cheer staff at the local university as a tumbling coach.
The rest of the members were standing on our designated floor. I clapped my hands, the loud sound echoing over the low buzz of athlete chatter in the gym. “Five laps. Let’s go!”
All heads turned in my direction. I lifted my chin and nodded in the direction of the vulcanized rubber track that outlined the perimeter of the four cheer floors and tumbling area .
Monty wrapped up his conversation and sauntered over to me. “We still had three minutes.”
I shrugged and crossed my arms over my chest.
“You know, you don’t have to take on a bad coach role,” Monty continued. He cleared his throat, and my eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. “You know what they’re calling us?”
I didn’t care.
He didn’t wait for me to answer, probably guessing—correctly—that I wouldn’t.
“Coach Monsha.”
“So?” I asked.
“Sounds an awful lot like ‘monster.’”
“So?” I asked again. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but I didn’t really care. “We have a job to do and a title to win. I don’t care if they love me or hate me.”
“Hmm.” He pressed his lips together and averted his gaze, waving to our captains as they passed the starting mark. “Four more, team! Pick up the pace. You’ve got this!”
“They’re not five, Montgomery. They don’t need constant affirmation. Tell them what to do, and they do it. That strategy won them the title last year.”
“So bristly today. Prickly, like a cactus.”
I glared at him, silently challenging him to tell me I should’ve stayed in bed.
He tapped his chin with his index finger. “Like the taciveria flowering succulent you were named after.”
I rewarded him with a look that could freeze fire.
“No? All right, like a hedgehog cactus then. All cute on the outside, but get too close, reach out to pet it, and ouch! Stung. ”
“You’re not even making sense. A hedgehog cactus doesn’t look like a hedgehog.”
He shrugged. “So? You know what I mean.”
Yeah, I did. But I didn’t care.
Much.
I turned on my heel and strode to the edge of the mat at the lap mark. “Bring it in!” I pointed to the center of the mat, directing the athletes to turn as they completed their run.
Amelia and Evan led the team through stretches and warm-ups while I went over the choreography portion of the routine on my tablet. We had a week of extra practices set aside in late July to learn the entire section, but until then we’d play with bits and pieces of it. They’d learned six eight-counts of it at tryouts, and I plugged that portion into the end of the number. Nate and I had needed to see who could dance and who should be tumbling or stunting during the segment.
“We’re splitting into three groups. Group One will go to the far side of the mat with Amelia to perfect and personalize the final dance segment, complete with ending pose. Group Two will follow Monty to the tumble mats to work on elements he wants to add to the big finish. Group Three will stay here with me to construct the final stunting component. Any questions?”
From the back, I caught, “Does she ever smile?” from a new member of the team. The girl he whispered to had the good sense not to answer.
“Five more laps for you,” I called back to him. “To answer your question, it’s not my job to smile. I’m not performing; you are. Get your positivity cup filled from Coach Montgomery or volunteer with a younger team. ”
The kid’s eyes widened, and he mumbled a “yes, ma’am” as he bolted to the track for his laps.
Monty cleared his throat and shot me a grin. “I’ve seen her smile. It could happen.”
I cast another glare at him, then turned back to the team. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Did you hear that click, team? New life goal unlocked.” Monty turned to me with a smirky grin, but his eyes seemed … kind. Like he actually wanted to make me smile.
Recovering quickly, I retorted, “You think too highly of yourself, Montgomery. Keep on smiling like a cheer floor jester.”
“A clown, huh?” He waggled his eyebrows at me and turned back to the team, who were all watching us with amused expressions. “New life goal, point two: Unfreezing Tasha’s ice face and making her laugh.”
“Good luck with that.” I stepped away from him to start calling the names for the groups, wanting to get this practice underway so the time would pass and I could go home and crash.
Monty must have sensed I wasn’t one hundred percent, because I caught him sneaking glances at me throughout the practice. Each time, I’d narrow my eyelids to slits and look away. I hated that he’d seen me sick. Luckily, it hadn’t been anywhere close to the worst I could get.
I prayed to all the heavens that wouldn’t happen while he was staying with me.
One more week, the contractor estimated when she stopped in to the Coffee Loft after work today.
I was counting the hours.
Mercifully, the time passed at a rate I could handle. With twenty minutes left of practice, we brought the segments together and marked their places as a group. We ran through the routine a few times, and when I was satisfied, I called them in. Monty gave them a pep talk, and we dismissed them right on time.
I watched them file out in small groups, and I let out a long breath, allowing my tense shoulders to relax.
“You could have stayed home, Tasha,” Monty said quietly. He was standing just off my shoulder, so his breath was warm on my neck.
My body gave an involuntary tremble as my hairs pricked up. “No, I couldn’t. We have a fixed number of practices until the showcase. Every single one of them is planned out, and I refuse to let a little digestive issue mess with my schedule.” I took a step toward the door that led to the coach’s hallway, but he caught my wrist. I spun around, ready to lash out verbally. But again his expression was kind.
Concerned, even.
“I know what happened is an annoyance to you. And you’re used to it. But—” He paused and looked down at his hand and its firm grip on my wrist. “Sorry. I— That was scary, Tasha. If I hadn’t brought you Gatorade, you might have gotten worse. You might have died.”
I shook my head and reined in my tone. “I’m sorry I scared you. But honestly, that was like a three on a scale of ten. If I let every flare-up stop my life, I wouldn’t be living.”
His eyes widened to the point where it was almost comical. But I knew he’d been genuinely concerned, so I held back from laughing or making fun of him. It was comforting to know he had a nurturing side. I’d seen him care for Nana Booboo as her health declined, but he’d still been the same arrogant jerk to everyone else.
Well, mostly just to me .
I probably deserved it for the way I treated him. But he’d hurt me. Deeply. How did he think I’d react when he broke his promise and rejected me sixteen years later when he’d requested Gabby to be his partner?
Penny always said he must’ve had a good reason. I was sure he did. And if it was due to the reason I suspected, it was even more hurtful than just simply being rejected.
But maybe he’d grown up a little since then. Making sure I was okay, bringing me Gatorade, and cooking my Recovery Soup weren’t requirements in any roommate agreement.
Not that we had one. Hypothetically, of course.
I gave him a nod and continued on to the door that led to the coaches’ office, conference room, bathroom and shower facilities. He followed at a safe distance, and I gave in to the urge to put as much space between us as possible. Once I grabbed my purse, I all but sprinted to my car.
As I sat behind the wheel, my headlights lit up enough of the lot to silhouette Monty’s exit and trek to his truck. I shifted into reverse and backed out, refusing to acknowledge the streaks of tears ribboning down my cheeks.