Page 75 of Game On
We’re supposed to be practicing for the Nationals, but instead we’re caught in an endless loop of missed cues and botched stunts. Luke, bless him, is trying his best to fill in for Ash as my base, but it’s like fitting a square peg into a round hole.
Luke is more of a power tumbler—graceful and explosive in solo flights but less versed in the steady, grounded strength needed for basing. His attempts are earnest, but each fumbled grip and shaky lift chips away at my already thin patience.
Ash, sidelined by his injury, is coaching us from his chair by the mats. His right arm is encased in a cast, a harsh reminder of how quickly things can fall apart. He’s calling out instructions, trying to guide Luke through the mechanics of each move, but his voice today has none of its usual commanding authority.
Instead, it’s tinged with something that sounds a lot like helplessness.
“You’re strong, Luke, but you’re not anticipating her movements. You need to get the grips perfect so she’s not so unstable,” Ash explains, gesturing with his good hand. Luke nods, sweat beading at his forehead.
We try the routine again. I run, jump, and Luke catches me for a brief moment before we wobble and have to abort the lift. My feet hit the mat harder than they should, a jolt of frustration shooting through me. We don’t have a spotter with us today, and this is bordering on risky territory.
“Damn it, Luke,” I snap, more harshly than I intend. Luke’s wince brings an instant surge of guilt.
“I’m sorry, I’m just not …” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to.
“It’s not you,” I say, my voice softer now. “I’m just … I’m not myself today.”
Ash tries to smooth things over with a joke. “Yeah, she usually only yells at me like that.”
I manage a weak smile, but it fades as quickly as it comes. It’s time for me to take a break—to cool down and reset—so I head outside to the front of the gym. The slight autumn chill is a slap against my heated skin, but it’s a welcome change from the stifling air inside.
I lean against the wall, and draw in deep, shaky breaths. My mind races—thoughts of Nationals, of Daytona, of what could have been with Ash as my partner.
I know sticking with Luke won’t lead to qualifying. He’s great, but he’s nothing like Ash. This was supposed to be myshot, my only year on an American squad before I head back to Oxford. Partner stunts were once a pipe dream, a bonus to my initial plans of training with the team. But I experienced the rush, the anticipation of an individual competition, and I was hooked.
Finding someone like Ash, who just … got me, who matched every ambition I had on the mat, was more than I dared hope for. It was a dream that’s now slipping through my fingers.
I didn’t come to Whitland to face disappointment. I came here to thrive, to grab every chance with both hands and not let go. Yet here I am, holding back tears, feeling like every bit of bad luck in the universe has decided to focus its attention on me.
The sound of the gym door opening breaks my mental spiral. I don’t look up, not wanting Ash—or anyone—to see the tears threatening to spill over.
A gentle hand comes to rest on my shoulder. It’s Ash, offering me comfort when he’s the one who needs it most. I turn towards him, and without a word throw my arms around him, careful to avoid his cast. His embrace is tight, reassuring.
He doesn’t say it’s going to be okay, because we both know that might not be true. Instead, he just holds me, and his hand smooths down my hair as he lets me have this moment of weakness.
“It’ll work out, El,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble against my ear. “Maybe not how we planned, but it’ll work out.”
“I’m sorry for being such a baby about all this.”
He laughs. “Yeah, well, at least you’re a cute—”
A throat clears, and we both pull away as Hudson steps into view, his duffel bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. “Hey.”
I straighten up, hastily wiping my eyes. “Hey, I didn’t think you were coming tonight.”
I haven’t seen him since we watchedGreasetogether at the Stardust. He took me there, bought me a comical amount of junk food, and then we sat together in the bed of his truck. We didn’t hook up. We barely even spoke at all. It felt strange, given our arrangement, but it was exactly what I needed in the moment.
A distraction. A silent comfort. A night where nothing else mattered but the screen in front of us and the presence of someone who cares about me. Someone who just wanted to make sure I was okay.
“Practice ran late,” he explains with a shrug. “Thought I’d see what I could do to help you and Luke.”
I scoff, the bitterness hard to keep out of my voice. “Well, we’re screwed. There’s no way we’re going to qualify, so I doubt it’s worth your time.”
Ash sighs. “I’d tell you not to be such a Debbie Downer, but God, Luke really is awful at this.”
Hudson’s eyebrows shoot up, and as he looks from Ash to me, an unreadable expression crosses his face. “I could try the routine,” he suggests casually.
“What?” I blink, unsure if I’ve heard him right.
