Page 4 of Revived
I’ve been to the Olympics twice with a hope to go again this summer. I spend forty to sixty hours in the gym weekly. Training my body to defy gravity and the rules of logic. Twenty-five is pushing it in age to go back to the Olympics, but thankfully those standards are starting to be reshaped since the greatest gymnast of all time was in her late twenties when she competed at the last Olympics.
I don’t have to be at the gym until later today. So while the sweetest man that I’ve ever known sleeps away the hard shift he had, I’ll hang out in his bed and watch reality TV. As long as his big arm is wrapped around my waist and his peaceful face is snuggled into my upper thigh, I have nowhere better to be.
Sully’s been asleep for a couple of hours when I hear the front door open and shut. If I were a betting woman, I’d say Flynn Byrne has just gotten home and came directly over here to bother his brother. However, I guess it could be Knox, Xavier, or Dom too. We’ve been friends with them forever, and funny enough, we’ve all bought houses on the same street, and by “on the same street” I mean Flynn lives directly across from Sully. My house is the next house to the left of Flynn’s, and Dom’s is to the right. Knox’s house is the next house over on Sully’s right, and X’s is on the left.
This little stretch of street belongs to us. Six kids who pulled themselves from the grasps of their families less than legal businesses andbecame their own people. We were dubbed ‘The Lucky Ones’ over a decade ago, and we made damn sure to live up to the meaning of the nickname.
The door to Sully’s room pushes open quietly as dirty blonde hair and seafoam green eyes come into view. Flynn peeks in to check for us, and I throw my hand up in quiet greeting. He gifts me with a wide smile as he strides into the room and over to me. He climbs into the bed on the opposite side from where his brother is lying and gets comfortable beside me.
“Hey, Elly-Belly. Whatcha doing?” He asks with playfulness shining in his eyes.
“Shut up, Flynnigan. You’ll wake him up.” I hiss while I elbow him in the ribs, causing him to grunt.
He looks over to watch Sully snoring quietly while wrapped around me like a koala.
“Hard shift?”
“A loss, and a kid.” I confirm and gently scratch Sully’s head. His body snuggles deeper into my thigh as he lets out a satisfied sigh.
“Dammit. He’s going to carry that with him for a while.” He shakes his head as he eyes his sleeping brother wearily.
“Tell me about it… How was your trip? I saw that goal in overtime last night. Sweet shot.”
“Thanks. It was alright. I played, I got on the plane, and I came home. Wash, rinse, repeat. When do you go to the gym?”
“I have to leave here soon. I won’t be back until late though.”
He nods before pushing himself off the bed. Flynn keeps everything surface level nowadays. He’s hollow since losing Annie.
I don’t even fully understand the relationship they had. They weren’t together when she passed. We were actually shot by her boyfriend at the time, the abusive prick. Apparently right beforeeverything happened, while Sullivan was making his declaration of love to me… Flynn was doing the same with Annie. That was the day it was all supposed to change for the better, until it didn’t.
“Tell him I’ll be back later. I’m going to go home and try to catch some sleep too. Sleeping on those planes is bullshit.” He leans over and presses a kiss to my temple, and then he’s gone.
A few hours later, after I’d quietly slipped out of Sully’s bed, I found myself stretching on the blue mats that cover the floors of the gym I train at. Olympian Training Club, or OTC, is in small town Virginia, the next town over from where I live, and just fifteen minutes outside of D.C. in Pine Springs. This is my home away from home. Where everything and everyone takes a back seat.
They don’t give a single shit what my real last name is here. They don’t care who my parents are or what world I come from. No one asks about my connections to certain mafiosos or what my past holds. All they care about is if I can make as many midair turns as I need to and that I stick my landings. They care about the scorecards and what the judges think. Most importantly, they care about team trials that are coming up in just a few short months.
I’m in my zone when my coach, Jordan Frost, takes up residence beside me, which pulls me out of my own head.
“Hey.” I offer her a small smile.
“You ready for today? I’m going to push you hard.” She lifts a challenging eyebrow in question.
“Good, I need it. I’ve got shit to work through.” I pop up to my feet and offer her a hand to help her up.
“Elle, you know better than to come in here with a busy mind and anxious limbs.”
“Everything’s steady, swear. I just need to work.” I hold my hands out to prove my point. “Look, surgeon steady.”
“Yeah, I hear you, Rory. Now get your ass on the bars. We have work to do.”
So the last name I use in the gymnast world is his middle name, sue me.
Jordan Frost is a three time Olympic gold medalist. She’s been my coach for five years, and after this year I hope to follow in her footsteps both in medals earned and in coaching the next generation of gymnasts. There’s so many amazing coaches that have been overshadowed by the bad ones. I just want to make a difference for the next generation of competitors like she has for me and others.
My mind is always a buzz of would have and should have been. It’s a constant loop in my head, but the moment I step up to the bars, chalk up, it’s easy to push all of that other stuff back to the small box in the corner of my head where it belongs. My hands grasp the lower bar, and without my brain consciously doing so, my feet sweep out from under me as my body swings and my arms pull and then press until I’m mounted on the bars and begin my routine.
***
