Burnout (The Holland Brothers Book 1)

“I don’t feel like doing beam today,” Hope says, voice full of teen admonishment as we walk over to the right corner of the gym.

I glance back at her as I pull myself onto one of the lower beams so I can do the routine with Hope. “Why not?”

“You should see your face right now.” She giggles and her expression looks every bit of her thirteen years as she smiles, showing her braces with lavender bands. “You look so offended, like you can’t imagine anyone not loving beam as much as you.”

“I can’t,” I say honestly.

The local club gym is busy tonight with young gymnasts. Boys that don’t look any older than four or five to girls that are in high school and preparing for the club season competitions. I come here most evenings to get in more practice. It’s nice to work out with all the energy of young competitors around me.

Hope mounts, straddling the beam, then tucking her legs before standing.

“Let’s work on turns first,” I suggest.

“Ugh. I was hoping we’d work on dismounts.”

That’s because she’s good at that part. Tumbling is her strength. She is great at the floor routine and it’s all she wants to work on. But with a little extra effort, she can translate some of those skills and be great at beam too.

“If your turns look good, then we’ll move on to split jumps.”

A little spark of excitement flashes in her eyes. Most kids would be thrilled to work on the easier skills, but not Hope. I think that’s why I like working with her so much. She’s fearless.

I’m not officially coaching her or anything, but since I started coming here, she’s just sort of followed me around. I can’t work out like I want to, so it’s fun to see her improvements since I’m not making any of my own.

“Is Tristan your boyfriend?” she asks.

“What? No. Why would you think that?” I get in position beside her, then glance over my shoulder until I find Tristan across the gym. He lifts his chin slightly as we make eye contact.

“He keeps staring over here.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I reiterate, turning back around.

“Why not? He’s hot.”

“Hot boys are usually jerks.” An image of that asshole Knox at the freestyle event flashes through my mind.

“I don’t think that logic works,” she says. “You’re pretty and not a bitch, so isn’t it possible that a boy can be hot and not a jerk?”

“Aww, thanks. But I stand by my statement.” I walk across the beam in time with her. We stop in the middle, and I show her one turn first, then face her so I can watch her form.

When she lifts her left leg, she wobbles.

“Stomach in. Hips under,” I correct her as she gains her balance. “Let’s hold the relevé for five seconds.”

Hope drops down and then restarts. She brings her left leg up, foot touching the right knee and arms up in a crown position. Each time she wobbles a little less. I can tell when her focus reins in. Her jaw sets and she stops glancing around at what others are doing.

“Good. Now ten seconds.”

She doesn’t even talk back, just nods and then goes in again, holding the position as I count slowly to ten. On the third one, her arms come out to her sides to stop her from falling out of it.

“Dang it,” she mutters.

“No, that was great. Your body lines are looking better too. Let’s move on to half turns. Don’t forget to drive that heel each time.” I do one and then drop down to a sit on the beam with my legs dangling over one side. I still haven’t been given the green light to practice on beam, and even though Coach Weaver isn’t here, I don’t want to push it.

She gets through a dozen or more half turns while I watch and offer small corrections before I see Hope’s dad out of the corner of my eye, standing at the door to the gym. Glancing up at the clock hanging on the wall and then back at him, I hold up a hand in a wave and smile.

I let Hope get in a couple more before I say, “Your dad is here. It’s later than I realized. We can work on it more tomorrow.”

“Already?” Her good posture falls, and her voice goes back to the childish whine of earlier.

“Yep.” I hop off the beam. “You can practice it at home after you do your homework.”

She snarls at that, which pulls a laugh from me. When she comes down, I tug on one of the red braids falling down her back. “If you fail your classes, your dad will stop letting you stay late after practice to hang out with me.”

“Fine,” she relents, sounding entirely unhappy about it. Her voice is more upbeat when she asks, “Tomorrow can we work on floor?”

“We’ll see.”

I walk her to the door and say hello to her dad, who thanks me before forcing a reluctant Hope out of the gym. Then I grab my stuff and head home. She isn’t the only one that needs to do some homework tonight.

But before that, I need to shower and make myself look presentable for a podcast interview. The last time I was asked to do one, I made the mistake of thinking it was audio only. It wasn’t and I showed up fresh out of practice looking like a sweaty troll. Oops.

The dorm is quiet when I enter and head up to the fourth floor. Music pumps out of some of the rooms, doors are propped open, but the hallway is empty.

When I get to my room, I push into it and smile at the scene in front of me. Colter and Quinn are snuggled up on the couch watching TV. She’s curled up next to him with her head resting in his lap, and Colter is absently stroking her dark hair.

“Hey,” I say as I shut the door behind me.

Quinn lifts an arm lazily as Colter says, “Hey, Aves.”

“What are you guys watching?” I let my bag fall from my shoulder to the floor and take a seat on the far end of the couch next to Quinn’s feet.

