Balance (Off Balance Book 1) (14 page)

I have ugly feet. Got it.

“Your elbows were bent in numerous places, it was sloppy looking. Tighten it up.”

There went my confidence. And here I thought I did well. Nevertheless, I sucked it up and didn’t say a word. Not like I could do or say much else anyway.

“Did you even spot?”

Of course I did.

“Hit your handstands in your cast.”

I swallowed back the climbing tears.

“You need to hold that handstand perfectly straight before swinging down in the overshoot. I have some drills you can do to get those lines. You want to test elite...” he muttered to himself before switching over to Russian.

I fucking hated the sight of Coach Kova right now.

W
ITH CHALK COVERING
my thighs and hands, I performed my routine more than a dozen times before practicing the skills individually.

I asked for my grips—only for Kova to deny me. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped when he said no. I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t let me use them. He was beyond delusional. Surely he realized inflicting this kind of torture on my hands would render them useless tomorrow.

Unless he just didn’t care and expected me to train just as much.

Dear God, I prayed he wouldn’t.

I moved onto my dismount with Coach spotting to give me a tad bit more height.

“Tighten up.”

“Wrong!”

“Do it again.”

“No, no, no, stop doing that.”

“Just go for it! What are you waiting for?”

And when he was really fired up, he spat in Russian.

There was always something for him to gripe about. Kova was hardly satisfied, but today he acted like he was the one who slammed his shins on the bars. I was pretty sure there’d be a handful of black and blues blooming beneath my skin by morning. His entire focus had been on me at one point, perfecting my every move. He’d shown me numerous ways to correct my positions, his hands lingering a little longer each time, which I couldn’t help but notice. He had the rest of the team do conditioning in between working with Madeline. While I appreciated his keen eye and wouldn’t change a thing since he was making me better, in this moment, I despised it.

My hands hurt to make a fist. My skin was searing hot and tight, and I knew if I did any more practicing there was a good chance they’d bleed next.

When you held onto a bar for dear life, like I did, the skin on your palms bunched up and created either a blister or a pocket of blood. Of course I didn’t get lucky with just a blister. And now little red bubbles of blood were ready to pop any minute.

Bloody bars were just nasty.

“Take a five minute break and get some water. We will start again.”

Coach turned to walk away before I could say anything.

“He’s really doing a number on you.” Hayden appeared by my side.

“Tell me about it. He’s refusing to let me wear grips since I apparently hold the bar incorrectly.”

I turned my hands over and Hayden inhaled a sharp breath. “Is that all from today?”

“No, my wrists are usually beaten up pretty badly, but the blisters are new.” There was never a time when a gymnast didn’t have some type of rough or beaten palms.

“Do you have any Prep H with you?”

I looked at him in confusion. “Prep H? Like the stuff for hemorrhoids?”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to help with rips. It will help reduce swelling and numb the rip.”

I smiled shyly. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“I bet you never heard of using Bag Balm either, then.”

“Can’t say I have.”

“It’s used on cow utters since they tend to crack and split often.”

I stood with my mouth agape. I pictured the poor cows with the metal clamps, hyped up on steroids and growth hormones, forced to produce more milk than naturally occurring. Hayden chuckled at my expression. “That’s disgusting.”

I knew of all kinds of treatments, like using Vitamin E Gel, or a Band-Aid. Some believed in using warm tea bags on the rips with a sock to hold it in place overnight. A gymnast would do just about anything to heal a rip as swiftly as possible so they didn’t tear their skin any further. Some even went as far as using a pumice stone to scrub around a rip, removing any calluses and dead skin. Just the thought made me cringe. Hopefully I wouldn’t reach that stage. But hemorrhoid cream and the cow balm were new ones for me.

“My mom came up with a secret trick...I don’t share it with anyone, but I can stop by your place sometime with it and show you if that’s okay. I have a feeling you’re going to need it. But you have to promise not to laugh. Or tell anyone.”

I met his gaze. We hadn’t known each other very long, but I was willing to take my chances. “Thanks, Hayden. I promise not to say a word.”

“Social hour is over, girls.” Kova’s sarcastic tone did not go unnoticed. He clapped his hands and said, “Get back to work.”

Hayden nodded, his lips flattened to a thin line. “Make sure to give me your number before you leave.”

Back on the bars and my hands were raw, I’d never been in such pain before in my life. They were on fire, like burning flames of heat rolling across my palms.

Coach became relentless, forcing me to keep moving without a second to catch my breath or give my hands a break. He just kept yelling out orders until he was blue in the face and I mastered them to his imaginary level of perfection. My arms ached, the muscles strained and I was exhausted. But at least I had conquered the skills for the day. I was seriously contemplating calling in sick tomorrow.

But I couldn’t. There was no excuse to miss a practice. Ever.

With another two release moves and dismount coming up before I was done for the night, Kova moved in to spot me. I was capable of doing them alone, but having a spotter was always comforting. It was a built-in trust that came with the territory, one I knew he’d never break. He’d catch me before he’d ever let me fall.

After I landed my full-twisting double back tuck dismount, Kova patted the side of my ass the way coaches do with football players. I glanced up and he gave me a deep nod. We stood inches apart with our eyes on each other, but I couldn’t get a beat on his thoughts. I’d say he was pleased with me, but then again I just wasn’t sure.

The team parted ways and prepared to leave. I said goodbye to the girls and gathered my things from the locker room. Food was the only thing on my mind and it wasn’t one of those plastic prepared meals either. I was famished. Maybe I would have Alfred hit up a drive-thru on our way home for once.

