Ripped - 12. Chapter 12

The two days of every weekend were hard for Bailey, being basically stuck at home, but these two were harder than most. Bailey had watched Mr. Kirsch fawn over his mother Friday night. Bailey wasn't sure if the man was actually trying to hit on his mother or if he was just trying to be welcoming and friendly, but he did an awful lot of smiling and patting his mother's arm and shoulder. Leaning in close to talk to her wasn't necessary in Bailey's opinion, his mother could hear just fine.

And his mother reciprocated. Every time he saw her laugh and touch the lawyer's arm, Bailey had to bite his tongue not to scream at her. What was she thinking? She was married! She shouldn't be doing this to Dad!

When they'd gotten home, he'd stormed up to his room, ignoring his mother's reprimands from downstairs that he'd been rude to Daniel.

She was lucky he hadn't gone postal on Daniel.

He slammed his door, throwing himself on his bed. He cringed at the twinge in his abs from where Chris had hit him. His throbbing head wasn't feeling much better. He lifted his shirt to see if there was any bruising, and fortunately, there wasn't yet. He hadn't thought there would be, but it didn't hurt to check. Not that anyone would ever notice.

After a fitful sleep, Bailey found his early morning run exhausting as well as comforting. Two nights in a row with too little sleep was beginning to take its toll however, and he found himself falling back asleep after returning home, fatigued mentally and physically.

"What are you still doing asleep?"

Bailey jerked awake, blinking up at his mom looming over him. The sun was bright in the window that she'd obviously opened, leaving Bailey even more confused before his brain fully woke. Glancing at the clock, he realized it was almost ten a.m. He'd fallen back asleep for nearly three hours.

"Um..." Bailey rubbed at his face, trying to wake up.

"Are you sick?" She stepped over and put her hand on his forehead.

"No..." Bailey ducked away from her questing hand. "Just tired."

His mother huffed a small laugh as she turned toward the door, mumbling. "You're getting lazy without your father here, sleeping 'til ten would so not happen if he were around. He'd have had you running all over town. Now, hurry up, we have errands to run today, and the grass needs to be mowed."

He rolled to his side feeling like his mother had physically punched him. She might as well have for how sick he suddenly felt at the way she'd just thrown out that comment so carelessly. How could she talk about his father's death so casually?

Yes, she used to chide him and his father about their morning runs, but to joke about it now? With his father gone?

His dad had loved when she teased them about how they could do an extra mile for her, and his father would chuckle and kiss her on the forehead as she rolled back over in the bed. When they'd return all hot and sweaty and his dad would try to hug her, she'd giggle and dart away, slapping at his dad's chest playfully.

Bailey rolled his face into his pillow, forcing back the anguished scream threatening to rise up his throat at the memories. He missed it all so much—the runs with his father, the lively laughs from his mother when his dad would grab her and kiss her, his father holding his mother's hand in the mall, the hugs of encouragement his father would give him when he failed, and the pride that shone in his father's face when he excelled.

"Honey! Come on!" his mother's voice called.

Bailey finally managed to drag himself out of the bed, trudging to his door. He really wasn't in the mood to run errands with his mother today, not after watching her antics with Daniel last night.

"How about you go without me, and I'll mow the lawn while you're gone?" Bailey bargained. "And clean my bathroom?"

There was a long silence from the lower level, but his mom finally conceded. "Okay, I suppose that's fine. Is there anything in particular you want from the grocery store?"

"Protein bars?" he called back, only to hear his mom laugh. He startled at the sound. She hadn't laughed in so long, not since before...

"Those are a given. Between you and your dad, I think I should have bought stock in them. Anything else?"

He swallowed thickly, not really trusting himself to speak. "No. I'll text if I think of something."

"Okay, that's fine. Make sure you eat."

"Yeah," he responded automatically, even though he was pretty sure he wouldn't right away. Food was not high on his priority list right now.

He waited until he heard her pick up her keys and the front door slammed before he headed downstairs. Cutting the grass was like running, a mindless exertion that helped keep his heartbreak at bay.

By the time his mother returned later in the afternoon, he'd finished the lawn as well as two loads of his laundry and cleaned his bathroom out of boredom. He was in the middle of finishing his English paper that was due on Monday when he heard the front door open.

He hurried downstairs, knowing he'd need to help her with the groceries, but skidded to a stop when he saw Daniel Kirsch carrying several bags in behind his mom. She smiled up at him as he held open the screen door for her.

