Chapter One

 

 

BRIAN STOPPED in front of the diner and looked at the door for a moment.

It was one of those silver-bullet, old-style diners, the chrome dull with age, the windows shining clean and bright. Kind of a strange place for a job interview, but that’s essentially what this was.

He’d heard through the grapevine that Christopher Allen was trying to make a comeback after his vault accident, despite the fact that his coach and corporate sponsorship had bailed on him. He’d also heard it was a long shot, that the guy was lucky he wasn’t in a wheelchair, let alone even thinking about competing again. Scuttlebutt said Christopher was too old to start over, too injured, too past it.

And too stubborn to admit it.

Brian liked that in an athlete.

So he’d called and asked for a meeting. He hadn’t told Christopher he’d have to fly in just for this meeting. He’d kept it casual—let’s have lunch at that little place on the corner of Smith and Fifth.

This could change Brian’s whole life. Not that he didn’t like coaching the girls at the private school where he was working, but he missed men’s gymnastics, missed being involved, the feeling of the powder on his hands, the shaking in his muscles as he pushed himself past the point of his endurance….

His own glory days, such as they were, were over, but he had a chance to coach someone else into that sweet place where hard work and achievement met.

He had to convince Christopher Allen that he was the man for the job.

Brian took a breath and went in, the sounds of the street replaced by the sounds of people talking, china and silverware clinking, and the smell of grease filling his nose.

He scanned the booths, looking for Christopher.

It took him a second to find the guy, the signature blond hair dull and overgrown where it was bent over a menu, the square jaw hidden by a scrappy beard. The man had lost some weight, some form, but Brian could see the musculature still evident through the tight T-shirt.

Brian made his way over slowly, that feeling coming over him, the one that said this was a moment he wanted to remember, one he wanted to be sure to live in.

He stopped at Christopher’s booth and cleared his throat. “Christopher Allen? Hi, I’m Brian Rainings.”

“Hey there. Call me Chris.” Chris stood, unfolding himself from the booth, the motion a little awkward, a little stiff. “Nice to meet you. How’s it going?”

“Good, thanks. What about you? How’re you doing?”

“Doing good. Doing real good.” One square hand was offered over. “Have a seat, man.”

Brian shook Chris’s hand. Chris had a good grip, warm and firm, not overbearing. “Thanks. And thanks for agreeing to see me.”

Chris might have been on the injured list and abandoned by his people, but the buzz around him had been incredible before the accident, and Brian figured he couldn’t be the only one who wanted this job.

“Sure. You and I competed together once, a long time ago. Back when I was a junior and you were on top.”

“Yeah, I do remember. The buzz in the locker room was all about this blond kid who was going to smoke everyone in a few years.” The vinyl seats were surprisingly soft, like they’d been well taken care of.

“Yeah. Talk’s probably still the same, just for another kid.” It was a little unnerving looking at Chris. One eye was a bright blue, the other a deep, dark green.

“It always is. Everyone wants to discover the next big thing. Of course, I might be sitting right in front of him.” Brian grinned, knowing he was laying it on thick.

Chris chuckled, eyes dancing. “You do know I had back surgery, yeah?”

“Oh, you’re that Christopher Allen.” Brian winked and nodded. “Yeah, I know. I also know you’re looking to come back.”

“Looking to, yeah. I’ve been working on the trampoline, stretches, getting up to speed. I want to be ready.”

“Sounds good. You tried any of the equipment yet? The vault?”

“The rings. The bar. No landings yet.”

“How’s it feel?” He still worked out using some old routines himself—it was a hard thing to give up, pushing your body to its limits and beyond like that, feeling high and free.

“Stiff. I’m loving the tramp work. I can’t do much else—nowhere wants a guy without a coaching staff doing much training.”

He nodded. “Yeah, they don’t want the responsibility. So you still need a coach, then?”

“Yeah, Harry and Jeff moved on. They got Les Martin and both Evvie and Jean Parsons. Three for the price of one, you know?”

“Sounds like a good deal. For them. Kind of left you in the lurch, though, yeah?”