As I was leaving the locker room, I pulled the door closed behind me and stepped into the narrow hallway as Kova came out of his office. He strode down the hall, eyes on me.

My skin prickled in awareness and I raked my gaze down the length of his body. Navy blue basketball shorts displayed the power and muscle in his legs, and a seemingly tight heather gray T-shirt clung to his chest, showing off his pecs. He was a man who took charge and one you didn’t argue with. How someone could be so incredibly good looking and a complete jerk at the same time was beyond me. I bet he knew it too.

Tilting my head to the side, I noticed a look on his face I hadn’t seen since arriving here. Contentment.

He stopped in front of me and peered down. “You did well today, Adrianna. Very well. You are coming along just fine, surprisingly.” He took a swig of his bottled water.

It was almost too good to be true. I looked into his darkening eyes bound by thick eyelashes and saw he truly meant his words. I wasn’t sure how to handle his appraisal without grinning like a fool. He caught me by surprise. Every day I wished he’d say something positive, and not once had he until now.

“Thank you, Coach.”

“I will see you tomorrow,” he said before continuing his walk down the hall.

“Ah, Coach?”

Kova paused, looking over his shoulder.

“Will I be able to use my grips next practice?”

“Not a chance. I know there is no way
you
learned after one day how to hold the bar correctly.”

My jaw dropped in disbelief.
You.
As if I was an idiot. “But my hands are raw, it hurts to even wash them with soap. I’ll bleed tomorrow and be completely useless.”

Kova turned around to face me, his broad shoulders pulled back, one hand clenched around his water bottle. “Do you think you are the first gymnast to show wear and tear on their hands from bars? You are not in Palm Beach anymore,
malysh—
”

Kova visibly tensed, stopping short from his last word. Since I didn’t speak a lick of Russian, I didn’t have a clue as to what he said. But judging by the alarmed look on his face and the thick air between us, whatever he said couldn’t have been good.

Snapping his head to the side, he cracked his neck. “I am not going to go light on you. Get used to it. Nobody said it was going to be easy, it only gets harder from here on out. You need to learn to toughen up and take it. Remember what I said earlier? Prove it to me. Every time you step foot into that gym—make it count. I do not care if your hands hurt or your back is sore or you are running on two hours of sleep. Prove it. Champions are not made by complaining. They are made by the endless pursuit of their dream, despite the obstacles they are faced with. Push through it and do it.”

I took a minute to let the weight of his words sink in. While an outsider would think they were laced with malice, I knew they weren’t. That was the furthest thing from the truth. I knew he was pushing me to be better. Not only to prove it to him, but myself as well. Without a doubt, Konstantin Kournakova was one hundred percent right.

Slowly nodding, I looked into his eyes and said, “You’re completely right, but I never expected you to go light on me. That’s not what I wanted. That’s not why I came here. I want the challenge. I want to be better. It’s why I pour every ounce of blood and sweat into a sport that gives me so little in return. The truth is, I’ve never been challenged by a coach the way I have by you, so I’m learning to adjust to it.” I held up my hands and showed him the bloody blisters threatening to pop under my palms. “You won’t hear a complaint come from me again.”

Kova’s shoulders loosened and he blew out a ragged breath. His gaze openly traveled the length of my body, taking in every inch. The way his eyes pierced mine, like he was pleased with my response, made my heart rush against my chest with satisfaction.

I took more verbal beatings than any of the girls on the team. Constructive criticism at its finest. The only explanation I could think of was he was frustrated over having to break a seasoned athlete of old habits. He was always on me for something I was doing—grilling me, yelling at me.

“Good. That is what I want to hear.” He gave me a lengthy gaze. Stepping closer, he gently brushed his thumb across my cheek. “Chalk,” he said in a softer tone, and walked away.

I couldn’t explain why, but my gut said there was more than meets the eye with him, I always trusted my gut. And him calling me
whatever he just said in Russian, and the speech that followed, cemented it.

That being said, he was out of his ever-loving mind if he thought I was going through another day without using my grips.

S
tepping into World Cup this morning, I felt fresh and ready for practice.

Dropping my duffle bag to the floor, the fabric of the strap scrapped along my sore palms and I sucked in a pain filled breath. Looking down, my hands were tattered, the skin pulled tight, aching from working bars. Pressing down on one of the blood blisters with my thumb, I watched the fluid shift under the skin in morbid fascination.

Grimacing, I shook my head and removed my pants and top, shoving them into my bag along with my flip flops. Today, I went with a faded, light blue sports bra and black mini shorts instead of the leo. This wasn’t something I typically wore, but I’d seen the other girls do it and decided to. I pulled my hair into a messy bun and then placed my things into my locker and made my way into the therapy room.

Of course Kova was already there. His back was to me and I took the time to study him for a long moment before I made myself known. There were so many things I was curious to know about him. Like how he got started in gymnastics, what drove him to the sport. How long he’d been a gymnast, how he ended up in the States. How he and my dad became friends. I was oddly intrigued by him. I tried to picture what he’d look like competing at the Olympics. Large, muscular arms. Broad shoulders and a fit waist. Overworked hands and tight buns. Focus pouring out of his eyes. For male gymnasts, their workout consisted mostly of bodybuilding exercises, unlike ours. They couldn’t get too big and hefty, strength and balance went hand in hand for them. The rings were commonly used for straight arm work. They’d hold an Iron Cross position with weights tacked on to their feet or waist. This built an incredibly large and tight top half. Not to mention, high levels of strength. I sure as hell couldn’t hold a T position, even without the weights dangling on me.