Beautiful Boy(65)

I held up two hands to remind him of my level.

"She's a level ten, but she said that her gym doesn't have an..."

"Elite coach," I whispered.

"Elite coach, which is what she's telling me she needs," Dad said.

"How old is she?"

"Fifteen."

"Hmm. She can't be just a level ten, that's quite old for elite. Is she training for college now?"         

     



 

"To be honest, I'm not sure what she plans to do, or can do. I just know that she wants to train at a top notch gym."

That hurt my heart, like a knife to the chest. I'd just told him a few hours earlier what my plans for the future were.

"All right." He cleared his throat. "I have a dinner meeting I need to  get to right now, can I give you a call in the morning and we can go  over this?"

"Perfect, sounds like a plan. I look forward to hearing from you. While  we're at it, we can also discuss your expansion idea on your gym."

"Even better."

When Dad hung up the phone, I didn't feel any better over this call. I  frowned. It didn't sound like a sure thing once he heard my age. I  almost wished he hadn't been on speakerphone, now.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. There isn't anything I can't make happen now."



* * *



Chapter 2



Staring out the window, I couldn't see beyond my transparent reflection  as we passed another mile marker. My heart fluttered and a small smile  curved my lips thinking about how long I'd been waiting for this moment.  In fact, I couldn't remember a time when I'd been this happy.  Anxiousness was swirling through me at breakneck speed and the knots in  my stomach pulled even tighter.

I took a deep breath and rested back against the cold leather seat praying that it wasn't much farther.

Two months later, Dad had come through and got me into World Cup Academy  of Gymnastics, which happened to be one of the top rated gymnastic  training centers in Florida. With my heart set on finding the best gym,  and coming across the one in New Hampshire, it never dawned on me to  look anywhere else once I'd found that place.

I'd done a little research and found out that World Cup wasn't just any  gym. Previously owned by former Olympians, it was renowned for their  training and ability to take athletes to a new level. Apparently the  coaches were very particular, elite were handpicked, and it took natural  born talent and dedication to be one of its members. Some of the best  gymnasts had come from this gym, trained by a group of intense coaches  who pushed the limits with their level of training. I found an article  on the internet stating that a couple of years back there had been a  media spectacle regarding the unethical and extreme techniques used in  the past after a few retired gymnasts got together and wrote a tell – all.  I was skeptical about those tell-alls because the truth can be  stretched and exaggerated to fit the situation. In my eyes, anyone who  trained there was there because they wanted to be, because they knew it  was the best.

From what I gathered after talking with my dad, he made a generous  donation to World Cup, therefore allowing me the opportunity to train at  the facility. This was the one-and only-time I was truly happy about  coming from an affluent family. It didn't hurt that my dad did business  with this Konstantin guy either.

However, I was a struggling athlete desperate to reach the next level.  Sometimes, just sometimes, you had to use your connections. I didn't  want to rely on my dad and his business relations, but if it helped get  closer to my dream, then so be it. As my dad had always said, "You use  your connections." I was ready to do whatever it took.

Being an Olympian was a pipe dream. It was so close yet still so out of reach, but with the right coaches, I knew I could do it.

It seemed like hours had passed by the time we veered to the right,  finally exiting the Florida turnpike. Curving around and following the  snake-like bend down the street, we pulled up to a gray building with  dark tinted windows a couple of minutes later.

The chill in the air caused me to shiver within moments of stepping out  of the warmth of the truck. Florida was having one of its rare cold  fronts that most of us dreaded.

"So this is what you want?" my father asked as he made his way around  the Escalade. He placed his hands into the pockets of his expensive  tailored pants as the wind billowed against him while he surveyed the  place.

"More than anything," I replied, unable to hide the smile on my face. It  was as though I'd been rendered speechless while I stared at the large  structure before me. This was what I wanted for the past year, and now  it was mine. Happiness hit me hard, and my smile grew larger.

My mother stepped out wearing bright red high heels with a matching red  dress. Leave it to Joy Rossi to dress like the First Lady. She pulled  her stark white jacket tight around her waist, her eyes skittering  around, not a blond hair out of place. Judging by the scowl on her face  you'd think we were in the dingiest place on Earth.

"This is probably where muggers hide at night and bums come to sleep. Of  all the gyms, I can't believe Konstantin picked this place. It  looks … disgusting." I couldn't tell if her shiver was from the chilly  breeze we weren't used to, or the fact that she thought I had purposely  picked some remote serial killer town with no running water or  electricity.         

     



 

"Joy," my father warned.

I shook my head, not agreeing with her judgmental attitude. How she came  to that conclusion in a matter of two minutes was beyond me. Deep down I  knew Dad would have never agreed to this had he not done his own  research and thought it was safe.

Glancing around, all I could see were commercial buildings nearby and  hunter green dumpsters placed sporadically outside. Obviously it was a  part of town where businesses were located – a commercial area – not fancy  five-star restaurants where my mother was used to dining at or ritzy  boutiques. Unfortunately, she didn't see things my way. What she saw  were dim colors with no life, and most importantly, a place where she  would gain nothing.

I saw my future. I saw my dream staring at me from behind the concrete walls daring me to get my ass moving.

Dad placed his arm out gesturing for me to lead the way, and I headed up  the walkway toward the entrance. Grabbing the cold door handle, I  pulled it open and stepped inside World Cup with my parents following  closely behind.

The smell of chalk permeated the air and my stomach quivered at the  first inhale. It was a distinct scent to a gymnast, practically part of  our food groups, difficult to explain to anyone not involved in the  sport. I guess I'd say it was similar to baby powder, but chalkier  smelling. Muffled music blared through the speakers, a spring board  rebounded, and the sound of the uneven bars being released ricocheted  and shook, grabbing my attention. It was music to my ears, the kind of  sound that got my adrenaline pumping and my pulse thumping, beckoning me  to drop everything and wrap my hands around the bars or to feel the  spring floor beneath my feet. A smile curved my lips.

Taking another deep breath, I exhaled, unable to hide my splitting grin.  My heart was ready to explode. Finally, I was where I was supposed to  be.

Looking around the empty lobby, I wasn't sure where to go, but the  window to my right showed a view of the huge facility. It was completely  deceiving from the outside...cue the anxiety. Intimidation definitely  hit hard in that moment.

Gymnasts, both male and female, were scattered around, white chalk  dusting their skin. I could see not just one, but two floors, three sets  of uneven bars, and seven balance beams along with two vaults. There  was also a tumble track, various equipment for men, and a high bar with a  foam pit and resi-mat, which is a huge mat on top of a foam pit for  practicing new dismounts. It was for softer landings at first. Farther  back, I could see a few rooms closed off, but had no idea what they were  used for.

Even my parents both seemed to be in awe of the gym, if their wide eyes  were anything to go by. Goose bumps traveled up my arms in anticipation  as the rush of adrenaline began beating through my veins at the sight  before me.

A few feet away, a slamming door shook me out of my stupor compelling me  to look over my shoulder. My parents followed the sound, and I spotted a  tall, muscular man. He placed his hands on his hips as his eyes  connected with my parents' first before trailing down and locking with  mine, his narrowing gaze holding me in place. His powerful presence  demanded attention, and without a doubt, he had all of mine.

Never in all my life had I ever seen someone so unbelievably gorgeous.  There was no other word I could use to describe him than that. His  commanding eyes made me think it was possible that he could be a coach,  but no coach I'd ever seen had been that young looking-or attractive.  Come to think of it, none of them had ever really been under the age of  forty without a pot belly and receding hairline.