Man, that was a practiced shrug. “It’s a business. I’m not a sure thing.”

“Neither are they. What if there’s another accident? Harry and Jeff going to move on again?” Brian held up his hands. “Sorry, loyalty’s a dying art, you know?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. You want a burger? Chili dog?”

“Chili dog. With fries. And I hope they’re greasy.” And a milkshake. Brian loved diner food. “What about you? Burger? Chili dog? Coach Rainings?”

Those eyes caught his, curious, questioning. “You haven’t even seen what I can do yet.”

“No, but I know what your heart is. You had every reason in the world to give up—between the surgery and losing all your support—but you didn’t. You’re still out there working, getting ready. I know I’m not a big-name coach, and I haven’t proved myself yet. I’m sure you’ve had a number of offers, but I promise you, I will meet you heart to heart, and I won’t let you down.”

Chris nodded, stopped as the waitress came up. “I want a cup of black coffee, two beef patties with cheese, and a salad.”

“Chili cheese dog, fries, and a chocolate milkshake, please.”

“Mmm. Chocolate.” Chris chuckled, winked. “Where do you like to work?”

“Well, frankly, I’d prefer somewhere small, quiet. You don’t need the pressure of a high-profile gymnasium with big names. There’ll be pressure enough without that.”

“Yeah. I’d prefer to fall on my ass in private the first few zillion times.”

“There’s a facility in Monterey. I know the guy who owns it. It’s a beautiful town, weather’s nice, and it’s off the beaten path as far as gymnastics goes, but it’s still close enough to a lot of the big meets.”

“Monterey? Like California? Man, I don’t have any sponsors. I can’t afford an apartment out there.”

“Well, all it takes is one. Have you made any calls?” Brian started sorting names through his mind. Mars used to sponsor him; he bet if he gave Bob Silmon a call, he could work something out—they were good people.

“No. No. I…. Well, I sort of hoped that Harry and Jeff would….” Christopher stopped, blushed. “No, not yet.”

The waitress came with their drinks, and Brian said, “Thank you,” waiting until she’d gone again before answering. “They aren’t going to, though, are they? But I’m here.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m not caught in the past, man. I’m not.”

“Well, I don’t know if anyone could blame you if you were, but in order to get past what happened, you are going to have to face forward, reach for that brass ring, and not live in I-used-to-be-somebody land, you know?” He leaned forward. “You also need to do this because you have to. If you’re not going to put two hundred percent into it, you’re not going to come back.”

Chris met his eyes, gaze still, steady. “If I give it five hundred percent, there’s a good chance I won’t come back, but that hasn’t stopped me yet.”

Jesus, Brian thought, there was some fury right there, under the surface.

“I’m glad you know that. And now you know that I know it. So it’s all out in the open. And I’m still here.” He took a sip of his drink, enjoying the cold on his tongue. He bet that anger alone would push Chris far. But it wouldn’t be enough on its own.

Chris finished one cup of coffee and motioned for another, offering the waitress a half smile of thanks. “So what do you get out of this? You looking for a springboard to the big leagues? Because I’ll be honest, I’ve just finished being that, and it sucked.”

“Well, I’ve got a job right now. Coaching gymnastics at a girls’ private school. The money is good. It’s steady work. And the girls are great—they really are. But it’s not…. Men’s gymnastics is where my heart is, but I don’t want to be some assistant coach for some big club or school. I want to work hands-on with someone.” He gave the waitress a smile of his own as their food came. “I want a challenge. I want to believe in someone.”

“I hear that.” Chris dug into his burger, slathering it with mustard and using lettuce leaves for the bun.

Brian grinned as he dug into his fries. That was one thing he didn’t miss about competing—the constant need to watch your carb intake, to chart body-mass indexes, watch every pound you added, making sure it was all muscle.

“I can tell you this, Chris. If you agree to let me coach you, you will always have someone in your corner. Someone who will push you when you can’t push yourself, who will believe in you. Someone who will be there for you no matter who or what else is around.”

