Out of Bounds (The Summer Games #2)

  She glanced back to me, her eyes so full of sadness I had to look away.

  “Erik…”

  The cab pulled up in front of the athlete complex. I paid the driver and hopped out after Brie, content to walk the rest of the way home.

  She rounded the back of the car and tried to catch my eye.

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Brie deserved to know the truth, or at the least the start of it.

  “When I was seventeen, I injured my shoulder, and instead of giving me time to rest it before the Olympics, my father gave me opioids,” I said, turning to Brie. “For months, he filled illegal prescriptions for an injury he didn’t have so he could pass on the pills to me. At the height of my addiction, I was taking twice the max dose per day.” Her tiny gasp forced me to glance back at her. There was horror in her eyes, sheer sadness. “He thought he was doing what was best for me. When I told him I wanted to quit, he flew off the rails.”

  I told her everything, not sugarcoating the gritty details.

  The same day I tried to buy drugs at 12th and Chicon, I stumbled back into my childhood home and found my mother standing behind the kitchen island, chopping vegetables for dinner.

  “I’m quitting gymnastics,” I said.

  Her knife clattered to the counter, but she recovered quickly and shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. Go freshen up. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  She didn’t look up long enough to see the bruising on my body. She was always good at self-censoring the truth. She didn’t know about the pain pills; my father and I had kept it a secret from her.

  “No. I’m done.”

  She shook her head. “Erik, everyone has hard days in the gym. Just go fresh—”

  “It’s not that. I’m done. I want a different life.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She was so confused, so out of the loop. She didn’t know about my depression or my addiction. I stepped toward the counter and tried to tell her a condensed version: how my shoulder injury had led to a pill addiction, how meaningless my life had become, how little control I had over my present and how little care I had for my own future. I wanted to shake her, make her see past my strong exterior. To the world, I looked like a man on top of the world. Inside, I wanted to die.

  She was shaking by the end of it—out of fear or sadness, I’ll never know. She stared down at the cutting board, assessing the vegetables in front of her like they would tell her how to proceed. Finally, she glanced up and leveled me with a calm stare. “When your father gets home, I…I’ll tell him. I think you should be out of the house.”

  That gesture was the first genuine act of love from a parent I’d felt in years.

  I grabbed a backpack and stuffed it full of clothes for a few days. My cell phone, and toothbrush were all I cared to add on top. She kissed me on the cheek on the way out and shoved money in my hand.

  “For a hotel,” she said, and I didn’t argue.

  There was nowhere else to go. She knew I had no friends and the only family I had was my grandfather, but he was a million miles away in Sweden.

  I checked into a Motel 6 a few miles away from the house and sat there on the bed, trying to piece my life together. I had a high school degree; I could go to college. I could study to become an aerospace engineer like my grandfather, or maybe something different. I’d always loved the stars. I could study astronomy and focus my attention on something bigger than this damn earth and the greedy people inhabiting it.

  For two days, I stewed in that room, waiting for a call from my mom. I alternated between sweating in bed with brain-crushing nausea and vomiting incessantly from withdrawals. When the cold flashes would hit, I’d fill up the tiny tub with warm water and collapse onto the chipped enamel surface, using all my strength to stay above the surface of the water. I didn’t sleep for almost 60 hours, and when I finally closed my eyes on the third day, my shrill cellphone began to ring.

  My mother was crying hysterically on the other line. I could only hear every other word, but I heard the tail end of her message loud and clear.

  “Come home and gather your things.”

  I was getting kicked out.

  Summoning energy from the deepest parts of my being, I grabbed my keys from the nightstand and drove to my house. I knew my detox would never finish until I’d confronted the source of the suffering.

  The sun had set a few hours earlier, but the porch light was on, illuminating the pile of clothes and crap sitting outside on the grass. Everything that had once been inside my room was now sitting outside, thanks to my father. My gymnastics trophies were stuffed into a box and medals were spilling out onto the sidewalk. Half my clothes had ended up in the ditch, soaked through. I was bent down rifling through them, trying to find anything of value when the front door opened.

  My father stormed out of the house like a bat out of hell.

  “You ungrateful piece of shit,” he shouted, running to me like he was ready to tackle me to the ground. He’d never put a hand on me, so I didn’t try to block his assault; I should have. When his head connected with my stomach, I went flying back hard enough that my head split open on the concrete. The acute sensory pain came as a relief after enduring days of widespread dull ache. He pushed himself up with fury in his eyes.

  “You think you can quit now? You think you know sacrifice, pain?”

  His fist connected with my jaw and I nearly blacked out.

  “I’ve worked my ass off to train you and if you’ve wasted my time, then get the fuck out of my house.”

  His boot hit the side of my back, right above my kidney, and I squeezed my eyes closed.

  “You can’t even fight back. Can you?” he yelled, rearing back to land another punch.

  I shoved my arm in front of my head, blocking his shots as he kept pounding his bloodied fists into me, over and over again.

  Something inside me cracked that day. Maybe it was the loss of my father or the feeling of lying on that grass with blood running down my face, but after he wore himself out and turned his back to walk away, I felt stronger that I’d been even before taking the pills, even before the injury. I rose up looking like hell, but used the adrenaline coursing through my veins as the last well I could draw from.

