“It’s fine.” I push away from my coach and walk the rest of the way to the locker room. “Fucking pain.”

It’s to the point of blinding. I felt the tear on the beam and the final rip on the dismount. I will not cry or give into fear. Years of hours spent at the gym will not be wasted on one knee injury.

I throw my Beat headphones on and get lost in the music. The sports medicine team pays attention to my swelling knee. I feel ice hit and it begins to numb the pain. I’m handed some pills to swallow, and I know it’s a high dose of ibuprofen to help with the swelling.

I run over my upcoming routine floor routine in my mind. Picture my body flying through the air and landing strong. My mind is stronger than my pain. I repeat this fact over and over in my thoughts until I believe it myself.

A hand taps my shoulder and even though I wish to ignore it, I can’t. It’s go time right now. I look up to see my dad. One of my shaky hands pulls the headphone from my left ear. I stare at him half in shock and the other half in fear.

“Is something wrong with mom?” I ask.

It’s the only reason he’d be here. My dad quit coming to my gymnastic meets way back in middle school. It was no secret he wanted a boy, and his life was out on the turf. Just thinking about football makes me ill. Ryder, what in the hell was he doing here? Baylor must have drugged his ass to get him in the stands.

I was in love with Ryder awhile back until I realized he’d never stand up to my father. He was more worried about the “F” word…football. All the men in my life have been.

“No, honey she’s fine.”

I clear my throat now completely lost and take my headphones off the rest of the way. My father kneels before, breaking our eye contact to study my knee for himself. I sit null and void of any emotions. Lost. He doesn’t belong here.

“Why are you here?” I don’t mask any of the harshnesses in my voice.

“Shayne.” He runs his hands through his thick, dark brown hair searching for his words.

My college coach, Ahren, stands up before us with my dad still knelt down. “He’s always here, Shayne. I’m tired of holding this secret. I’ve done it for years now. But Coach Pete, your daughter needs you.”

Daughter, a term to use loosely.

She steps away as does the sports medicine team once my knee has been rubbed down with oils and ice securely wrapped around it. My knee is officially numb while my insides roil with anger.

“Your coach is right.” He stands and sits next to me on the bench grabbing my hand. “I’ve been to every single home meet of yours…”

I cut him off because I can’t stand to hear him speak the words. “Unless it interferes with football.”

He nods solemnly and then continues. “I never wanted my name and clout at the university to interfere with your career. This is all you, Shayne. I’d been pissed if your coaches pulled strings because of Coach Pete or because the football team had a winning season. The sad fact is that shit happens all the time. I have no right to impede on your gymnastics career. It’s always been you working your ass off in that gym. I’ve been here Shayne. I know the rings give you hell and you hate Marci on your team, but act professionally at all times.”

He did it. He left me speechless. When football and gymnastics are typically brought up in the same conversation, there’s a war between the two of us where I never back down. Until now.

“I know you hate me, Shayne. I know I’ve put football over everything and everyone. It’s my life, and I love it. But I also love you and your mother very much.” He drops his head to his chest in defeat. “I’m fucking this up.”

This is a rare sight. My father, the most revered college coach in the nation, defeated and humbled in front of his daughter. I can’t remember the last time he told me he loved me or the last chance I gave him the opportunity. I’m not innocent by any means.

“I’m scared, Dad.” I lace my fingers in his and feels the tears begin to slide down my cheeks.

He turns to look at me, and I feel no shame for the tears. I’ve never shown defeat to anyone. It’s been a well-perfected skill to hide that shit and show the world a brave Shayne Peterson. My dad reaches up and wipes away a few tears before he speaks again.

“No need to be scared. You have this. You are going to go out onto that mat and give the performance of a lifetime. The national title has your name on it. I’ve always believed that. It’s your time.”

“What if my knee gives out?”

“Then it gives out, and you know that you did your best, honey.”

“Dad, I’m sorry for being an ass all these years.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s my fault. I screwed up, but know I’ve always been here and even know the exact score you need for you floor routine if you nail the triple full twist.”

“What kind of drugs did they give me?” I lay my head down on his shoulder. “Coach Pete talking gymnastic terms. I must be high.”

Dad lets out a light chuckle. “I’ve always been damn proud of you Shayne. I had a real shit way of showing it.”

We sit in silence, and I go back to my routine before any event. I feel my body move in the air, the breaths I’ll take before each step, and finally visualize the perfect landing with raised arms and my head held high. I have no idea how much time passes before I hear Coach Ahren call my name.