Chris nodded, stared at the table. “I need to think about it. I have to finish this semester before I can do anything, before I can make plans.”

Brian nodded. “I’d heard you were back in school. How close are you to graduating?”

He hadn’t given up his day job. Hell, he wouldn’t be giving up his day job to train Chris, not to start with anyway. He had a few contacts in Monterey, knew there was a phys ed teaching position for him if this worked out. Until Chris had proved himself, sponsorship money was going to be damned tight.

“I’ll have my bachelor’s in May. Then I have to decide where to go from there. There are lots of options.” Chris had a reputation for being driven, for being stubborn and one-track minded. Brian could so see it.

Chris was going to need that, coming off an injury like his.

“If you’re going to come back, though, you don’t want to wait too long. Once you’re an old man like me, you’re washed up, injury or no injury.” Brian grinned wryly, recognizing the irony of being not quite yet thirty and over the hill.

“Shit. I’m trying. I’m fucking trying, but no one lets me on the equipment. I need somewhere to train, to take chances.”

“Well, why don’t you come out to Monterey for the summer? I have a teaching position and no other commitments until, possibly, September. That would give us a few months to work together, let you push it, see how you’re feeling.” There it was. He couldn’t lay it out there much plainer. Come and train.

There was a spark in Chris’s eyes, a sudden hunger. “I… is there a place I can stay? Rent a room?”

“Well, Monterey has this private school. Kind of a sister school to the one where I’m currently working. They run a summer program for the girls, and the job’s mine if I want it. I could use an assistant coach, someone who knows what they’re doing. Pay should cover room and board, and the equipment would be ours as soon as the girls clear out.” It wasn’t a big facility or unlimited time for training, but it was workable.

“That sounds like a damned sweet deal.” Chris drank another cup of coffee, starting to bounce a little.

“That’s because you’ve never worked with teen and preteen girls.” Brian winked but then grinned and finished his fries. “So should I tell my friend he’s got a coach and assistant coach?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I could…. I can do that. Hell, worse comes to worse, I can run on the beach.”

Brian nodded. “A change of scenery can be a great boost, but you’ll get time on the equipment. It’ll be part of our contract.” He’d make sure of that.

He kept his knees from bouncing by sheer force of will, eager for a definitive yes.

“Okay. Okay, I can do that. I graduate the twelfth.” Brian got a half grin, a bittersweet smile. “I can tell my folks I already got a job.”

“Oh, you’re good at putting a good spin on things. One of the first lessons, isn’t it?” Brian held out his hand. “Shall we shake on it? On new beginnings?”

Chris stared at him for a long, slow minute, then took his hand, shook it. “I don’t know whether to feel sorry for you or not.”

Brian shook his head. “I’m a big boy, Chris. I make my own decisions. And I’m not here for altruistic reasons. I’m here for me.” He held on to Chris’s hand a moment longer and then let go. “I’m lucky what I want and what you want are the same thing.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Do…. What all paperwork do you want? Doctor stuff? Therapy? I have it all in a box at my apartment.” Chris started eating again, chowing down.

“Yeah, that would be good. Would it be possible to take it with me today? I’m on a flight back home tonight, and it would be cheaper for me to take it than for you to ship it. I’d like to get a look at you too, if I can. See what you can do, where you’re at.” That was likely more important than anything papers could tell him.

“Sure. I can probably get a spot at the university gym. When’s your flight?”

“Not until nine forty, so we’ve got some time. I’m really looking forward to seeing your form.”

It would let him put together a game plan, get started on paper. Hell, it would tell him how far Chris had come since the injury and how much further he had to go.

Brian drained his drink and wiped his mouth with his napkin. Damn, there was nothing quite like greasy food. It had always been one of his downfalls.

“Cool. I’ll make some phone calls, see what Coach Farris can do. Excuse me.” Chris slid out of the booth, pulling out a cell phone as he walked away. Brian heard, “Steve? Hey, man, this is Chris. You got a minute?”

Brian pulled out his wallet and looked around for the waitress, signaling that they wanted the bill. Then he sat there, still not quite sure he believed it.

