Page 82 of Full Split
Pommel has never been his favorite, but he manages well enough. His circles stay clean, even if they’re not fast. There’s no obvious hesitation, and no visible form breaks, but it’s not exactly a standout routine. In another competition, it might have earned him more than a 13.733, but he has to earn every tenth at this level.
I can see him talking to himself as he approaches the vault. This is where he shines.
The team has been going back and forth on vault difficulty all week. It looks like the coach called it and went conservative—a high-difficulty Yurchenko double instead of something riskier. It’s safe. Clean. And Niles nails it perfectly. From my seat, I know it the second he lands. No hop. No slide. Just planted feet, arms locked, head high.
I stand without thinking when the score drops: 14.466. Huge. Mik and his crew are up cheering with me.
Niles shoots me a smile, but I know what he’s thinking… if he’d been allowed to throw the harder vault, he could’ve broken fifteen.
I know he has to be getting tired. He was restless all night. I hope the vault gave him a surge of confidence and adrenaline to get him through the last two events.
He steps up to the parallel bars and starts without hesitation. He’s clean through his transitions, controlled and precise, but the power I know he’s capable of isn’t there. His hand placements drift a little, and his turns aren’t as tight. When heswings through the last release, his legs separate just a fraction, but if I can see it from up here, I’m sure the judges did too. His dismount is solid. One step. 13.900 is not a bad score at all, but it’s not enough to make up ground. He’s going to need a stellar high bar routine to make it to the podium.
Not being the one standing with him before he starts his last and favorite event is excruciating. I feel his steadying breath in and out, and my hands instinctively squeeze together, imagining them around his waist, giving him that last unspoken encouragement.
You’ve got this.
He throws every release without hesitation. Practically floats with each twist and flip. Nails every move perfectly. I catch myself leaning forward, fists clenched against my knees.
When he hits his one-arm giant? I swear the arena goes silent. He dismounts with a flourish. He’s made a name for himself and sticks it. Both arms up. He knows he killed it. Everyone does. Mik and his family are jumping up and down with me, thumping me on the back and shoulders like I was the one that just got his best score of the day. 14.573
At the end of the day, Niles final scores put him at 4th place overall. Not quite on the podium, but so damn close. I can’t see his expression well enough from where I’m sitting, but I know what he’s thinking. I’m familiar with the gleam in his eye as he walks off the floor.
On apparatus finals day, he’s coming for total domination. No coach could talk him out of pulling every skill in the book to get those top scores.
The moment that brings everything together, however, is when Weston walks up to shake Niles’ hand, and pulls him in for a bear hug.
That has to be a good sign, right?
I knew that soft-hearted little shit couldn’t hold a grudge against Niles for too long. I only hope this means we’re somewhere on the way to forgiveness, and maybe even acceptance.
CHAPTER 23
NILES
Fourth place.
Not bad, but I can do better. I could still make the podium for apparatus finals. I can still make it into the top ten to still be a contender for the Olympic team. I can do this.
Wecan do this.
I know Weston isn’t ready to talk about it or accept anything, but his hug after the all-arounds awards let me know one thing—we still have each other. He doesn’t hate me so much that he’d hope for my failure or anything like that.
Maybe we’ll be okay.
After a team dinner and debriefing, I do my best to give him space but end up running into him downstairs at the hotel bar. I wasn’t planning on drinking, just came down to get a bottle of sparkling water. I’m wearing pajama pants and one of my wide-armed tanks, with one of Wyatt’s zip-up hoodies. I don’t know what it is about practically swimming in his clothes that I love so much, but the comfort felt necessary after the events of the day.
If Weston notices me wearing his dad’s clothes, he doesn’t say anything. I’m surprised he calls me over at all, honestly, but he beckons me over excitedly.
“You won’t believe who I just met,” he says, and drags me over to a few couches where a small group of our teammates are sitting next to two familiar guys. Not familiar because I’ve met them before, familiar because they’re internet famous.
Mik Reinier-Sanders and his husband, Jason, who is actually hotter in real life.Damn.
I’ve been following them for a while now, after an article was published about Jason inThe Scene.We found Mik’s travel blog a while after that, which often highlights sporting events and safe travel spaces for the LGBTQ+ community. He has a pretty big following.
Plus, Mik was one of the first journalists to cover my story from a positive and supporting angle, where most mainstream media was trying to remain neutral, and the far-right outlets were out to get me. It’s partially thanks to him that I have vocal online support.
“Hey,” the one I know is Mik stands first. “I’m Mik. We’ve talked before over email. This is my son Jace, and my husband Jason.”