I don’t drop my dad’s hand as I stand up after the ice has been removed. I walk out of the locker room or more like hobble avoiding putting any extra pressure on my injured knee. The rumbles of excitement from the gym can be heard from the hallway. As I near the entrance light shines through and my nerves triple. I grip my dad’s hand tighter reminding myself this is more than likely my grand finale.

The beginning of a torn ACL is what I suspect, and that alone will take me out of the next Olympic hunt. My dad stops when we are steps away from the gym. I turn to look at him. My heart swells as if roles have been reversed. The expression of hope and joy covering his features inflates my soul.

“This is my place,” he nods to a wall secured by the darkness of the hall.

My heart cracks and swells with the knowledge of my dad being at my meets. He has no idea what his admission means to me. I can’t even begin to process the sacrifice he made for me. He was right that I would’ve been handled with the white glove treatment. This university is centered around football, period.

I tug on his hand not accepting his answer and stare him in the eye. “Fuck that. I need my dad.”

A broad smile creeps onto his face, and this time it’s his grip tightening on mine. I feel steady on my knee with him by my side. A newfound confidence blooms inside me. All the stars in the universe have lined up for me, and now it’s my job to take the stage and give the performance of my life.

I don’t miss the slight awes from the crowd, and I know it’s because they’ve realized who is by my side.

“You are my dad right now.” I sit down on the bench and stare up at him. “That’s your only job. I don’t care what anyone else says.”

He nods, still cloaked with pride and excitement. I don’t miss the twinge of nerves radiating off him, but in an odd way, it eases my soul. He’s not in coach mode right now, expecting the best of his player no matter the bodily harm. He wants me to succeed beyond a shadow of a doubt, but is more worried about my health. That is true love.

“Showtime. Do or die.” I pat his shoulder and stand up.

I can sense the nervous tension radiating off him. He’s not sure what to do next. I do the only thing that’s eased my nerves all night and grab his hand. We walk hand in hand together to the edge of the mat. I peer over my shoulder and see my mother with tears streaming down her face. I can’t focus on her too much, or I’ll be as big of a mess as her. Baylor and State sit next to her, their eyes focused down on me.

I shoot them a quick and easy smile. Baylor is my best friend and State is her husband you don’t get one without the other. They’ve been my rock this past year and I had no doubt they’d be in the stands today.

When I lock eyes with Ryder, I stare a tick too long. I have no idea the meaning behind him being here. I look away and focus on the large mat ahead of me. My dad squeezes my hand and then kisses my cheek. He doesn’t let go until I do. The nerves threaten to rip me apart from limb to limb. My knee throbs. I have one event left.

“I’m here, Shayne.”

I hear my father’s voice as I take the mat. He’ll never know what those three words did for me. Mustered up an elusive energy fueling me forward. Beyoncé’s song begins booming overhead, and I go into a robotic state of bliss.

Once I start my routine nothing stops me, not the blinding pain, the overwhelming emotions, or the people in the crowd. I find my zone and nail each move. It’s all as natural as breathing and walking pushing me forward to my end goal. I’m in a tunnel where the vortex is too high to escape. It’s captivating and life-altering. I nail each step, turn, and movement. On my final pass, I sprint across the mat with the perfect speed to nail the stunt. My body flies into the air tight and precise, and then I land…blinding pain strikes me threatening to cause me to pass out.

My head and the world become dizzy spinning off its axis. I throw my arms up when I realize both of my feet landed in perfected precision. Once they’re raised high above my head, my body can no longer fight for its end goal. I collapse.

“Stand up, baby girl.”

I look up into the reassuring eyes of my father. It comforts my soul but does nothing for the pain.

“It’s your time. Stand up and take it right now.” He extends his hand out to me.

I take it and let him bring me into an upright position. My dad keeps my body cradled to his nursing my bad leg. Once I’m upright, the gym erupts in cheers to the point it’s almost deafening. My dad doesn’t wave to the crowd or enjoy the victory, but only focuses his attention on me.

For the first time in my career, I don’t fiddle with a towel while waiting on the score, but fight for my next breath through the agonizing slicing of pain coursing through my body.

“You did it.” My dad pulls me closer to him. “Baby, you did it.”

The gym increases in volume nearly shattering my eardrums. Everyone is on their feet chanting something. I barely catch a glimpse of my mom clawing her way down to me when Coach Ahren is in my face screaming we won, you won, but all the words blur together right before I pass out from pain.