He’d made his pitch, and Chris had gone for it. He’d pinned his hopes on this trip, and it had worked out for him. He chuckled, the way he felt too big to hold in.

Chris wandered back, nodded a little, and dug out his wallet. “Steve says we can have the place in a half hour. We just need to meet him there.”

“Oh, that’s excellent! I’m glad they could be so accommodating.” Brian nodded toward Chris’s empty plate. “You going to be okay so soon after the heavy meal?”

“If not, we’ll find out.” Chris shrugged. “It isn’t like we have a ton of time.”

Brian laughed, nodding. “There is that. I really don’t want to re-see that meal, though.”

He gave the waitress his card. “Why don’t you leave the tip?” After all, he’d invited Chris out, and he imagined that with the injury and all his backers pulling out, things were tight.

“Yeah? Okay. Thanks. I’ll buy us something to drink for the gym. I’m always thirsty as hell after.” Chris put a five on the table, face showing a bit of animation.

Oh, the man was hooked on it; Brian could see it.

In fact, Chris’s enthusiasm was contagious, and when Brian got his card back and they headed out, there was a definite bounce in his step.

“If they aren’t letting you do much on the equipment, as you’re coachless, what have you been doing?”

“Studying. Working. I sold all my furniture and bought a weight set, and my GPA jumped to a 3.9.”

Chris led him out, straight toward a little old green Honda. His walk was a bit stiff, but not bad. Not impossible.

“What equipment was it you’ve been on again?”

It was one of the things he liked about teaching, getting to show the girls stuff, being able to use the equipment now and then.

Not that they had rings at his current job, but they did have a pommel horse. It wasn’t like he still had decent strength in his upper body anymore anyway. It was amazing how quickly that faded. “And have you been working on your upper body, keeping your strength up?”

“Rings. The bar. I haven’t hit a landing. No one wants me to try yet.” Chris opened the car door, slid in. “I do weight training five hours a day.”

Brian put on his seat belt. “Have your doctors prohibited you from landing?” If Chris couldn’t land, he couldn’t compete. It was as simple as that.

Chris’s strong hands clenched the steering wheel, the leather around it creaking. “I haven’t been cleared. I can’t land if I can’t train. I can’t train if I don’t get a coach. I can’t compete if I can’t land.”

Brian nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the way of it. But we’re about to break that vicious circle, yeah? We did shake on it, right?”

“Yeah?” Those two-toned eyes looked over at him. “I…. Man, I thought you were about to tell me you’d changed your mind.”

“Oh! No, no. I’m sorry, didn’t meant to stress you out. I mean, back surgery, I knew it was going to be a long haul. Hell, Chris, you’re probably taking a bigger chance on me—I’m totally untried in coaching men’s gymnastics.”

He got a quick look as they backed out of the parking lot. “Well, then, I bet I can come up with a list of gymnast demands.”

Well, well. Look at that.

A sense of humor.

Brian laughed. “Hey, as long as it doesn’t cost money, you might be able to talk me into that list.” There was a surprising amount of traffic as they drove out onto the highway—it’d been too long since he’d been in the big city. “It always busy like this?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Chris drove with confidence, changing lanes, zipping down the highway. “I’ll grab my box, and then we can head to the school.”

Chris drove them to a little dragged-down section of town, its old houses made into dozens and dozens of student apartments. Dingy and tired, but solid. Comfortable. Lacking in terrible scariness.

“You gonna mind sharing digs with me in Monterey? We don’t have to, but there’ll be more money for other stuff if we share.” He wasn’t too sure about the “don’t have to” either, but he didn’t want to force it on Chris.

He got another quick look. “Look, man. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I know how to stay in my own bed, and I haven’t ever been inappropriate with a teammate.”

They pulled into a driveway, and Chris turned off the engine.

“Um… I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.” Though from what Chris had said, Brian could guess. “I was more thinking about you being uncomfortable living with a stranger, sharing digs. Or what you might have heard about me.”