"Thank you so much, Dan. I know this is a little out of your way, but I really appreciate your help."

"It's no problem, Michelle. I'm happy to help."

Bailey felt his jaw hanging open. What the hell was he doing here?

Bailey stormed forward, reaching out and grabbing the bags from the lawyer. "I've got them."

Mr. Kirsch's eyes widened in surprise at Bailey's abruptness but quickly recovered, offering a gentle smile. "Oh, sure. I'll just go grab the rest."

"No, I can get them," Bailey retorted. "Thanks for your help, but you can go home now."

"Bailey!" his mom snapped sharply. "Daniel's going to stay for dinner. I invited him."

"What? Why?"

Mr. Kirsch cleared his throat uneasily. "I'll just go grab the, uh, rest of the bags."

Bailey ignored him as he stomped into the kitchen after his mother. He dropped the bags on the counter as his mother glared at him.

"You will behave yourself. We have a guest, and I know your father and I taught you better than that. Daniel is only trying to help. He knows how difficult things are for me right now."

Bailey recoiled at the reprimand. Difficult for her?

He stared at his mother, noting the dark smudges under her eyes, the thin lines marring her face, the tension in her shoulders. Yes, things were difficult for her, but they were for him too. He so badly wanted to talk to her about it, about how angry he felt sometimes, about how sometimes his chest hurt so bad he could barely breathe, about how it felt like she was already trying to replace his father.

"I, uh, I'm going to go finish my paper," he finally stammered out, backing out of the kitchen and running into Daniel Kirsch.

"Oh, sorry, Bailey," the man apologized, watching him warily.

Bailey glanced between his mother and the lawyer, and his shoulders sagged in resignation. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm sorry I was a little snappy. I guess I'm a little tired."

Mr. Kirsch looked relieved. "Oh, yeah, I bet you are. I hear you have gymnastics practice every day after school, plus you run every morning. That's got to be exhausting."

Bailey only shrugged, not wanting to get into a conversation with the man.

"Oh yes, he has his first meet of the season next weekend, right, Bailey?" She didn't even wait for him to respond before continuing on, talking to Mr. Kirsch. "Maybe you'd like to come watch? Bailey's really good..."

Bailey's eyes widened. Wait, what?

The older man beamed, his smile genuine. "I'd love to. I'm sure I'll be amazed."

Bailey nearly rolled his eyes, sure the man was trying to suck up to his mother by showing interest in him. "Yeah, we'll see," Bailey muttered evasively, turning to head upstairs.

"I'll call you when dinner's ready," his mother said. "Make sure you proofread your paper this time. You don't want to be losing points for stupid errors like on your last paper. God, your father would have had a fit if he'd seen that one."

Bailey jerked back out of the kitchen at his mother's casual comment. "Yeah, uh, I'll be more careful."

"Good." She lifted her head from where she'd been ducked behind the fridge door. Her gaze flicked from him to Mr. Kirsch, a small smile forming. "Daniel, did you want a glass of wine?"

And Bailey knew he'd been summarily dismissed. He fought the urge to yell at her for inviting another man into their house, for wanting to cook him dinner, for discarding his father so quickly.

He still needed her. He needed her comfort, her compassion, her support. Yes, they'd both fallen into a pattern of being strong for each other, but did she have to smile so much around Mr. Kirsch? Did he not cause her to smile anymore? Was he so much like his father that she wished he was gone too? Was that why she tended to shut him out anytime he tried to be near her?

But then... what did she need?

Maybe he wasn't enough for her. Did she need Daniel's help, and not his?

He was being selfish to want her for himself, wasn't he? He was seventeen, he should be able to deal with things on his own, right? He was nearly a man, as she often reminded him, so he shouldn't be such an emotional wreck, right?

He practically stumbled up the stairs, shoving his door closed behind him as he sagged against it. The turmoil of his emotions choked him, causing him to sink to the floor.

He needed it.

His blurry eyes darted around his room for his book bag, finding it just off to his left. He grabbed it, fumbling for the front zipper. He ripped it open, desperately seeking the one thing that could help make it all better besides being in the gym.

The small box cutter looked so insignificant, so harmless, but Bailey clutched at it like it would disappear. His thumb slid the blade from its safe hiding place. He pushed the edge of his elastic waistband down just enough to reveal the top of his bony hip where three small scars reminded him of his previous efforts to forget. Always in the same place, always in a safe place, where no one would see...

