"Payson!" Sasha called, a smile gracing his still chiseled, rough face. He looked like he hadn't aged a bit in the four years since Worlds. She, on the other hand, looked like she had been through hell and back again about four times. In her shorts and a tank top it was obvious that life had not been kind to her. Her ankle was taped, her wrists rubbed nearly raw from grips and fingers calloused more than a guitarist. But Sasha could ignore all of that. He couldn't ignore her eyes. They were dead. It was her expression that caused his smile to falter.
"Hi Sasha," She answered quietly as he approached her.
"What's wrong? Are you upset over your bronze? You still got the team gold, you know."
"It's not about the medals."
Sasha shook his head, sitting down on the grass, setting the picnic basket down. "No, I didn't think it was. If it was, you would have been over it about half an hour after it was over. This is something bigger."
Payson sat down with him, sighing. "How did you know?"
"I've competed and watched people compete for almost twenty years. I can tell when someone's heart and mind isn't in it. I'm not judging Payson, but what happened?"
"I don't want to do gymnastics anymore."
"You're a two-time Olympian Payson. I think it's okay if you retire. Even if you don't want to coach. You can go to college and major in something crazy like history and forget that you ever were an Olympian. But I don't think that's going to help, honestly."
Payson shook her head. "You don't understand Sasha." She turned away from him to look at the ocean just off the mountain.
Sasha took her arm, and then gently with her hand, pulled her head towards him. "Then explain it to me."
"I haven't wanted to compete for the past two years."
"So why continue competing?"
"Everyone told me it was a phase. I just needed to get over it. I would be fine once I got my new routines down – once I nailed that new dismount."
Sasha wrapped an arm around her, just loosely. He wanted her to know he was there for her. "But the feeling – it didn't stop did it?"
"No. In fact, it got worse. I started missing landings. I couldn't even do a Giant one week on the bars. I wanted to quit. I wanted to quit so bad."
"And you didn't." It wasn't a question. Sasha already knew the answer.
"Oh, but it was more complicated than that. My parents had just finally finished paying off my surgery. They were finally out of debt and wanted to save. My college savings were non-existant and since I was no longer eligible for scholarships, we needed an option to save some money. Then Becca decided she didn't want to be an elite gymnast but wanted to compete in college. Which meant they needed to save money for her too – because you know Becca, she's good but I don't know if any of the schools she's looking at would want her on full-ride."
"Lots of faith in her, huh?"
"You've seen her Sasha. You know she loves gymnastics but doesn't love the competition. That's what why Stanford wanted me – they wanted my competitive spirit. Becca doesn't have that."
"So, they guilted you into staying because of money?"
"Well, that and something else."
"What else?"
"One of the selection members got me drunk,"
Sasha let out a low, shaky breath. "This can't end well."
Payson chuckled, "No it can't. It really didn't." She shook her head. "Now it's just something to laugh at. The NGO being hypocrites."
"What else is new?" Sasha shrugged. His arm wrapped around Payson, pulling her close. "So what happened?"
Payson took a moment to let his touch sink in before she began. "I had decided I wanted to quit. Really decided I had talked to my parents and explained what I wanted to do. I said I could tour for a year and do exhibitions to keep the sponsors alive for one more year and give them enough time to save. This was last year. My back was starting to bother me again and I had stress fractures in both of my ankles."
Sasha growled but Payson ignored him. "So I told Andre, my 'coach'," she air-quoted. "And then I set up a meeting with the NGO. I was surprised at how well they took it. Or at least, I thought they did. They didn't pressure me into staying for the Olympics in Rio. In fact, they just asked that I come to their banquet in Indianapolis a few weekends later. I was suppose to train, like normal, until then and they would announce it then that I was retiring. I should have noticed that something was up. The NGO isn't that nice." She rolled her eyes, "Well, at least, not with Ellen Beals."
"I really don't like that woman." Sasha mumbled.
"Yeah, join the club."
"I don't think I've ever heard you talk this much before, Payson," Sasha teased.
"And I've heard you yell enough for a lifetime. Anyway, so I went to the banquet. They were paying for my plane ticket, I couldn't say no. Plus, it was only fair. I've been a member of the gymnastics community for oh... 18 years? I think I owed them at least that much."
"You didn't owe them anything," Sasha interrupted.
"I had just turned twenty-one so the NGO had no problem filling me full of drinks. The guy I was with..." She stopped, looking at her hand. Sasha was squeezing it hard, making it go numb. "Um, Sasha, I need my hand."