“Oh.” Chris looked at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Brian chuckled. “I think we both need our gaydar tweaked.” To be honest, he’d been so focused on seeing Chris, convincing him to accept his offer of coaching….

“Yeah. You need to catch up with the latest gossip too.” Those sharp cheekbones were painfully red, Chris’s eyes pinned to the steering wheel. “You want to wait here or come up while I get that stuff for you?”

“Well, that depends. Are you going to catch me up with the gossip?” Brian bumped their shoulders together. “I’ll stay here.” Give Chris a few minutes to compose himself.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Chris headed upstairs, disappeared behind a little red door.

Lord, a guy with a reputation.

Brian wished he knew what that reputation was. He really was out of the loop at Mrs. Kernicke’s School for Girls. And now he was curious as hell.

It had him chuckling at himself. He wasn’t even back in the scene for a half hour, and already he was eager to hear the gossip.

Back in the scene.

Wow.

Too cool.

 

 

JESUS FUCKING Christ.

Chris sat on the weight bench a minute, head in his hands.

Okay.

Fuck.

It was bad enough that he’d tumbled from the top of his fucking game. Bad enough that he’d lost the coaches he thought he’d have forever. Bad enough that he was a has-been at twenty-one.

But he’d outed himself in front of the one guy who wanted to take a chance and pretty much admitted that Harry and Jeff’s new golden boy was going around saying Chris had been… inappropriate.

Fuck.

Okay.

Okay.

Look. Get your shit. Stand up. Get downstairs. Show off at the gym and get to California.

Then, at least if he fucked up royally, he wouldn’t be here.

Chris grabbed the box of his medical papers and stood. He’d taken the recommendations from the orthopedic surgeon out when he’d picked up the records so that no one would see them. No one but his brother. He knew there was a chance he could die if he fell wrong again.

He knew.

He didn’t fucking care.

Better dead than a quitter.

He locked the door behind him and headed downstairs.

Brian had gotten out and was leaning against the car. The man was good-looking. Not quite as tall as Chris but with the same gymnast’s build, blond hair a touch too long and curling over his ears and collar.

And blue eyes that lit up as Brian saw him. “Hey, there you are.”

“Yeah.” Chris found a smile of his own, handed over the box. “Sorry I took so long. It, uh, took a minute for me to find the box.” He dropped his gaze, not one for lying, really.

“No problem. I’ll go through this later. I want to see you on the equipment first. Make my own assessment before I see what the doctors are saying.”

Brian put the box in the back seat and then leaned against the car again. “Look, obviously whatever it is, you don’t want to talk about it, but if I’m going to be your coach, I should probably hear it from you—what is it that you think I’ve heard about you?”

“There’s… there’s a rumor going around that I have been inappropriate with some of the guys in training camp. It isn’t true.” He’d shared one quick kiss that had been arranged.

Brian winced. “Christ. Who started the rumor?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s out there. It’s not true.” That was that. Besides, if he came out with it, it made him look like a whiny little sour-grapes asshole.

They climbed into the car, and Chris started her up again.

“You must have scared someone pretty fucking bad if they started floating rumors like that. Nobody makes up shit about the guy in third place.” Brian frowned. “That didn’t have anything to do with why your coach decided to move on after the accident, did it?”

Chris headed down the street, motoring toward the university. “If I’d been winning gold medals, no one would have cared.”

“Is there more?” He could feel Brian’s eyes on him.

“More what?”

“Gossip. Rumors. Things you think I should know. I mean, that sucks, but I had imagined all sorts of shit while you were inside.”

“There’s nothing important, man. Just the normal political shit.” He didn’t sleep around, he didn’t dope, he didn’t play the game anymore. He just wanted on the fucking board again.

“Now, I don’t miss that, though let me tell you, teenage girls? They’ve got a whole set of politics all their own, and I will be damned if it isn’t all Greek to me.” Brian chuckled, seeming happy to let the subject of gossip and rumors drop. “Thank God I’m not the guidance counselor.” He paused, then changed topics. “So if I remember correctly from my last year of competition, the rings were your best event.”