He placed the sharp point against his skin, drawing in a deep breath of anticipation. As he pressed in, he dropped his head back against the door, releasing a secondary wave of pain from the knot on the back of his skull. The blade dug in, deeper, biting into his skin as he felt the delicious stinging burn race through his nerve endings, shorting out the turmoil of thoughts ravaging his brain.

He pulled, sliding the cool blade across his skin, reveling in the tug as his body yielded to the bite of the blade. Wetness trickled over the edge of his hip. Blood. He gave himself over to the throbbing pain, his eyes closed as he let the blade drop.

A focus.

That's what it gave him. Something other than his mother or father to think about. Something other than Daniel or Chris or Eric or Declan or his grades or gymnastics' scores...

Just the pain, the stinging burn, the feeling of blood welling from the wound, the escape...

To keep him from exploding, or imploding... to slice through the disjointed emotions hammering at him before they ripped him apart.

It was several long moments before Bailey even considered moving. His body now relaxed, almost euphoric. He glanced down at the pool of crimson on his hip and the thin line that trickled over the edge of his hip, absorbed in the waistband of his sweats.

He smiled to himself as he reached up to his desk and snagged several tissues from the box there. He quickly wiped at the side of his hip before blotting at the small puddle of blood near the wound. The pressure caused another rush of exhilaration to run through him.

Eventually, he climbed to his feet, dabbing a little more at the wound before he turned to open the door. He poked his head out, listening. He grimaced at the sound of his mom and Mr. Kirsch laughing, but at least he didn't have to worry about either of them seeing him as he crossed to the bathroom.

Tossing the bloody tissues in the toilet, he turned on the shower. For several long moments under the steaming spray, he watched pink tinged water swirl around his feet before disappearing down the drain. Soap gave him another small stinging, euphoric burst of pain before he finally rinsed and climbed out of the shower. He grabbed some toilet paper and pressed it to his hip before it bled anymore.

Cleaning up after it was almost routine by now. Swiping at the thin line with disinfectant before slapping a piece of gauze over it, and securing it with medical tape, was familiar and automatic. He tossed his sweats into his hamper, glad again that he tended to prefer black workout pants.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he darted back across the hall to his room where he quickly dressed and settled at his desk. Now, he could focus again on his paper, his mind clearer after the divine fog of the pain.

Yes, he was here, in the moment, now. Not in the past and not thinking about a future that held no hope or happiness. Here. Alone with his pain.

****

Bailey had barely made it through dinner with Daniel Kirsch Saturday evening without screaming at both him and his mother. He'd found her asleep on the couch, two glasses and an empty bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table, when he'd headed out for his early morning run Sunday. He didn't know how long she and Daniel had been up that night, but he spitefully hoped she felt guilty for spending time with Daniel while her husband lay at the foot of a white marble stone, buried in the ground.

Then immediately regretted the thought. How could he wish his mother to hurt as he did? That wasn't fair to her. He just wished she'd bring him with her out of the quicksand of misery he was sinking in.

Talking to her only mired them deeper.

Bailey spent the rest of Sunday locked away in his room, keeping out of her way, claiming the need to work on his paper. He was actually surprised when she knocked on his door and poked her head in.

"Hey, honey," she greeted, and Bailey noticed her eyes looked a little tired, maybe even a little red. Had she been crying? "Are you done yet with your paper?"

"Uh, almost. Are you okay, mom?"

She quickly looked away from him, keeping her eyes averted. "Yeah, I'm fine... Just, you know, thinking..." She waved her hand dismissively.

Yeah, he did know. It was their routine dance now—tiptoeing around each other, hiding their grief, avoiding any real talking about missing his dad. She'd obviously had a moment earlier, probably hiding out in her room for a while.

Bailey nodded, avoiding saying anything that might upset her further.

"So," she continued, "Daniel invited us to dinner at Michelina's tonight."

Another dinner with the man? Bailey gripped the pen in his hand, hoping it didn't break.

"Us? Or you?" Bailey finally asked because he was pretty sure Mr. Kirsch wasn't all that interested in him.

"He invited both of us," she reiterated. "If you don't want to go, there's leftovers from last night in the fridge."

Bailey spun back in his chair towards his laptop. "Yeah, I think I'll stay here. I still have some editing to do, plus I need to study for a history test this week."

