Page 34 of Full Split
I don’t respond. I can’t. It’s all I can do to stare down at him, wide-eyed and awed at his daring confidence.
Niles cocks his head. “If I beat my score from Thursday,” he says, “I want you to tell me the truth. About what you think about me. How you feel.”
I can’t breathe. And then he takes the bar. Thank goodness he’s as smooth and sure as ever, because if he faltered I might not be in the right mind to be quick on my feet. But he’s perfection, pulling off a stunning upgraded combo that defies gravity. His dismount will be highlight reel fodder for the rest of the season.
When the final scores are announced, I’m not even surprised.
Weston and Niles both make the national team. And they’re both walking away with several medals.
Niles wins All-Around, dominating the overall points. He wins gold for vault and high bar, and a silver in floor he wasn’t expecting at all. Weston takes the gold for pommel horse, silver for rings, and bronze for floor and parallel bars.
As good as they were, they’re both stunned. Over the moon, of course, but struck speechless. They came hoping for a podium spot. Hoping to be noticed and to make the national team. Instead they outright dominated the competition. The medals are fantastic, and so is the win, but I think the best part of it is the entire change of direction in the press conference. It’s no longer about Peter and Niles’ rivalry, and no one asks about Niles’ identity or sexuality. The entire focus is on the skills he presented and the talent he showed throughout the competition.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been prouder.
When asked about the Olympics, Niles keeps it humble. “One step at a time.”
Weston grins. “We’re not looking past the next routine. We’ve worked hard to get here, and we’ll keep working hard to make you proud. One event at a time.”
Then he winks. “That said… y’all saw Niles’ vault, right?”
The rest of the evening passes in a haze. Weston and Niles are high on adrenaline and joy. Niles is floored. As confident as he is, he didn’t expect quite this explosive of a turnout.
And Weston… Weston’s pride is something else. I’ve never seen that look on him before.
For years, Weston has always said he’s here for Niles. He’s seen himself in a supporting role, happily following Niles from competition to competition. This might be the first time he’s realized something that both Niles and I always have—that he’s a star, too.
Then there’s Peter. In the excitement of the day, I didn’t give him much thought throughout the meet. I was vaguely aware of his location in the room, mostly because I’m conditioned to be wary of threats. It seems he did much better than Thursday and was able to recover his performance enough to medal on parallel bars and score in the top six. He scraped by and managed to get the last placement on the national team. Instead of looking happy, he scowled and muttered the whole time they were taking press photos.
“You’re here.”
Niles’ voice pulls me out of my thoughts. Standing at the edge of the hot tub, he looks ethereal in the dim glow of the pool lights and steam swirling around him.
My mouth goes dry when he drops his robe, revealing a small, dark blue Speedo. I don’t know why I’m surprised, it wouldn’t be like Niles to cut me a break and wear something that doesn’t threaten to give me a heart attack.
My eyes are trained on the expanse of skin just above the waistband of the swimsuit, the way his pale skin contrasts with the deep blue of the fabric. I’m caught thinking about how that exact shade of blue would reflect the color of his eyes if it was on a shirt and he were wearing it in the daytime.
He steps into the water, slow and deliberate, and sits across from me, cocking his head in the way he does when he’s trying to read my mind.
“Weston?”
“Upstairs. Tipsy. On the phone with Aimee.”
“And you?” They’d met a few others for a celebratory dinner and drinks. Weston, having turned twenty-one a couple of months ago, mentioned stopping to buy a bottle of something to bring back to the room.
Niles shakes his head. “I wanted to have a clear head.”
I clear my throat. That would have been my last saving grace, my last excuse not to cross this line. “Just us, then.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Terrified,” I say honestly. Because I shouldn’t be here. I don’t know why exactly I came. Because I’m weak, obviously. Curious,much to my shame. And there’s also part of me that wants to give him something, because I can tell my rejection hurts him.
“Am I so scary?” His smile should be illegal.
“You’re dangerous.”
He breathes in sharply. For once, I can see his nerves.