“Yeah. I took a silver at Nationals once.” Rings and parallel bars. He hated the fucking vault.

Of course, it hated him too.

“Have you been back on the vault yet?” It was almost as if Brian had read his mind.

“No. They won’t let me on it.” Not after the fall. Not after slipping and landing and hearing that dull crack and someone screaming and…. Chris forced himself to breathe, to ease up on the gas. “We’re almost there.”

“Hmm….” Brian was quiet a moment and then asked, “Do you want to get back on it?”

“Yes.” No. No, he didn’t, but he wanted to compete more than the fucking thing scared him.

“Good. You need to get back to it soon too. The longer you stay away from it, the harder it’s going to be.” Brian watched Chris as he pulled up at the gym parking lot and stopped the car. “I mean, all you have to do to start off with is sit on it. But the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be.”

“Yeah. I know.” Chris killed the engine, grabbed his bag. Steve was standing at the door, the big man frowning and looking at his watch. Must have a date with Irena. “There’s Steven Jackson. He’ll let us in.”

“Cool.” Brian got out and followed him. “He looks familiar. He do coaching at the junior level?”

“He used to. He’s building the university team now. He’s a bit of a bear, but the kids like him. Steve? This is Brian. Brian, Steve.”

Brian held out his hand and they shook, Steve tilting his head.

“Brian Rainings? Where have you been hiding yourself the last few years?”

Brian grinned. “Coaching. I just couldn’t leave the life entirely when I retired.”

Steve laughed. “I hear that.” The man was shooting speculative looks between Chris and Brian, working out what they were doing here together.

“I’ll lock up, Steve.”

“Now, Chris….”

Oh, for Chrissake. “I promise not to break anything, and I promise not to get hurt.”

“He’s got someone spotting him, Steve. We’ll be fine. It was nice to see you again.” Brian nodded once at Steve and then went in. “Come on, Chris.”

Chris sort of blinked. Well. Okay.

Okay.

That was… unexpected.

“I’ll lock up,” Chris repeated.

Steve looked rather surprised, but he shrugged. “Okay. Make sure you do. And if you get hurt, it’s on your coach.” Checking his watch, Steve shouldered his bag. “I’ve got to be somewhere.”

“Tell Irena I said hi.”

His coach. The words didn’t hurt as bad as he’d thought they might.

Chris locked the door behind Steve and headed down the hall to get changed.

Brian was waiting in the locker room, looking at home on one of the benches. “That the kind of reception you’ve been getting since the injury?”

“Yeah.” Chris stripped off his shirt, pulled out an old singlet. It didn’t fit as well as it used to, but with the shorts, the bagginess didn’t show. Of course, Brian’d be able to see that his jeans weren’t skintight. Hell, they sort of… collapsed off him as he undid the fly.

“I can see why you’ve been frustrated, if they’re barely even letting you in the door.” Brian looked around and grinned wryly. “Man, I didn’t think it would be weird being here as a coach instead of a gymnast, but it is. It feels like I should be changing with you and going out there, chalking up, doing some routines….”

“I’d offer you something to wear, but I only brought one.” Chris got everything straightened and put where it belonged and all, then pulled his shorts on.

“Nah, I’m good. Besides, this is your show, right?” Brian reached over and tugged on his singlet. “How much weight did you lose after the injury?”

“Forty pounds, altogether. I’ve gained twelve of that back.” He’d been flat on his back for too fucking long.

“I know you haven’t had a lot of chance to work the equipment, but have you noticed differences since that could be attributed to the weight loss?” Brian got this really intense look when he asked these questions, the same look he’d had earlier when… well, being the coach, Chris guessed.

“What do you mean? Like not being hungry?” He headed out to the training center, bouncing a little, starting to warm up.

Brian chuckled. “No, I meant on the equipment. Is the weight loss making a difference on any of your moves? Easier to get up and over? Harder to do stuff? I’m trying to take in all the variables, you know? So I can put together a schedule.” Brian followed behind Chris, looked around, and whistled. “Wow. Well, where we’re going isn’t nearly this nice. I mean it’s a good facility, but not all the equipment is brand-new. The gym itself is fairly ancient—old mats. You know how it is with high school equipment. Even the good stuff’s no match for a training facility like this.”

