Page 70 of Full Split
It should feel like the beginning of something good. And for a minute, it did. But now, everything is unraveling, and it’s my fault.
I’m the adult. Not that Niles isn’t an adult, but I’m the older adult. The one who knew better from the beginning. The parent, whose son’s happiness was on the line.
I always believed I’d sacrifice anything and everything to do right by my son. And since the day I found out he was going to be born, I’ve done exactly that. But now I’ve failed him.
At the very least, I should have sat him down and talked to him when it felt like he might be getting suspicious, but I kept pushing it off. Now, because of my selfish cowardice, I’ve ruined everything.
As soon as I could get my feet to move, I did my best to comfort Niles, but I needed to go after Weston. He agreed and hurried me along as I got dressed, practically pushing me out the door.
But I can’t find him. He’s nowhere in the hotel, nor in any of the surrounding cafes, parks, or stores. I even try the arena where the competition is being held, but I’m assured that no one other than officials and construction crew have been allowed inside the building for days.
I can’t find my son, but on my way back into the hotel, my eyes gravitate to a figure sitting on a bench across the street, looking out at a canal. Even facing away from me and wearing an overlarge hoodie pulled up over his head, I know it’s Niles.
As I’m turning to go to him, a group of athletes come up the stairs. I recognize them from a group we spoke to on our way out for lunch yesterday. I ask them if they’ve seen Weston, but they all say no. The looks they give me make me uncomfortable. Like they know something. I shake it off and jog over to Niles. He’s staring out at nothing, gaze lifeless, nose and eyes rimmed red.
“Baby, you should be wearing a heavier coat,” I say, and take mine off to put over his shoulders.
He shrugs it away. “Don’t,” he says, his tone short. Then he lowers his voice. “Not in public.”
The way that guts me is proof enough that I’ve been living in a fantasy. How stupid was I to think we could continue getting away with this for so long?
“There’s no one around,” I assure him. “Did you talk to Weston?”
I can’t decide if I’m hopeful he did, because at least then I’d know he was safe. Or if I don’t, because if that’s the case andNiles is this upset, it’s worse than I thought. Niles was upset when I left this morning, but he wasn’t defeated like this.
He shakes his head. “I tried to call him, but he didn’t answer. Did he text you, too?”
“No. I’ve had no contact at all. What did he say?”
“Nothing, really. It was just a link. He sent it just over an hour ago.”
My shoulders relax, knowing that at least there was some contact with him recently.
Before I can ask what the link was for, he holds his phone out to me. I take it and sit on the bench, on the opposite side as far away from Niles as I can so I don’t make him uncomfortable.
The link is to a news site that’s no better than a gossip rag and known for publishing outright lies and false information to fit a specific agenda. Unfortunately, they’re also one of the top mainstream news sources, especially in conservative circles.
It seems Peter Trenton and the political nonsense talking heads aren’t finished making trouble. They’re now running stories accusing USAG of misconduct, implying that Niles is sleeping with his coaches. Team officials. Teammates. The words are never said outright, but it’s enough half-formed hints to lead people to a scandal.
“It gets worse,” Niles says, taking the phone from me, swiping a few times, then handing it back.
It’s a picture of him with Weston. They’re talking closely behind our house where the trash cans are. It’s from the day we had the barbecue. Weston had just let me know someone had spotted a random person enter the party and start taking pictures.
I keep scrolling and find another picture from back when Sid threw the boys a surprise party. Niles and I were cleaning up the food table. The photo caught us when Niles was putting something into the trash bag I was holding, but you can’t tell that’s what’s happening at this angle. All you can see is that Niles’ hands look to be on my chest, and he’s looking up at me suggestively.
Like the picture of Weston, it’s a photo taken out of context. What’s terrifying is that there is some truth to the speculation that he’s sleeping with me. If these people can find actual proof that any of these rumors are true…
Now I understand why all those people have been giving me strange looks all day. Why Niles didn’t want to be seen wearing my jacket.
If any of this got out, Niles wouldn’t survive it.
It would ruin him.
He could be suspended. His medals potentially stripped for violating USAG’s code of conduct.
Weston might be subjected to an investigation, and even though he hasn’t done anything wrong, his reputation would suffer as well.
Even though I’m not actually his official coach, I have been his accredited, acting coach in multiple situations and competitions, especially recently. Not to mention that I’ve been an employee, both officially and as an unpaid volunteer, of his home gym since he was a child. According to USAG and FIG regulations, a relationship between an athlete and coach is prohibited. I’d lose my credentials and never be allowed in a gymnastics facility orcompetition again. It could even put my unrelated job on the line because the scandal would ruin my reputation.