His mom smiled slightly, biting her bottom lip. "You're sure?"

Bailey gritted his teeth together to keep from saying what he really wanted to say—NO! I don't want you to go either! But looking back up at her, he couldn't help but see the small spark of life in her that hadn't been there since his father had died. How could he deny her that? Even if it was killing him to see her moving on?

"Yeah. I'll grab food later," he finally said. She hovered another moment, and he thought maybe she was waiting for him to tell her to have fun, or something like that. Well, that wasn't going to happen.

"Okay, well, make sure you get an A on that paper. Your father and I worked hard to get you into that school. You need to make the most of it."

Bailey's eyes barely glanced at her before she closed the door behind her. His eyes traveled up to the picture of his dad on the bulletin board over his desk, his mother's words triggering a dam to break.

Tears leaked down his cheeks as he stared at his father's smiling face. His elbows hit the desk as he buried his face in his hands.

"Oh, God, dad. I'm trying. I'm trying so hard. Please, forgive me. I want to make you so proud, but I feel so lost... alone... now..."

****

He hadn't gotten much else done that evening. After finally pulling himself together, he'd managed to read over the paper once more, deeming it as good as it was going to get. He'd stared at his history text and notes, but he couldn't remember actually studying them before falling into an exhausted, weary sleep.

Dragging himself from bed Monday morning was harder than it usually was. He actually had hit snooze on his alarm three times before crawling out of bed, deciding he wasn't up to running this morning. His eyes felt bleary and his nose felt a little stuffy. This was why he hated crying, why he usually turned to it to help him avoid feeling like his heart was being ripped open when he thought about his dad.

Throwing his gym duffle together and his backpack of school work slung over his shoulder, he headed downstairs, pausing at the bottom.

The light in the kitchen was on.

He peeked around the doorway to find his mother sitting at the table, her hands curled around a cup of coffee.

What was she doing up so early? She was never up when he left the house, usually still under the influence of her sleeping meds... or a bottle of wine.

She looked up as Bailey walked into the kitchen. "Morning."

"Good morning," Bailey said carefully. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just had a good night, thought I'd get up and see you off before your run." Her dark brown eyes scanned over his clothes. "But it doesn't appear that you are running today. Why?"

He shrugged as he dropped his gym bag so he could grab some breakfast. Since he wasn't running, he had decided to eat at home. Plus, he was sure Chris would have spread the lie around by now, and he wasn't looking forward to facing anyone today about it. Avoiding the breakfast rush would be a good start to that plan.

"Hmmm, you're not slacking off on your gymnastics training, are you? Your father would be disappointed if you weren't putting forth your best effort, especially after that debacle with football..."

Bailey ducked his head into the fridge to grab some milk, so his mother wouldn't see how much her words cut him. She made it sound like he hadn't tried to be successful on the football team. Dad had understood so much better what he'd been up against, how he'd tried and been rejected because of his sexual preferences. "No, ma'am, I was just up late finishing the paper and studying..." he fudged the truth a little. "It won't happen again."

"Good." She smiled thoughtfully as he sat down at the table with a bowl of cereal. "So the paper is all done? Ready to turn in?"

He really wished she'd go back to bed and leave him alone like she usually did. "Yeah."

He dug into his cereal, and silence hung between them, his mom simply staring at him almost... affectionately? He finished quickly, dumping his bowl in the sink before grabbing a banana to eat on the walk over to school. As he headed for the door, she reached out her arm to stop him and he ran into it. He grunted as his sore abdomen hit her outstretched arm. Damn Chris.

He stared at her in confusion as she rose, her eyes raking over him. When she reached to brush his bangs from his eyes, he nearly backed away. A soft, sober smile tipped the corners of her mouth.

"You need a haircut, especially before your meet this weekend," she said thoughtfully, her hand drifting down to his shoulder. "Maybe we can go take care of that this afternoon, hmmm?"

Bailey could only nod. It was almost as if his mom were seeing him for the first time in several weeks.

She abruptly wrapped her arms around him, drawing him into a hug. "Have a good day, Bailey."

He flinched at the touch, not expecting it, before he managed to return it. He was shocked that she was even touching him. She hadn't embraced him like this in so long...

She kissed his cheek. "I love you."

Bailey swallowed thickly. "I love you too, mom."

He hurried out the door as his emotions threatened to boil over. The hell with Chris and Eric and everyone else. Today was going to be a good day.