“I’ve lost a lot of strength on the right side, some serious flexibility, but not beyond that, no.” Chris bent over, stretching out. “And I’m graduating. A private girls’ school is better than nothing.”

Brian bounced on his toes, then went over to the bowl of chalk and rubbed it between his hands. “Tell me about it. It’s kept me in the game, gotten me to this point, where I can offer you something as a coach.” Brian gave him another wide grin. “I can’t wait to see you fly.”

Yeah. Chris couldn’t wait either.

He started on the pommel, beginning with some false scissors, legs swinging as he let himself feel it, relax into it. He could sense Brian watching, slowly walking around him, giving him a wide berth, studying Chris’s form.

Scissors turned to swings, swings to circles. They still felt rough, but Chris had been working them hard, forcing his right arm to cooperate.

“Nice. You branched out from there yet?”

Chris rolled his eyes, started moving along the horse, throwing in some flairs, managing a Tong Fei that still looked damn good. He traveled back, spinning around the handles a few times.

“Woo! Excellent!” Brian laughed, the sound happy, excited. “Save something for the other equipment. I want to see what you’ve got across the board.”

Chris dismounted clean, feeling pretty good, pretty strong. “What next?”

“You’re looking pretty good,” Brian said, echoing Chris’s thoughts. “I was expecting more stiffness, to be honest.” Brian nodded toward the high bar. “Let’s see you on the bar. I’ll help you down when you’re done. We’ll save landings for when we’re set up in Monterey.”

“Sure.” His bar work was a little shaky still, but he freshened his chalk, looked to Brian for a boost.

Brian’s hands wrapped around his waist, large and firm. “On three.”

“One, two, three.” Chris clasped the bar and stemmed, legs swinging. The giant felt okay, the handstand solid. His right arm started aching about halfway through a series of release moves, but he held on, only missing one hold.

Brian helped him down, hands warm, sure. His eyes were bright, shining. “Not bad at all. You’re favoring your right side a lot. You okay to keep going?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Feeling it. But good. “Floor next?” Sweat was starting to bead on his skin, and his heart was thumping good and hard.

Brian nodded and tested the recoil of the exercise floor with his heels. “Yeah. Yeah, floor’s great. I could watch you all day.”

“I’ve been trying to gain lost ground.” Chris stretched out some more, working through a muscle cramp as he stared at the spring floor.

“You’ve got to get back on that horse sooner or later. So to speak,” Brian told him, voice sympathetic.

“I’m ready.” It wasn’t the floor exercises that scared him. Those he could fuck up just as well now as he ever did. Graceful and light on his feet? No. Powerful and athletic? Go him.

“All right, show me what you can do.” As he retreated to the edge of the mat, Brian added, “The floor was my second favorite.”

“Yeah? I hate it, but it’s necessary.” Okay, focus. Tumbling.

One tumbling pass went okay, the second less well. His shoulder couldn’t handle the Stalder press, and he hit the mat. Dammit.

Brian was right there, hands moving on him. “You okay? Hurt anything?”

“No. I don’t think so. I….” He hadn’t gone one after another like this, not since before the accident. “I’ll try it again.”

Goddamned lazy, broken fucking body.

“You sure? If you need a break….” Damn, Brian’s hands were warm, strong as they wandered his body.

“I still have parallel bars, rings, and vault left.”

Brian helped him up. “You’re going to do the vault for me? Cool. Let’s skip the parallel bars—I’ve seen you on the high bar. It’ll do. How about the vault first, and then you can strut your stuff on the rings?”

“Yeah. That works.” He headed over to the end of the run, staring at the vault.

Christ.

He hadn’t hit a vault since.

Shit.

Brian came and stood beside him, hand on the small of Chris’s back. “Why don’t you walk the mat and put both hands on the vault and then come back and do a simple handspring?”

“No. No, I’ll either do it or I won’t.” No bullshit psychology. No thinking. Just fucking do it.

