Page 21 of Full Split (Forbidden Goals #8)

WYATT

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 idea was 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.

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.

“So?” he asks.

“So what?”

“My prize.”

“You did top your score,” I admit. “I wasn’t sure it was possible.”

“You agreed because you didn’t think I could do it?”