Page 155 of Salto

When we arrived at the arena, podium practice was already underway. We rotated through each event, getting one or two turns on every apparatus before tomorrow's competition.

When I did my twisting double back, a sharp twinge shot through my back, stealing my breath for a second.

When I stepped off the floor, Rove came over to me.

“I saw that.”

“Saw what?” I said, avoiding his eyes. But I knew he’d seen it. He saw everything.

“Number,” he said, reaching out to tug me to a stop when I tried to walk past him.

I turned to face him and feeling his hand on me sent an electric shock up my arm.

Our eyes met, and his emerald gaze bore into mine for the answer.

“Four,” I finally said.

He searched my face for a lie. When he didn't find one, he nodded.

"Stay with me, yeah? Keep communicating."

It was like he could see right through me.

I didn't want him seeing the pain that lingered beneath the surface of everything.

Because if he found it and acknowledged it, I wouldn't be able to hold it together anymore. Right now, he still thought I was just being pouty over the fact that he’d made me go see the doctor.

If I opened up about everything to him…it was bound to blur lines.

You don’t tell someone your deepest, most intense fears and come out the same on the other side.

And so I had to stay Gold. I couldn’t be anything else.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll communicate."

I turned away from him and headed to bars with a little more Shortcake in my step than usual.

My first bar routine went smoothly. On the second, I landed my dismount and the same sharp pain flared through my back.

I glanced over, already expecting to hear, "I saw that, Red."

But Rove wasn’t there. He was talking to Sloane.

I knew he was her coach too, but for one small, insane second, something ugly twisted in my gut.

“Scarlet, hurry to vault. We’ve only got ten more minutes.” Hana’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I spun around.

“Coming,” I said, heading after her, trying to smother the weird emotion that had just coursed through me.

What was wrong with me?

Throughout the rest of podium practice, Rove checked in on me a few more times.

"Number?"

Every time I answered. But by the final event, the pain had gotten significantly worse. More so than I wanted to admit.

"Number?"