In a weird twist of events, we spend time working to perfect our part so it’s clean and not a hot ass mess.
“One more time,” Alli commands after we’ve been practicing the same section for the past thirty minutes.
My hands are on my hips as I take a deep breath and get into position. I manage the stunt decently, spinning in the air with a bit more style. But when it comes to the basket toss, I don’t brace myself enough. The landing isn’t as perfect as I want it to be. Instead of landing securely in Grant and Thom’s arms, I tumble weirdly into the group, which results in my body thudding against the ground.
The gym falls silent at the loud smack. All eyes are on me, and I struggle to hide my embarrassment, the weight of failure hitting me just as horribly. Pushing myself up, I shake it off as best as I can, “I’m good, I’m good,” I assure the concerned faces surrounding me.
Grant hovers over me, “Serena, are you alright?”
“Yeah, just a little bump,” I reply, forcing a smile as I try to get up on my own. “Ah,” I wince, I consciously cradle my right arm, which took most of the impact.
“Serena!” Tyler appears next to me, concern written all over his face.
“Just a bad landing,” I mutter through clenched teeth, trying to hide the discomfort. But the throbbing in my arm is undeniable. Glancing down, I notice a bruise already starting to form.
Tyler looks down at my cradled arm, brows furrowing. “Let me help you up.” Tyler gently supports me as I try to stand, wincing with every movement. “We should get this checked out.”
“I’m fine,” I huff out, “It was just a bad landing.”
Coach Miller hurries over, she’s no longer my coach as she switches into godmother mode. “Oh my god, Serena. What happened?”
“I didn’t tighten my core enough for the landing, but I’m fine, I swear.”
Coach Miller doesn’t believe my words enough that she checks out my arm herself.
Tyler stands close, his eyes fixated on my arm as Coach Miller examines it. With a worried expression, he asks, “Is it bad? Should we go to the hospital?”
Coach Miller eyes him briefly, amusement flickering in her eyes before refocusing her attention on me. “It doesn’t look bad, I think you’ll just have a bruise. Take it easy until our next practice. You’re done for the day.”
As she walks away to continue practice with the team, Tyler hovers over me like he’s a moth attracted to light, his brows furrowed in concern. He crouches down in front of me and holds up his right hand, “How many fingers am I holding?”
I let out a mix of a scoff and a stifled laugh at his absurd question. “I fell onmy arm, notmy head. You’re not serious, right?” I swat his hand away from me, only for him to keep his hand in my face.
“I’m dead serious. Now, answer the question.”
“You have blue eyes that look like a summer day. You have a dimple that only shows up on your left side when you smile.” I look at his arm where his tattoo is no longer hidden. I nudge my chin towards it and continue, “You have a tattoo on your arm.” A smile creeps on my lips, lighting up his face like he’s coming home after a long day. “Oh, and you’re holding three fingers up.”
“Does that help?” I ask, standing up to grab my bag.
A faint blush spreads on his face. Tyler Westman is blushing in front of me. Because of me. He stands up straighter and reaches for my bag, letting out a relieved breath. “You’re okay.”
I notice the tattoo on his arm and pause, a flicker of surprise crosses his face. “Faith,” I murmur, my gaze still lingering on the ink. “I’ve noticed it since the day I met you but never knew what it said.”
Tyler’s lips quirk into a half-smile, his eyes holding a hint of amusement. “Taking notes on me?” He teases, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “You scared me shitless when I saw you fall.”
We walk towards the exit of the gym and stand in the empty hallway. “A little fall won’t hurt me.”
I glance over at him again. His encouraging grin lights up his face and I can’t ignore the irony in my answer. One fall from a stunt won’t hinder me from continuing on, yet I’ve been holding myself back from admitting my feelings for him, just because I’m afraid of getting hurt.
“Do you have a ride home?” he asks, popping my imaginary thinking bubble.
“Jared’s still stuck in the media room for films. I’ll just wait here,” I tell Tyler, glancing at the time on my phone.
“Let me, then.”
“It’s fine,” I say, forcing a grin that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. The mental consequences of my fall are weighing on me and it’s starting to affect my mood. It’s not just about the fall; my head’s a big mess right now. I hate messing up routines in practice, and on top of that, I’m dealing with this whole feelings thing for Tyler, which is, well, a lot in itself.
“Did I do something?” Tyler asks, his voice tinged with concern, a hint of hurt visible in his deep blue eyes.