****

Of course, Chris had told everyone that Bailey had admitted to cheating on the stupid pushup contest with Declan. It was painfully obvious as he made his way to his first class. He'd avoided everyone up until then by not going to breakfast at the school cafeteria, instead he had headed directly to class. He did his usual thing of keeping quiet and keeping his head down, then darting to the next class without stopping to socialize. Normally, nobody noticed or cared as he came and went. He was usually invisible and he liked it that way.

Today was destined to be different.

He had just turned in his English paper before he headed towards the cafeteria for lunch. The whispers behind cupped hands, however, had him turning away. He'd ignored anyone who even tried to ask him about Chris's claim that Bailey had admitted to cheating in the pushup contest with Declan. His normal aloofness kept most of the guys from even approaching him; the others he just cast a disdainful glare at before ignoring them.

None of them noticed when his fingers rubbed at his hip. They had no clue what that small movement did for him—letting him refocus, ignore their jabs and questions, easing the pressure in his chest the world's hand was attempting to smother him with.

He hid out on the third floor of Grainger for the lunch period, digging out one of his protein bars to sustain him. He knew the few protein bars he kept stashed in his bag wouldn't hold him very long through practice, but he'd survive. He'd done it before.

Bailey was relieved when classes were over, since he could now focus on gymnastics. He knew it was inevitable that he'd have to face the team about the rumors. There was no way they hadn't heard about it, since Bailey was sure Chris planned for everyone to know. Justin cornered him in the locker room as he came back from changing into gym shorts and a compression shirt in the shower area—he hated wearing the singlets for practices as did most of the team.

"Tell me what's going on," Justin demanded without preamble.

Bailey just shrugged. The weekend had been too emotionally draining to care about what anyone at school thought of him. "Nothing. Why?"

"Did you really tell Chris that you cheated?" Owen asked.

Bailey shoved his bag in his locker before slamming it and facing his team. "Yeah, why?"

All of them gaped at him in shock.

"Why the hell would you do that?!" Cameron yelled.

"Why not?" Bailey shrugged again, apparently surprising his team with his apathetic attitude.

"What do you mean 'why not'? You didn't cheat! Why the fuck would you say you did?" Justin snapped, his brows deeply furrowed.

Bailey sighed, his hands rising to his hips, and he allowed his fingers to dig slightly into his newest cut, centering himself. "Because it doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter?" Mateo repeated dumbly as if he hadn't heard Bailey correctly. "Why wouldn't it matter? Saying you cheated makes us look bad—"

"And Chris is crowing like a—" Luke added.

"Who cares?" Bailey cut in, trying to edge past his teammates without actually touching them. "It makes Chris and Declan and the rest of the damn football team happy, so they leave me alone."

"What the—"

"Have they done something—"

"Bailey, what's—"

He ignored his teammates confusion, grabbed his grip bag, and headed out to Aux 2. If he made it to the gym where the coach was waiting for them, maybe they'd leave him alone.

Unfortunately, Justin was faster than he was and caught up to him, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a stop just outside the door. Bailey froze, his muscles tense before he released a breath.

It's only Justin, he reminded himself.

Mateo, Luke, Cameron, and Owen filed past them, worry and concern etched on their faces.

"Bailey," Justin's voice was softer now as he leaned in. Bailey had to tip his head up to look his captain in the eye. "Come on, man, what's going on with you? With this whole stupid rumor? Chris did something, didn't he?"

Bailey sagged against the wall. "Justin, just let it go, all right? I just want the whole stupid thing to be over. Forgotten."

Justin narrowed his eyes, and Bailey swore Justin could practically read his mind. "Did he hurt you? Because that's something I'm not willing to let go."

"I'm fine," Bailey insisted, lifting his chin and pointing to his face. "See? No bruises. I'm good."

Justin stepped back enough to quickly scan the rest of Bailey. The tank top and mid-thigh gym shorts over his compression shorts didn't hide much, but Bailey wasn't concerned with Justin seeing anything. Even if Bailey took off his shirt, there was no discoloration on his abs anymore where Chris had hit him. There was a faint bruise on his back that was still tender from where Chris had knelt on his spine, but Justin couldn't see that. And Bailey had no intention of anyone ever seeing his own self-inflicted marks.

Even so, Justin stared at him skeptically, obviously not believing him.