  Even in my weakness, I towered over him when I stood to my full height. He’d built me into this monster. I reached forward and gripped his neck, feeling the swollen veins in my forearm bulge and strain with the effort.

  I could have killed him. I wanted to kill him. He was fighting me, trying to land a solid punch to my ribs so I’d back off, but I didn’t feel a thing. He’d made me numb long ago.

  “I’m leaving this sport and I’m leaving you,” I spat. “And if I hear that you’re drugging other gymnasts, I will come back here and kill you,” I said, shaking him back and forth. “Do you hear me? This won’t be handled by the police. I’ll do what I should do right now.”

  I could feel him starting to struggle to breathe, and it wasn’t until my mom ran out of the house, screaming for us to stop that I finally let him go and shoved him back into the grass.

  “Erik!” she cried, hysterical. “Your head…”

  I reached up and felt the blood seeping from my skull. My fingers came away dripping with redness, but I shook away the pain, gathered the shit I cared about, and left my father in the front yard cowering like the pussy he was.

  The world never heard about my drug addiction or my father’s transgressions. I should have gone to the police and reported him, but I couldn’t do it. I just wanted to put it all behind me. I moved to Sweden to stay with my grandfather for a while, and I stayed up to date with news about my father’s gym. I never once heard about him mistreating other athletes, but I knew that didn’t mean a thing. I’d stayed silent; other gymnasts probably did too. I should have done the world a favor and killed him when I had the chance. The odds that he was an angel from that day forward were slim.

  By the time I finished spewing details
I’d kept under lock and key for the last ten years, Brie’s features were coated in horror. Her face had drained of color and she was shaking her head, willing the story away. She didn’t want it to be true any more than I did.

  “So you’re right, Brie—we’re completely different people with completely different lives, but you’re wrong to say I don’t understand what it’s like to try to compete for someone other than yourself. I don’t want you to have to learn the same lessons I did.”

  “I’m sorry.” She was crying then. “Erik…I didn’t know.”

  I rubbed my jaw and tried to keep my tone even. I hadn’t planned on revealing so much to her that night and I was definitely not looking for her pity. I just wanted her to understand that we weren’t so different.

  “It’s not important, really. Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She stepped closer, looking as if she wanted to say more. Her gaze dropped to my lips and then back up. Her shallow inhales were masked by laughter from the group of athletes spilling out of a cab behind us. I watched her hand reach out for mine, but I shoved my hands into my jeans and rocked back on my heels.

  “Get some sleep,” I repeated to myself as much as to her.

  Before she could respond, I turned and headed for the coaches’ complex.

  It was a ten-minute walk back in the dark. I shoved my hands into my pockets and tried to focus on the sound of the ocean in the distance, lapping up against the shore. It was no use; I hadn’t thought about that night in a long time. It was easier to keep the past in the past, and talking about it with Brie had brought up all that residual emotion. Just before I’d made it back up to my condo, I paused on the sidewalk, pulled my phone out of my pocket, and dialed my mom’s number.

  She answered on the second ring and my chest tightened with the excitement in her voice.

  “Erik!”

  “Hey Mom.”

  “I’m surprised to hear from you. I’d assumed you wouldn’t return my calls until you got back home.”

  I kicked the curb, loosening up gravel with the toe of my shoe.

  When I didn’t answer, she continued. “Your father and I watched qualifications yesterday. The girls all performed so well, Erik—”

  I cut her off. “Do you think he regrets it?”

  Silence.

  She knew what I was talking about. The night my father kicked me out of our house had tainted the air surrounding our family for the last ten years. There wasn’t a phone call that passed with my mom or my grandfather without some mention of my father’s mistakes.

  “Every day,” she answered simply. “He felt embarrassed, and he took it out on you. I know he regrets it every single day.”

  Silence.

  I kicked at the asphalt harder.

  “Sometimes perpetual regret is exactly what someone deserves,” I said, feeling the anger growing inside me.

  She sighed, long and heavy. “You’re right. I can’t force you to forgive him. You never have to forgive him for what he did to you.”

  “And what about what he’s still doing? I read his quote in the newspaper before I left for Rio—I know he doesn’t think I deserve to coach this team.”

  “What are you talking about? Your father hasn’t talked to the press in years. He’s been in the hospital, trying to get well.” She sighed. “Whatever you read must have been taken from an old interview or something. He’s proud of you, Erik. So proud of you.”

  I hated that she wouldn’t force me to talk to him. It’d be one thing if everyone were pushing us together, if they demanded I see his side, but no one did that. They understood my feelings, and for ten years, they’d given me all the space I wanted, which in some way only made it worse because then the decision was all on me.

  “I’m not trying to convince you of anything, Erik,” she continued. “You asked me if he regrets the last ten years and the answer is yes. He lives with the guilt of what he put you through every single day. We all carry it with us.”

  I could hear the fatigue in her voice. Years of playing mediator, years of lost family gatherings, missed milestones, and deferred emotion had worn her down, but I wouldn’t pretend to love my father just to smooth everything over for her.

