Page 74 of Full Split

Not now.

Now, I’m falling apart.

And everyone can see it.

Weston’s silence is a constant presence beside me. Like a ghost that won’t go away. He doesn’t speak to me. Doesn’t look at me. Whatever distance he’s putting between us… it’s breaking me.

I can’t do this without him. I’ve always had him beside me. Always. He’s been my anchor, my constant, the one who could drag me back when I spiraled. And now?

Now I’m spiraling. And he’s not there.

It’s affecting my performance.

The head coach pulls me aside before the second day of qualifiers. I can’t even pretend I don’t know why.

“You’re good enough to scrape by right now, but you’re not yourself.”

I nod, because he’s right. There’s nothing I can say to negate it.

The pressure keeps mounting. The looks from the coaches. From teammates. I know they’re watching. I know they’re disappointed. The harder I try to tune it out, the more I feel it sinking under my skin.

Every routine feels wrong. My movements feel stiff. Even when I hit, it feels like I’m faking it. Like I’m an imposter in my own body.

I finish the qualifiers in fifth.

Fifth.

That should be good enough. Fifth at Worlds? It’s solid. There’s an entire competition worth of gymnasts who would kill to be where I am. I’ll advance, and that’s something most can’t say today.

All I can think about is that I could’ve dominated.

Ishould’vedominated.

Instead, I performedsafely.

The coaches downgraded me on all events, playing it safe to protect the team scores because I clearly am not in the right head space to go in hard like I know I’m capable of.

They didn’t trust me to hit my difficulty.

They didn’t think I could handle it.

And they were right.

The second day of qualifiers is the hardest I’ve ever fought just to keep from falling apart.

It started in the locker room. One of the older gymnasts made a comment about all the rumors in the news, which are just getting louder and wilder by the day instead of losing steam. He remarked on Weston and I not sitting together, chatting, or goofing around like we normally do. It’s been chilly between us, and it’s obvious to everyone.

The guy, Allan Menote, simply asked if we were fighting because of the news. He didn’t say anything besides that, but it was obvious that there was more than curiosity there. As though he was asking if the rumors were true without asking.

The look Weston gave him was so scathing, I thought for sure Allan’s face might melt off.

“Peter is full of shit, and you know it. Shut your mouth and get your head out of your ass. You should be supporting your teammate, not making shit worse, asshole.”

I sat there gaping until everyone filed out of the room. Every one of them looked ashamed of themselves, which was enough to let me know they’d all been talking shit. This team that I was finally feeling comfortable with. And Peter fucking took that from me.

But Weston? I did that myself.

When only Weston was left. I walked over to thank him and maybe open a line of conversation so I could start apologizing.