Page 70 of Where We Belong

It’s in this moment, with his fingertips barely touching me and his sequoia green eyes melting on my skin that I realize just how deep in shit I am.

Chapter 26

Lexie

“I’mnotwinning.”

I’m staring at the ceiling, sprawled over my bedspread like a starfish. Meanwhile, Finn’s sitting on the small couch by the large cabin window, slouched just like I am in a “I’m done with life” position.

It’s been three weeks since we decided to keep things friendly between us, and while we’re not quite where we were before, I’d say we’re as good as can be. Proof in hand: he just walked into my cabin without knocking and let himself drop onto my couch, a single “Hi” coming out of his lips as an explanation.

He did that for the first time two weeks ago. I was folding some clothes, having come back only minutes before from doing laundry at his place. He opened the door, dropped his huge body on my bed, and stayed silent.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“It’s boring at home without my roomie,” he said.

“We were roomies for four days.”

“So? I miss you. Sue me.”

And that was that. Since then, we haven’t questioned why we keep popping into each other’s places. We just do, whenever we feel like it, and it feels almost too natural, if I’m being honest. Like we’re getting too comfortable. But what’s done is done, and we both seem to enjoy it, so I try not to question it too much. I also try not to think about what would happen if I stepped in one day and he was with a girl. The chances of it happening are high if I believe what I’ve heard about him, and seeing that would be more painful than I care to admit.

I think I’ll start knocking from now on.

“I know,” Finn says as he throws a stress ball in the air and catches it, again and again.

I turn my head his way, cheek squished against my pillow. “Wow, thanks.”

“What? I can’t lie to you.”

I groan. “I don’t know why. I’m doing everything I can think of.”

Last week’s competition in St. Louis didn’t go as planned. Or actually, it did go as planned—I hit everything I was supposed to, didn’t miss a single landing, performed my routines as well as I possibly could—but it still wasn’t enough. I got third place overall, gold on floor, and a couple other podiums, but that’s it. Meanwhile, Clara Popov aced performance after performance. A few other girls I didn’t know should be on my radar also stepped up their game and made me actually doubt whether my Olympic dream is only a kid’s fantasy at this point.

I hate to think like this. Winners can’t think like losers, but the thought has infiltrated my mind, and it’s hard to kick it out once it’s taken root.

“I do. Know why, I mean.”

One of my brows stutters up. “Then why don’t you inform me, oh Great Knowing Finn?”

“Sure.” Sitting straighter on the couch, he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “You’re not winning because you’re scared.”

I freeze.

“I saw you in New York. There was fear in your eyes, and that’s holding you back. You’re a better all-around gymnast than Popov. She’s just more fearless than you are.” His eyes narrow in on me as he adds, “To win, you’ll need to want it more than anything. More than your fear of failing.”

“I’m not scared of failing,” I grunt. “I’m scared of dying.”

Once again, I’m hit with images of lying on the ground after my fall, unsure if I’d ever walk again. Of looking up as the anesthesiologist gave me a drug to inhale so I’d fall asleep before my surgery. Of pain that was almost unbearable while in recovery, day after day. Of feeling like I might never get what I’d worked for my entire life.

Finn gives me a sad smile. “As much as it kills me to say, it doesn’t matter. Judges don’t care about that.”

I clutch my pillow tighter as he asks, “Is it still the one thing you want more than anything?”

I nod. As I told myself after our failed date, gymnastics is what I need to keep focusing on. Nothing else.

With a grunt, Finn pushes himself off the couch and walks to me, then extends his hand.

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