Page 136 of More To Us

"Yeah. He works out at night now."

"Oh. Okay, thanks."

Did Austin know I'd be coming here to see him? Did he change his workout schedule to avoid me?

I go in the women's locker room and cry. I can't help it. I miss him so much. What would I have to do to get him back? Stop working out? But I have to work out or I'll never compete again. Even if I cut back on my workouts, I don't think he'd agree to be with me. He left me because I wasn't honest with him. And now he doesn't trust me.

The week continues and I don't hear anything from Austin. My mom arrives on Friday. She's spending the weekend and, as expected, she lectures me as soon as she arrives, because of course, Amber told my parents what really happened. I'd told them I tripped and fell, but Amber told them I was working out too hard. But at least she didn't tell them that Austin was training me at the gym. If she had, my parents would be mad at Austin and probably call him up and yell at him, and that's the last thing I want. None of this was his fault so I don't want him getting any of the blame.

"I know all this, Mom," I tell her. "You don't have to keep telling me."

"Apparently I do, because no matter how many times we've gone over this, you're still not following the doctor's orders."

"That's not true. This is the first time I've pushed myself like this."

We're in a coffee shop and she sits back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. "And what about last April?"

Last April, my dad caught me working out at a gym in the next town over. I never found out how he knew I was there. He wouldn't tell me.

"I only did that one time," I say.

"You weren't supposed to be doing it all." She gives me her mom look that makes me feel like I'm a kid again.

"Can we please not talk about this?" I look down at my coffee, swirling my spoon inside the cup.

My mom puts her hand on mine. "Honey, tell me why you did it. Tell me why you pushed yourself like that."

"I didn't mean to get hurt," I say, keeping my eyes on my cup. "I just like working out."

"It's more than that," she says gently. "It's because you—"

"Stop. Okay?" I look up at her and move my hand from hers. "I told you I don't want to talk about it."

She sighs. "Kira, you can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?" I ask, nervously chewing my lip.

"Trying to compete again." She softens her voice. "I know how much you want to be part of that world again. The training. The meets. But it's too late. You can't—"

"It's not too late!" I say it louder than I meant to and notice people staring. I lower my voice. "I just...I just want to get in shape, okay? That's it."

"Honey, we both know what you were trying to do. But look what happened. You got hurt again. You can't keep doing this to yourself."

I look at my mom in her worn out clothes, which are faded and out of style. She can't afford anything new because she and my dad are barely making ends meet. And it's all because of me. Because of a dream I had that never came true.

A lump forms in my throat, tears threatening to fall. I glance down and blink really fast to fight back the tears.

"Kira, what is it?" my mom asks, reaching across the table and putting her hand on my arm. "What's wrong?"

"It's my fault," I say just loud enough for her to hear.

"What's your fault?"

I take a shaky breath. "It's my fault you and Dad have no money. It's my fault you guys are struggling and only have one car and can't afford to—"

"Kira, stop." She puts her hand over mine. "Look at me." I lift my eyes to hers and see that she too is close to tears. "Your father and I are doing fine. We may not be rich but we pay our bills and that's all that matters. And our financial situation is not your fault. You didn't force us to let you do gymnastics. We did it because we knew how much you loved it and we wanted you to be happy. The same with your brothers. Your father and I make sacrifices so your brothers can be in all the sports and other activities they want to do."

"It's not the same. The cost for Luke to be in baseball or Josh to play football is nothing compared to what it costs for me to—"

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