"I want only the best for you. You come out on top, we both come out on top."
"Sometimes you can be so nice, you know."
He chuckled. "Do not tell anyone. You will ruin my cover."
I swallowed back the knot in my throat and tried not to smile from ear to ear. My heart was so full I
thought it was going to combust. When he removed some of his layers and gave me a real glimpse of the man he was, I had an overwhelming urge to be closer to him. He was more laid back, casual, confident. Even flirtatious. He was rarely like that with me. If hundreds of people did not surround us, I would've thrown my arms around his shoulders and hugged the shit out of him.
"I don't want to distract you. Do you want me to wait outside until practice is over?" I felt like I had asked this five times already.
"I want you with me." His voice was raspy, barely above a whisper.
I knew better than to allow those words to hold more water than how he used them, but I couldn't help but hear the double meaning. When he said things like that, I think he meant it.
"Okay Kova, I'll stay." I'll do whatever you want.
* * *
For the next few hours I stayed by Kova's side. I found it difficult to walk away. When I did, he'd look for me. The thing was, I liked being near him. Not because I was insanely attracted to him, but because he knew what he was talking about when it came to gymnastics and I loved that so, so much. I wanted to see from his point of view. I became enraptured with being on the other side of the fence, watching him coach instead of taking instructions from him. I pictured myself on the greener grass wondering if I could be like him one day.
I liked watching him coach my teammates on what they needed to do at the last minute. I could hear it in his voice how much he believed in them, the way he bent at the hip and clapped his hands when a skill was executed perfectly, or when he made a fist and whispered joyous words to himself. I got a thrill out of it because he got in the zone and his true passion and colors came to life. This was his reason. His eyes lit up, and it in turn made me happy. I watched closely and I listened to everything. I’d followed his gaze and started noticing little things, things I may not have noticed before, and wondered if I made the same mistakes myself. And not just the small wobbles either. The little jerks or bends in the knees of the perfect body line required in elite gymnastics. The hips out, shoulders too low. I thought I executed it right, like I was sure they did. Now I was curious if I looked like them.
Observing them made me more aware of myself.
I started paying attention to other gymnasts warming up and picked at their routines. Every little thing mattered. Something as stupid as an undergarment showing could cause a slight deduction. I saw split leaps not reaching exactly one hundred and eighty degrees. Legs separating when transitioning to the high bar. Knees separating in a double back tuck. And sometimes there were deductions for the legs not parted enough. Missed connections on the beam where the gymnast is required to complete a series of skills without breaking between them, no step or stopping or balance check. And another mistake I noticed was taking a long pause before attempting another skill.
An over-the-top, angry voice jolted me from my observation. I leaned over and glanced down the runway, spotting a coach bent over with his hands on his knees as he yelled at a gymnast just inches from her face. Spit flew from his mouth when he spoke and she flinched. Her eyes dropped to the floor, color filled her pasty white cheeks. I was embarrassed for her. I'd been yelled at in the gym countless times, but never at a meet. She nodded her head and walked past the coach.
The young girl, who looked no more than twelve at most, mounted the low bar. I scrutinized her routine while her coach shouted from the side of the bars. Her shoulders were closed when they should have been opened, her posture was horrible, and she struggled to extend her handstands. Her amplitude was low, easily a deduction, and it made my stomach drop because I freaked she was going to hit the bar on her way down. This was not the kind of emotion one looked for while watching gymnastics. This terrified me. She cast to a handstand and completed two giants before tapping so hard on the second swing that she used her hips to gain power for the dismount. It's not something easy to spot by the untrained eye, but it was obvious to me when she dragged her toes coming down and whipped her hips hard.
The bar ricocheted as she released, echoing throughout the gym. She completed her dismount but took a huge step, her knees dropped to the floor. I sucked in a breath at how awful her landing was and the fact that her coach was no doubt about to lay into her. But those knees hitting the mat was a massive deduction, and all because she didn’t get enough power and height when she released the bar.
That was her coach’s fault. The way he berated her struck so much fear in her she couldn't concentrate enough to focus on the task at hand. A little fear was good, but she wasn't calm and collected as she performed. She was frightened and unsure of herself. The kind of mentality not meant for gymnastics. His coaching skills sucked. He started once more. Her chin trembled, and my heart ached for her and the tears she fought to hold in.
I sensed a pair of eyes on me. Kova stood off to the side observing me with his hands propped on his hips. He tilted his head and waited. His gaze bore into mine. I knew what he was expecting, but it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. I felt bad for the girl. He wanted my criticism, to take out the emotion so I could learn to recognize flaws without an ounce of compassion, something he would no doubt do. But the way the girl's shoulders hunched over…it was a sucker punch to the gut. Kova may work us to the bone, but he'd never humiliate us in public.
Kova walked toward me and followed my gaze. He did a double take, almost stumbling over his feet. He sneered and mumbled something under his breath.
"Her routine was atrocious. She did not do well under pressure. Then again, that coach is a piece of shit, so I cannot blame her."
I shook my head in sympathy. I had this overwhelming urge to go to her and give her some positive reinforcement.
"I kind of want to talk to her."
His head snapped down, and his eyes glared so bright I winced. "Adrianna, you better not go to her. Do you understand me?" Kova said through a tight jaw. His voice was so low I could barely hear him. "Do not interfere with what is going on between her and her coach. That is none of your business. Stay out of it. The last thing I need is for him to say something disrespectful to you. That guy is a dick and thinks everyone is below him."
I looked up at Kova. "Do you know him?"
He dipped his chin. "Yes. He used to coach with me. Guess it did not take him long to find another gym."
My brows shot to my hairline. "He did? When? What happened?"
"I fired him the moment I bought World Cup. I made him pack all his shit the day I signed the papers, then I kicked him to the street. All he did was degrade the girls. I have seen him physically throw and push them into things, bruise them, scream until they cried. I refused to put up with that shit," he spat.
I'd never seen that sort of thing happen, but I couldn't say it surprised me either. The rumors that floated in the gymnastics world were horrific.
Kova stepped closer to me and glanced above my head. He was quiet as he said, "Believe me, I know I have no room to talk when it comes to you, but I did not like the way he looked at the girls…it made my skin crawl. He is not right in the head—I do not trust him. He is a pig. Mark my words, someone will come forward one day and accuse him of something awful."