Page 33 of Full Split
I didn’t meet Niles at the hot tub last night. Weston ended up going with him, but even if he hadn't, it would have been a stupid thing for me to do. A very, very stupid thing.
I moved through the rest of yesterday like I wasn’t driving my own body. I remember being at the convention center to watch the women’s competition, but I couldn’t tell you a single detail about it. I’m sure we ate dinner last night, but I can’t remember what it was. Did I actually have any conversations? React to anything anyone said to me? No idea. I was on autopilot, aware of nothing except the giant, ticking countdown in my brain towards what I thought was going to be a rendezvous at the hot tub.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, terrible, no good, very bad ideawas the only conscious thought I had.
I’d been waiting by the door like a complete idiot, forehead against the wood, muttering to myself, when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
NILES: We have company.
I’d looked through the peephole and, sure enough, saw both Weston and Niles in their towels, heading off together.
I still don’t know whether what I felt was disappointment or relief when my shoulders sagged.
Thank God I’m not the one competing today. I need to get my head in the game if I’m going to make it through without hurting myself—or someone else.
The crowd today is nearly twice the size it was on Thursday. It helps ground me, pulls me out of whatever haze I’ve been in. My chest swells as I watch Weston and Niles walk up to the entrance and be greeted like celebrities. Niles’ face turns beet red, but I nudge him towards a small group asking for autographs.
Weston and Niles both sign t-shirts and posters and take selfies with fans. A woman wearing a black t-shirt with a heart-shaped trans flag and gymnast silhouette clasps Niles’ hands and thanks him for being a champion for the trans community. “We’re all watching and praying for you,” she says, eyes shining. Then she looks at Weston and grins, “If you two are really just best friends, can I shoot my shot?”
Weston laughs and poses for a selfie, kissing her cheek just before the flash.
“Aimee’s going to kick your ass,” Niles jokes as we walk into the building.
West cringes. “I’ll have some ‘splainin to do,” he says in a terrible Ricky Ricardo impression.
Credentials scanned, we head for the auxiliary gym. Weston chats with Cody Jenkins while Niles peels off to the restroom. He’s strategic about timing and always avoids going when it’s busy or there are lines. Weston looks to me, and I nod, letting him know I’ve got eyes on Niles.
Good thing, too. I catch sight of Peter Trenton watching him, but he doesn’t dare try anything with me trailing after. Discreet as I try to be, Niles still rolls his eyes when he sees me waiting as he exits the stall. Everyone else has already filed out.
“This is it,” I tell him, hoping to distract him, ease the tension. “You’ve got this. You’re going to be great.”
He looks at me with that quiet intensity, and for a second, I don’t know what’s going to happen. My heart stutters as he moves in close to me. Is he about to kiss me? I’m not ready.
If he kisses me now, I don’t think I’ll be able to think clearly again for the rest of the day. Or ever, maybe.
He leans in. I hold my breath.
His lips touch down, soft and warm, in a gentle kiss to my cheek, right at the corner of my mouth.
It leaves me breathless.
The boys are on fire today.
Weston’s floor routine is solid. He’s still cautious, but clean. Niles is bolder than ever, but it’s almost to be expected at this point. It becomes very clear, very quickly, that he’s going all in. He’s out for blood. Whose blood? I’m not sure. Maybe his own.
It makes me nervous. After all, recklessness usually ends in mistakes. But Niles? He’s thriving in the chaos of gasps and roars of applause.
Weston dominates pommel horse. He’ll easily be top three. Niles recovers from his day one rhythm issues. On rings, they’re both solid. Weston’s handstand holds are textbook perfection that I know will get him big points.
Niles nails his vault again, but this time adds another half twist. It looks borderline impossible. If he doesn’t get gold for that, I might actually riot. Weston sticks a cleaner, safer combo with a flawless landing.
On the parallel bars, Weston is steady as always. Niles has a slight arm wobble near the end but sticks the dismount.
Then comes the high bar. Weston misses a grip, and I nearly step forward before he recovers. He finishes strong. True to his almost chronic positive nature, he’s smiling at the end of his routine. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good, and the competition is done for him today.
And Niles?—
As I’m stepping up to spot Niles’ jump to mount the bar, he looks right at me and informs me, under no uncertain terms, that we’ll be trying again for the hot tub tonight.