"Oh for God's sakes." Bailey huffed, pulling up his shirt so Justin could see he wasn't hiding anything. "See? Jeez."

Justin dropped his crossed arms, conceding he might have been wrong. "Okay, fine. I just don't get it."

"There's nothing for you to get," Bailey said as he tugged the tight fitting shirt back down and tucked it into his shorts. "This whole stupid contest thing has gotten out of hand, and I just don't care anymore." He sighed, feeling just as drained and floundering as he had all weekend. That didn't bode well for practice today, but whatever... "Just ignore Chris and his gang, please. Don't start anything else."

Justin's eyes flashed with regret as he looked down at Bailey. "Oh, hell, Bailey, we didn't mean to put you in the middle of—"

"Yeah, well, I am," Bailey felt his irritation rising. He didn't blame Justin, not really. It had been Chris instigating. It just wasn't something Bailey really felt like dealing with on top of everything else warring in his mind. "And I'm done with it. So, just drop it."

"Fine," Justin conceded, lifting his hands placatingly. "I just hate for Chris to get his way after being such an asshole."

"Yeah, I know, but this helps Declan save face, and he's the one who was really hurt in this whole stupid thing."

Justin snorted a half-laugh. "You're worried about Declan? He's just as big a caveman as Chris."

Bailey bit his lip, remembering the words he'd overheard Declan saying on the track. "Maybe, but still..."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. We'll do whatever you want," Justin said, turning toward the gym doors. "How's your rip anyway?"

Bailey flipped over his hand, palm up. The bloodied blister had healed up nicely.

"Good." Justin turned and pulled open the gym door to see Coach Richards striding towards it. Richards stopped when he saw Bailey and Justin entering, he lifted his brow in a silent question.

"Nice of you two to join us," the coach quipped, gesturing to the rod floor. "Let's get warmed up."

Bailey was grateful that the coach didn't ask any questions. Both Justin and Bailey slipped off their flip-flops, dropping their grip bags before heading to join the others in warming up. They ran the perimeter of the gymnastics floor five times before settling in to their stretches.

Bailey drew in a deep breath. The smell of the gym, the chalk, the sweat permeating the air, allowing him to settle his rampant thoughts, chasing away the fear and grief for the time being.

He focused on his body's movement in the space on the rod floor—layouts, planche press handstands, triple backs, front hand springs, back twists, punch fronts—every trick had to be executed with precise foot and hand placement. Pointed toes, straight legs, abs pulled in tight, all long lean lines. Except today he was faltering.

After he finished on the pommel horse, Bailey was sure he'd have a few bruises on his hips and side now from floundering the skills. He noted the frown and pursed lips on Coach Richards's face as he called for one of their breaks, allowing everyone to stop to grab some water.

The coach didn't say anything, at least not yet, as Bailey trudged past him to the water fountain.

Bailey wasn't surprised when the rest of the team started towards him as he stopped at the water fountain. Justin, however, carefully edged them away. Bailey knew he'd be explaining their conversation in the hallway and hoped they didn't try to interrogate him about it.

Bailey silently thanked whatever god gave him such great teammates here at Heritage, because they all just nodded at him with approving smiles when the break was over. The fact that they respected his wishes as Justin had apparently explained them left him with a great sense of relief, and one less thing to have to worry about.

A couple loud claps had the team dropping from their respective apparatus as the coach signaled an end to practice. "On the floor. Stretch."

As they all dropped into their own stretching routine, the coach paced the floor in front of them. "Coach Reed and I have been discussing the incident last week in the weight room..."

Bailey's head shot up as each of the others glanced guiltily at one another. Justin, especially, looked particularly abashed.

"Sir, it's my fa—"

"Save it, Greene." The coach held up his hand cutting off Justin's apology. "I've already heard it. The point is... Coach Reed and I have decided that there seems to be some, shall we say, misunderstanding as to what each sport entails. So we've decided to enlighten you. Tomorrow." A small smile quirked the corner of the coach's lips.

Confused frowns were exchanged.

"What does that mean?" Cameron piped up.

"It means, it's going to get a little crowded in here tomorrow. Oh, and make sure you bring your running shoes with you," Richards said cryptically. "Finish stretching."

After less than stellar routines on the rest of the apparatus during practice, Bailey wasn't surprised when Coach Richards dismissed the rest of the team, yet called him back. They both watched as the others gathered their stuff, grumbling about whatever plan the coaches had in mind as they slipped on their flip-flops or slides before warily heading out the door. Bailey looked away as Justin shot a worried look back over his shoulder at him before heading out.