My roommate stretches her legs out onto my lap. “Botched. This chick’s butt implant flipped. You should have seen it. It looked so gross.”

“Eww,” I say.

“What are you doing tonight?” Quinn asks. “Want to hang out after you shower?” She wrinkles her nose at me like she can smell me.

I’m sweaty, but I don’t stink that bad. “I can’t. I have a podcast interview.”

“This late?”

“I told them I could only do it on a weekday if it was after practice.” I blow out a breath, not really wanting to get up now that I’ve sat down. “I should go shower and then head to the library and see if I can get one of the study rooms so there isn’t a bunch of background noise during the interview.”

“You can do it here. We were going to grab dinner at that Mexican place you like so much, but we were waiting on you.” Quinn moves her gaze from the TV to me.

My stomach growls.

She smiles knowingly. “Want me to bring you something back?”

I press a hand to my midsection and laugh. “Yes, please.”

She sits up, Colter stands, and then he pulls her to her feet and all the way to him so he can brush a kiss on her lips. My chest squeezes at how cute they are together. I was fully prepared to dislike Colter when I met him because I was certain he was going to break my friend’s heart, but it’s so obvious how much he adores her.

“Give me two minutes to put on shoes and grab a jacket,” Quinn says as she heads toward her room on one side of the suite.

I smile at Colter as he watches her go. His gaze slowly returns to me. It’s hard to say who is more obsessed with whom, him or her.

“How’s the knee?” he asks.

“Okay.” I tense my leg and bend it tighter to feel the joint work.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “Do you have any extra time to train someone over the next month or so?”

“Miss me already?”

His upper body shakes with a small laugh. “Nah, not me. I’ve got a new guy on the team and he’s struggling with some of the same things I was. I think you might be just what he needs.”

“I’m flattered,” I say honestly. “I won’t have a ton of time once competitions start, but I work out most weeknights at the club gym. Could he come then?”

“I’m not sure what his schedule is like in the evenings. I know he’s free during the day.”

“I could also do before team practice every day but Fridays. I have a lab that runs late that day, but I’m free the other days.”

“That might work better for him. Thanks. I mentioned you, but I thought I should ask before I gave him your contact information.”

“Yeah, give him my number. I’m happy to help if I can.”

He nods and turns his head as Quinn comes out of her room. “I’ll tell him. Thanks, Avery.”

My roommate sidles up to him. “Ready?”

He wraps an arm around her and squeezes her tight. “Ready.”

“Bye.” Quinn wiggles her fingers at me as she follows Colter out.

“Bye,” I say, sinking into the couch and letting my head fall back into the cushion for just a second before I force myself up and to the shower.

“What did it feel like to win a silver medal as the underdog?” The interviewer, Mary, asks. She’s a former gymnast herself and competed in the Olympics in the early two-thousands, but never won an individual medal.

“It was incredible,” I say, a real smile curving my lips as memories flood me. I was too excited and confident to be scared or put off by people not believing I was a threat. “Being there was everything I had dreamed of, everything I had worked so hard for. I believed in myself enough that it didn’t matter if no one else did.”

“And now that there are certain expectations for you, how does that motivate you? Is it harder or easier to believe in yourself after something like that?” she asks. The question feels like a dart to the chest.

“Harder,” I admit, but then smile wider. “But I love a challenge and I’m still one hundred percent motivated to win.”

Mary loves that answer, I can tell by the way her own smile brightens. Behind her is a wall of framed photos and awards she’s won. She was part of two gold medal teams and placed in who knows how many national competitions. I wonder if she looks back on her career and has regrets. I’d like to ask her, but she dives right into the next question.

“Talk me through what it was like to come off the amazing experience at the Olympics and then move to competing collegiately at Valley University. What has that been like?”

“Really good. I like the coaches and program here at Valley, and I feel like it was the right next step for me.”

“But you struggled through last season even when most people would say the competition and skills required to succeed are lower than at the elite level. Why do you think you struggled so much?”

My stomach clenches and I can practically feel the sweat beading up on my forehead, but I manage to keep smiling even as I want to tell Mary to shove her annoying questions up her ass. “I think there are always going to be highs and lows. I changed a lot last year. New coaches, new routines, new city—my whole life was different, and it’s taken a little adjustment period to get comfortable.”

I sigh inwardly, relieved that I was able to get out an answer that sounded coherent and not bite her head off. A lot did change last year. In addition to everything I told her, there is a lot more pressure on me than ever before. The world is watching in a way they weren’t when no one knew who I was. I’m nervous that I won’t live up to their expectations. Or my own.

“And what about this year? Is your knee going to be healed in time to compete?” she asks.

That’s the million-dollar question. “My doctors feel confident, but I’m just taking it one day at a time.”

“Well, whenever you do come back, we’ll all be watching to see just what Avery Oliver can do.”