Page 48 of Full Split

After a truly intense first day, Weston and I return to our hotel room dead tired. We both showered at the training facility, but Weston is determined to fit his giant body into the not-so-giant bathtub. I sprawl out on my bed and text Wyatt.

ME: You won’t believe what happened.

ME: Peter failed his drug test. He got kicked off the team.

DADDY: He’s responsible for his own choices. Don’t carry it.

Why am I surprised he knows me that well? Despite being oblivious of my feelings for him for so long, he seems to be able to read me in a way that no one else can.

ME: Trying not to.

DADDY: How was the rest of the day?

ME: Intense. Exhausting. AMAZING.

DADDY: I know you have to be tired. All I did was some coding and teach a tumbling class and I’m barely hanging on.

ME: Poor old man.

It’s a while later before he texts again.

DADDY: Watch who you call an old man.

ME: Whatcha going to do about it? Punish me?

DADDY: Don’t tempt me.

ME: …

DADDY: I’m proud of you.

I stare at those words for a long time, not sure how to answer. It makes me feel warm all over, fills me with pride. It makes me miss him. I type out several replies but keep deleting and restarting.

“Damn, man,” Weston complains sleepily. “Who the hell are you texting so late?”

“Your dad,” I deadpan.

Weston scoffs. “Tell Jeff to stop sexting you and go to sleep.”

ME: I miss you.

DADDY: I miss you, too. Get some rest.

I’m sick with guilt over how much I miss him. Sick with guilt that I haven’t told Weston any of what is happening. Lying by omission and letting him think that I’ve been talking to Jeff, when really I haven’t spoken to him since the day he tried to flirt with me over text.

I know that we’ll tell him the truth eventually, but right now we have to focus on figuring out what this is between us.

How exactly do you tell your best friend that you’re having sex with his dad?

What’s wild about camp isn’t just the schedule, it’s how hands-on the coaching is.

Sid was involved, sure, but he always let us build our routines ourselves. He’d weigh in, offer pointers, and suggest changes, but it was always our decision.

Here, the coaches are shaping us. Directing us.

They’ve got me training higher-difficulty vaults than I’ve ever competed, which is saying something. They’re debating whether I should attempt them at Worlds if I’m selected. Same with my high bar combo. There’s been a lot of back-and-forth discussion about whether it’s better to downgrade, trading risk for reliability, but they continue to test me on these high-risk skills. As an all-arounder, I’m not just competing for myself. I’m competing for the team’s total score.

Every part of me wants to be cocky and tell them I can hit everything. That I’ve got this.