"McIntyre, what's going on? You're all over the place today. And we have a meet this weekend."

Bailey rubbed his hands together, wiping at the chalk dusting them, before looking up at his coach. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm a little off today. I had a bad weekend..."

His coach knew his history, especially about his father, so he wasn't surprised to see a softening in the man's eyes. "I see. Do you want to talk about it?"

Bailey shook his head. "No, I'm good, or well, I will be. I'm sorry, I know I can do better than this."

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, but he tolerated it. "That is most definitely true, but you also need to listen to your body. Grief can take a physical toll as well as an emotional one, Bailey. It's okay to let me know you need a break."

Bailey was already shaking his head. "Gymnastics helps me focus. I need it to keep me sane right now."

Coach Richards's frown deepened, and he stared at Bailey for several long minutes. "Bailey, are you still seeing the psychologist regularly?"

Bailey nodded. "Yes, sir. I see Ms. Tardin Thursday mornings, before classes."

Well, he saw her. He didn't really talk to her much, but that wasn't technically what Coach had asked.

Richards nodded. "Okay, good. Let me know if there's anything you need to talk about. I'm available to listen too."

Bailey did manage to keep from rolling his eyes. He'd heard that from every teacher he had, as well as Dean Zamora, the chaplain from the base, and even the Colonel had offered the same platitudes. Not that he would ever talk to the man who'd sent his father to his death.

Fuck, he couldn't think like that. He clenched his hands into fist, his leather grips bunching in his palms.

"Thank you," Bailey finally said.

"Okay, now, show me the last three skills of your routine, with no errors, and you can go," Coach said, grinning as he clapped his hands together to get Bailey moving.

Bailey laughed, heading for the rings. He wasn't surprised by the order at all. Many of his coaches throughout his gymnastics years insisted that you had to complete skills successfully before leaving for the night. It was a good practice to do, as it messed with your head leaving the gym after falling on skills you were competent at.

Coach grabbed his hips, aiding him as he jumped to grab the rings. He adjusted his grip quickly before coach let him go. He dropped down into his starting position before lifting his legs to complete a backwards roll into a Maltese cross.

"Hold it..." his coach directed, even though Bailey already knew that. "Okay, good, position is better this time."

At a nod, Bailey carefully levered into a handstand, sinking slowly into an inverted cross.

"Yes, that's it. Hold it... okay, go."

Bailey dropped out of the inverted cross, completing a back giant before the back uprise planche. He knew the coach said he only had to do three of his skills to his normal level of perfection, but Bailey had to finish out. He slowly eased into his iron cross before his ¾ twist dismount.

After landing with only a tiny hop, he looked up at the coach, who was grinning at him.

"Much better. That's the Bailey McIntyre I'm used to seeing. Go shower. I'll see you in history tomorrow."

Bailey nodded, clapping his hands in satisfaction at his execution of the skills and sending a small cloud of dust into the air. He focused on ripping open the velcro closures on his grips as Coach Richards disappeared from the gym. He dropped the grips next to him on the floor, leaving on the sweat bands that protected his wrists from the chaffing leather of the grip bands. He rolled his head on his shoulders, taking a few extra minutes to stretch in hopes that his teammates would be showered and gone by the time he got there.

He cooled down with a few simple floor moves: walking on his hands, v-ups, pushups, pancake splits, pike stretches. He was focusing on his body position, keeping his lines straight and clean, which he should have been doing better during practice but had allowed his addled brain to let him get sloppy.

He sat in a straddle, toes pointed, before he carefully pressed into a handstand from the seated position. It was harder than what he'd normally have to do since he rarely sat all the way down in a routine, but it was good to keep in practice.

He was holding vertical, letting his mind focus on the burn in his muscles. No need to think, just let his body do what it knew.

"Holy shit..."

Bailey jerked at the sudden voice, not realizing someone else had been in the gym. His arm faltered, and he quickly tucked in his head to roll out of the handstand. Scrambling to his feet, he searched for the body the intruding voice belonged to.

Someone stepped from the shadows of the doorway, and his jaw tightened, not sure how he felt about anyone intruding on his domain.

Bailey drew himself up straight, knowing this guy would hone in on any weakness. "What do you want, Declan?"

And there's the end of Part 2...