Balance (Off Balance 1)

He glared at me. “No, it’s not. Not even close.”

“Yes, it is. I’m not changing. I’m tired, and once you leave I’m going straight to bed. After wearing a suffocating leotard all day in the gym, this is much more comfortable, lightweight and feels like I have nothing on. My body needs to breathe.”

Kova appeared to be struggling to breathe himself. “I’m asking you to please put something on.”

Taking a deep breath, I rolled my eyes and walked to my bedroom and grabbed an oversized off the shoulder shirt I loved. I slipped it over my head, not bothering to remove the tank top first. When I walked back into the living room, Kova was seated in the middle of my couch. He was leaning back, his eyes clenched shut with his hands propped behind his head and his legs spread wide. He was tense, stressed to the max, and the air was thick with anxiety.

I made my way over to the couch and sat against the arm rest with my knee propped up. Kova glanced over with heavy eyes and sighed loudly, brushing a hand down his face. He reached for his back pocket, pulling out a plastic bag and handed it to me. The wristbands.

A gentle smile eased my face and my heart softened. “Thank you for these.”

He nodded. “These should help your wrists much better than all that tape you wear. In fact, you should not need tape with these. They are bigger and longer, more durable with extra padding. Give them a try. If you like how they fit, I will order more for you.”

“That was really sweet of you. Thank you…” I paused, swallowing. “Kova?” His eyes, goodness, they hit me hard when he looked at me. Anguish filled them. “Did you bring the letter?”

He shook his head, and for some reason, my heart ached for him. “I took care of it so you will not have to worry anymore. It is gone forever.”

Quietly I asked what had been on my mind all afternoon. “Why’d you write it?”

He shrugged, looking at the ceiling.

“Why?” I pressed.

“Moment of weakness? I had been drinking…It was careless of me.” Clearing his throat, he said, “After my mother passed away, I saw a therapist for a while. She suggested it may be therapeutic if I wrote my feelings out on paper. At first I thought it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard, until one day I gave it a shot and I felt a million times better. I have done it ever since. Habit, I guess.”

I became even more conscious of his presence in my condo. I shifted to my knees and sat back, trying to ease the sudden throb between my legs. “Kova, your note could’ve gotten us caught.”

“Believe me, Adrianna, I am well aware of that.”

“You don’t have any more copies, do you? Like maybe you rewrote it a few times and threw it in the trash can that’s still sitting in your office?”

He gave me an amusing grin. I put up my hands. “Hey, I’m just trying to cover all my bases.”

“No, that was the only one. Usually all I need to do is one and it helps.”

“Did…did it help you to write about me?”

Looking directly in my eyes, he didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“It just made it worse.” He shook his head, baffled. His hands were fisted above his knees. “I see your drive day after day and it fuels me.”

“But all the girls have the same drive.”

“No, they have a love of the sport and that is what propels them. Not every gymnast wants to go professional, some are content retiring after high school and not even continuing to compete in college. None of them want the Olympics like you do because they know how small the window of opportunity is. That is where we share the same goals, the same spirit. You remind me of myself. I see the determination in your eyes to keep moving despite the obstacles you are up against.”

My stomach churned over his admission. Mainly for the fact that this whole time he’s seen me in an entirely different light than I thought he did. I had assumed he looked down on me, detested the ground I walked on, when it was actually the complete opposite. It moved something deep inside me and for a moment, I felt guilty about everything.

“I’m sorry.”

Kova’s eyes narrowed, shock pouring out of them. “Do not ever be sorry for the passion that lives inside of you. It is a gift not everyone is given.”

Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I thought about his words in the letter, the sincerity behind them. He wrote his feelings out because he was unable to express them in a mann

er that allowed him to. It wasn’t uncommon to pen one’s emotions, but I couldn’t get past the fact he hid them so well…or he felt such a way.

With shaky words I asked, “Do you…do you really feel that way about me?”