He could hear Harry’s voice echoing in his head. “Focus, kid. Focus and don’t fuck up.” He headed down the run, hit the vault, pushed himself over, and landed on his ass.

Go him.

“There you go—that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Brian jogged up and crouched next to him. “The landing sucked ass, but you did it.”

“Go me.” Any eight-year-old could pull that fucking vault off.

“Go you.” Brian nodded. “Now come on, stud. Show me the ring master.”

“Yeah. Let me hit the john real quick, grab a sip of water, and I’m there.”

He needed a second.

Maybe a minute.

Needed to let his hands stop shaking.

Brian rubbed his shoulder, fingers finding the muscles and working on them, and Chris quickly forgot all about slipping off to recover. “You okay?”

“Uh….” His eyes rolled. Oh. Oh, fuck. Don’t stop. Right fucking there.

“Damn, you’re tight.” Brian moved to kneel behind him, knees pressing against his hips as both hands started working on him, concentrating on the right side.

He couldn’t even say anything. He whimpered, nodded, head falling forward.

“They give you any massage therapy after the operation?” Brian asked quietly, finding a particularly stubborn knot and refusing to give up on it.

“I had a PT guy until the sponsors left.” Once the sponsors had left, he’d been on his own there.

“That sucks. How long was it after the operation that they dropped you?”

Seven weeks, four days, and about thirteen hours. “A couple of months.”

“Man, they didn’t waste their time, did they? What about your coach?” Brian’s fingers slowly expanded out from his right shoulder, working magic.

“They tried to stick around. This is their livelihood. They couldn’t keep carrying a dead weight.”

“They could have made it work if they’d wanted to.” The “I am” was unsaid, but it hung in the air for a moment before Brian continued. “Of course, then the door wouldn’t have been open for me.” The massage gentled, Brian rubbing now.

“They went for the sure thing.” Chris could easily melt into the mat.

“Now where’s the challenge in that?” Brian laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Chris surprised himself by laughing—really laughing, hard enough that he felt it in his gut.

Brian chuckled, moving to settle next to him, legs stretched out in front. “It’s hard work. Painful—especially if you’re coming off an injury. But it’s fun too, right? I mean, if there’s no joy in it at all, you should find something else to do.”

“I just want to be back on plan.” Back on track, dammit.

“Well, you’ve got a coach now, right? One step at a time.” Brian patted his leg, grinned. “Gonna show me what you can do on those rings?”

“I intend to.” Brian spotted Chris as he swung up. This was his home, right here on the rings. Chris didn’t think about it too much, throwing in the easy skills first.

Then he started playing.

A Nakayama, maltese, then his super E—fuck, it felt good.

“Woo!” He couldn’t miss Brian’s shout, the laugh. “Fucking beautiful, man!”

Good. Better than good. He might just make it through.

He dismounted carefully and settled on the mat.

Brian came over and gave him a bear hug, laughing and clapping him on the back. “That was awesome. The rings, man. You are the king of the rings.”

“Still competition-worthy?” He needed to hear it, needed to know someone thought he wasn’t washed up.

“Are you kidding? Most guys out there wish they could do a super E half as good as that one.” Brian laughed, face lit right up. “I can’t believe your coaches and sponsors dumped you. They are going to be eating crow when you wipe the floor with the competition.”

He grinned, bouncing a little on his toes. “They had their reasons, man. I’m no sure thing.”

Brian laughed again. “I’ll take the possibility of you doing that in competition over a sure thing every day.”

“Fucking A.” He did a little somersault, pleased as punch. California, here I come.

“Yeah. Oh, man. I can’t tell you how glad I am you accepted my offer. I mean, I knew you were good. I knew the potential was there, but now that I’ve seen you in action! I can’t wait to get you to California, get started! This rocks.”

He had the briefest twinge of guilt about not telling Brian about the prognosis, about not sharing what the doctor said, but goddammit, if he didn’t reinjure it, it wouldn’t matter.

And if he did? Well, then it wouldn’t matter either.