"He didn't..." Payson looked confused so he continued, "He didn't... force..."
"Oh, God, no. He didn't try to have sex with me. We were just talking. He got me really drunk. He had me admit my crush on you that turned into my loving you, how I convinced you to come back. Really, it was mostly about you. By the end of the night I was a blubbering idiot, at least, that's what I've been told. I was crying on this guy from NGO's shoulder, saying how I had hoped that once I turned 18 and stopped being your gymnast we could be together. Now the NGO had their fire. They wanted to get rid of you in any way possible and they knew I could provide them the answer."
"Do you still..."
"Not now, I want to finish my story."
Sasha closed his eyes and nodded, wrapping his arm just a little tighter around her.
"The next morning I knew something I had done the night before had been terribly wrong. So I went to the NGO. They were about to publish it. They said there was only way that it wouldn't get published and you wouldn't be destroyed. I had to compete in the Olympics on bars. Somehow, and I have no idea how, I was the only one who could master difficulty high enough to beat the Chinese. I don't know how someone didn't take my place but nobody did. They needed me for the team score. There was a girl who could easily silver but I was the only one who get us gold against the Chinese. So I said, okay. 'Fine, but I want the tape recording of the conversation.' I knew they weren't stupid enough to just have a guy listen to me – it would be hearsay. They gave me the tape. And here I am."
"You hungry?"
"Starving." Payson eyed the picnic basket warily. "But did you cook?"
"Your mom taught me while you were at the London Olympics training camp."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Sasha pulled out something that looked like eggplant but filled with something. "I made stuffed eggplant. Your mom said you couldn't get enough of eggplant when you were home."
"True. But what else?"
Sasha chuckled. "Fruit and I brought some țuică."
"What's that?"
"Plum brandy. It's a Romanian specialty."
"I'll just have to take your word for it that you won't try and seduce me. I've seen you drunk – it's not pretty, but you can hold your liqueur a whole lot better than I can."
"Do I need to seduce you?" Sasha asked, catching her glance. He kept eye contact, watching her eyes widen then settle to a normal size. The emotions were complex to read. Four years ago Sasha would have been able to say with almost one hundred percent certainty what his gymnast was thinking. Now, he wasn't so sure.
"No," She whispered.
"Well, that answers that question from earlier," Sasha said, breaking eye contact to pour two small glasses full of the brandy.
"Why did you leave me Sasha?"
The sound of air being caught as Sasha held his breath – then a shaky exhale. "I didn't leave you dragul meu. I was there with you at the Olympics. I would have been with you for however long you decided to stay with the sport but..." a pause, "people had started to catch on that we were more than just coach and gymnast. I told everyone, I told myself, that I wouldn't cross that line. But you have no idea Payson, you have no idea how many times I almost crossed it. How many times I almost kissed you senseless after that all-around performance in London or when you won Worlds the next year."
"I hate lines." Payson frowned.
"What?"
"Think about it Sasha. I spent my life figuring out what the next line was – was it a Yurchenko double full? A double Arabian? I would master one skill and then they would go on to another. Every time I thought I knew where the boundary was – between being the best in the sport and just trying to do the impossible because it was that – it moved. That's why I wanted to quit gymnastics. I was tired of redefining my life every time a Chinese gymnast did better and I was suppose to compete. I could have done it with you. You wouldn't have pushed me. But you weren't there."
"Payson, dragul meu, I had to leave. I thought you wanted to go for another Olympics. I couldn't jepordize your future. Even if you had quit, I am still almost fifteen-"
"Twelve years is not almost ten. My parents are seven years apart."
"I'm still almost fifteen years older than you are. You were 18 by the time of Olympics but it was still..."
"When do you think I started caring about what people thought?" Payson shot back.
"After you broke your back," Sasha answered honestly.
Payson smiled – the first genuine smile of the meeting. "You win. Now can we eat?"
"Not yet. I have something to give you." Sasha leaned in towards her and Payson closed her eyes. She knew what was coming. She had waited almost five years for that real kiss.
"Let's eat," Sasha said, breaking away. Payson's eyes were glittering and he knew she was back – his Payson was back.
"Nope, I don't think you got that right," Payson chuckled, leaning into Sasha. Things were finally right with the world. The final line wasn't there anymore, the pressure of being an elite world gymnast was gone and she was making out with the one man who truly believed in her, trusted her and thought she was beautiful.
Author's Note:
A few things -
dragul meu – my love in Romanian