  He didn’t deserve it, and for that reason, we would all suffer.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Brie

  The realization that I loved Erik wrapped around my thoughts with a vice-like grip and never let up. Once the idea had settled in, I knew I could never pretend otherwise. I couldn’t continue to act like what we were doing wasn’t affecting me. He’d opened up to me, bared his soul for me, and now I couldn’t go up against him toe to toe without him seeing the truth in my eyes.

  He and I weren’t supposed to fall in love. We’d been at war, fighting and pushing each other because it was a fun distraction, because I liked to get a reaction out of him, and because I just couldn’t help myself. It was the most shocking kind of love I’d ever experienced, the sort that hid itself behind the other edge of the blade—hate. I’d focused so much of my energy on hating Erik that when love appeared out of nowhere, it stole my breath.

  I loved Erik.

  I loved him and it was possibly the most impractical realization to have the night before competing in the Olympics.

  Suddenly, the very idea of being near him, of having to stand in his presence seemed too intimate. Surely everyone around us could tell how far I’d fallen. Surely it would be evident to anyone who was around us that I was in way over my head.

  “You awake yet, Watson?”

  Molly’s head poked past the door of my bedroom and I smiled.

  She was still wearing her pajamas, but I’d already been awake for an hour. I was sitting on my bed in my team leotard, putting the finishing touches on my makeup. I’d pulled my hair up into a bun and pinned it down. I just had to slip into my warm-ups and I’d be ready to head down to breakfast.

  “Jeez. When did you wake up?”

  I shrugged. “I couldn’t really sleep.”

  Fortunately, she didn’t force me to elaborate, but I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky with the rest of the team. As the five of us headed down to the food court for breakfast in our matching warm-ups and competition makeup, I slid into a spot in the far corner of the elevator, trying to stay under everyone’s radar.

  It’s like I assumed they’d glance over to me and see I LOVE COACH WINTER scrawled across my forehead. I reached up to touch the skin just over my brow before realizing how insane I was being. No one knows. And I wanted to keep it that way.

  Once we strolled into the cafeteria and put our stuff down on the table, I followed Rosie over to the food line.

  “Oh my god, there he is,” Rosie said, gripping my hand.

  “Who?” I said, trying to follow her line of sight.

  “Hudson Green. He’s on the U.S. men’s soccer team.”

  I saw a group of guys at a table a few yards away from us. One of them had his eyes locked on Rosie and when she noticed, she smiled and waved gently before turning away with cherry-stained cheeks.

  “Rosie, he’s still watching you.”

  She groaned. “Please don’t do anything embarrassing. Let’s just go get food.”

  “Do you know him?”

  She shrugged. “We met in the trainer’s office two days ago. He’s a year older than me and obviously way out of my league.”

  I turned over my shoulder to glance back at the group and Hudson was still watching Rosie. When he saw me catch him, he turned quickly, trying to focus on his food.

  “Rosie! He’s definitely interested,” I assured her as we stepped up in line.

  “Don’t say that! I really don’t want to get my hopes up with him.”

  I promised her I’d drop it and once we had our food, we settled into a corner of the food court not yet overtaken by rowdy groups of athletes. I attacked my egg white omelet with a vengeance, knowing I’d need every bit of strength for the competition later.

 
“We don’t have to be at the arena for another hour,” Lexi assured me with a laugh.

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I want to make sure I’m not hungry during competition.”

  Just as I got the words out, movement near our table caught my attention. Hudson and a few of his teammates were making their way over to us.

  “Rosie,” I said, trying to get her attention before she put another bite of food in her mouth. Unfortunately, Hudson was too quick.

  “Umm…hi,” she stammered, holding her hand in front of her mouth while she chewed.

  “Give her a second, she’s busy swallowing,” Lexi said with a teasing smile. “Who do we have here?”

  Rosie blushed. “Guys, this is Hudson. Hudson, these are my teammates.”

  We exchanged pleasant greetings, and then I watched as Hudson turned to Rosie as if she was the center of his universe.

  “Do you compete today?” he asked, nodding to our matching getups.

  She smiled. “Yeah. Team finals.”

  His brows arched. “That’s awesome. Our next game isn’t for a few days.”

  “Cool.”

  “I like your uniforms,” he said, grasping on to something, anything to continue the conversation.

  Lexi groaned against my shoulder. “This is actually painful.”

  I squeezed her thigh under the table to make her shut up.

  Rosie beamed. “Oh thanks. They’re actually pretty comfy.”

  “Dude.” One of his teammates stepped up and nudged his shoulder. “If you don’t just ask her, I will.”

  Hudson blushed and then reached out to elbow his friend out of the way.

  “Just ignore them.” He laughed. “I came over here to invite you and your teammates to a party we’re having tonight.”

  Lexi perked up. “What kind of party are we talking about? Kegger? Rave? Pool party? Pants-off-dance-off?”

  Hudson looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh, uhh…it’ll just be us and a few of the U.S. swimmers. They have a big condo on the fourteenth floor and I think they’re inviting some other athletes, so it should be a fun group.”