“Something wrong at the gym?”Eli set the bottle down and sat up straighter.“You're not planning to come out on national TV or something?I know I've pushed you to be open about who you are but...”
“No.”Tyler hesitated, then just added through gritted teeth, “Watch the damned show.I'll see you later.”
“Tyler?”
He let himself out the door with a blind wave in Eli's direction.The stairs were faster than the elevator and he took them at breakneck pace.Maybe he'd get lucky and he’d fall, and then he wouldn't have to attend the fucking conference, and say the words that would rip his life apart.
***
Lights shone on his face, brighter than the midday sun.Tyler looked down, shuffling the papers in front of him.Two pages of his barely legible scrawl, crossed out and rewritten.He'd sat in Coach's office for an hour working on it, until finally the coach had pulled him out here to the media room.Now they sat side by side, waiting for the reporters to settle.Off to one side of the podium, away from the bristling bouquet of microphones, Tyler could hear Carol Lee, ESPN's Olympic color commentator: “...here in the training center of the gold-medal-hopeful men's gymnastics team, waiting for an announcement.The two men at the podium are Head Coach Andre Chilescue, and Worlds’ silver medal vaulter Tyler Bannichek, and neither of them looks happy.This may not be good news...”
Coach Andre raised his hand and the room quieted.He leaned closer to the microphones.“Thank you all for coming.Tyler Bannichek has a statement to make.I'd like you to give him your attention, and then I'll be available to answer questions afterward.”He sat back and gestured toward Tyler.
Tyler straightened his shoulders, clenching the papers so tightly his knuckles ached.For an instant he justwished: wished he was back on the training floor, trying to get more height from his triple-twisting double back.Wished he could really look across the room like in his dream and see Eli there, smiling at him.Wished he was dead.
Well, maybe not dead, since this whole exercise was about getting out of the sport in one piece, even if he couldn't see anything worth having in the bleak days to come.But he wished this was fuckingover.He took a deep breath, and then said, “Thanks everyone for coming.I'm going to read a brief statement.I'd really appreciate it if you would just let me get through it...”Crap.He heard his voice go thin.Not even into the hard part, and he couldn't hold it together.
He pictured Eli, sitting on the couch with his beer.He would lean forward and say, “Just spit it out already, Tyler.Tell me what the fuck is going on.”
He dropped his gaze to the black ends of the cluster of mics and pretended he was speaking just to Eli, back in their living room.“After I've finished, I'll try to answer questions.Okay.So...”He stared at the paper, where his handwriting swam around the pages like a bad 3-D movie.It didn't matter.He knew how his statement started.“I asked Coach to call this conference for me so I can let everyone who's interested know that as of today, I'm retiring from competitive gymnastics.”
There was an immediate hubbub of exclamations and questions.He ignored the words, using the cover of the noise to take another long deep breath and focus on steadying himself.When the questions died, he went on, reading what he’d prepared.“This isn't a sudden decision, although it may seem that way.Many of you may be aware that I had compression fractures of my spine in 2006.I recovered well, but doctors warned me that my spine might be less stable than before the injury.In 2009, I injured it again.Luckily it was off-season, and I was able to take time to really rest and rehab, and return to competitive form by the time the season started.But the problem has returned during training in the past few months."
Tyler looked at the audience for the first time, seeing the curiosity and excitement of the reporters.His career was ending and all they were thinking about was the story they’d get out of his disaster.“The injury's getting worse.It's affecting my ability to train safely, and I haven't been able to throw my biggest moves consistently.I'm not a reliable asset to the team at this time.Also my doctor warned me he's concerned about the risk of permanent damage if I keep training at this level.If I had more time, if the Olympics weren't just weeks away...”
Yeah, if.He lowered his gaze to the paper.“As things are, the only answer I see is to stop, right now.Yes, I could hang on a bit longer, and make the trip to London.But that wouldn't be right.It wouldn't be fair to my teammates, who deserve to know which spots on the team are theirs.”He looked up, blinking hard.“Train your hearts out, guys.And whoever gets my slot, make this worthwhile.Bring home a medal for the team, you hear me?”
The paper trembled in his fist but he didn't need to see the rest of the words.It was all downhill from here.“It also wouldn't be smart for me to continue training.Every time I throw a big skill, there's a risk I won't walk off the floor.When I thought I might still have the chance at my Olympic dreams, I was willing to take that risk, but not for this.Not when I can’t hit the routines the team needs, and I'll probably end up benched across the board anyway.Not just for the chance to hang out with the guys who’ll do the real work.I'm retiring now.I'll watch the Games on TV, along with millions of Americans, and I'll be cheering this team on to the gold.They can do it.Yes, IwishI could have been a part of that, but they don't really need me.This is the most talented bunch of guys I've ever trained with and they are going tofly!”
The room remained quiet, reporters letting him get through his statement.There was only one more thing.“All I want to say in addition is thank you.Thank you to everyone who helped and encouraged me in my gymnastics career, all the coaches and supporters and teammates over the years.My mom passed away three years ago, but she was my greatest fan and she would be proud of how far I've come.I'd like to think she would also be proud of me for knowing when to stop.”His voice got thick but he was rolling now, almost through it.“Thanks to Vasily Korbel, who coached me for many years and always believed in me, and to Doctor Singh, who got me patched up the first time I wrecked my back and gave me six more years in the sport I love.Thanks to the committee for selecting me, and to Coach Andre for giving me a chance at heights I never thought I'd reach.”
He had planned to stop there, but the cameras were rolling and he was punch-drunk with pain and stifled tears and he wanted to do something, some big gesture.So he leaned closer to the microphones.“I also want to thank my best friend and roommate, Eli Nelson.Eli hung in with me for the last two years.He tolerated my mood swings and my obsessions and all the crap that went with training at this level.He's a great friend, and he teased me and made me relax when I didn't think I could.”One more breath, teetering on the edge.But he'd already decided to fall.“He taught me a lot about being gay, too.He showed me by example what it is to live life to the fullest.And now that I'll have a lot more hours in my day to fill, I'm going to try to remember all the things Eli taught me, and maybe find a life outside the sport, with a job and some fun and maybe even a boyfriend.So thanks to everyone, and especially Eli, for my past and helping me figure out what to look forward to the rest of my life.”
And then he was done.
The reporters surged forward, asking questions, one voice tumbling over another.“...will replace you?”“...when did you know...?”“...planning to coach?”“...certain that this is the end of your career...”“...out gay athletes...”
He ignored them all.He'd said all he could and more than he'd planned.One more word and he knew he’d lose it and burst into tears, right here on national TV, and to hell with the idea that men don't cry.No way he was going to manage to answer any questions.He breathed slowly and carefully through his nose and listened with a fraction of his attention to the coach trying to get the press conference quieted down.Coach was promising an announcement about Tyler’s replacement in the morning, after an early teleconference with the Selection Committee, some of whom were in London.
Tyler wondered what his teammates had thought when they heard about this.Surely they’d been filled in before the end of practice so they wouldn’t be blindsided by the announcement.It would matter to all of them, not just the alternates.Tyler realized he should have called Vasily, too, not let the old man learn about this on TV.Maybe he still could.Not everyone was addicted to ESPN.Maybe later he could give his old coach a call and tell him directly what all those years had meant.
He wondered if Eli had been watching.Had Eli cared enough, or was he really done with Tyler and his drama and his closet?Had Eli put his feet up the moment Tyler left, popped another beer, and turned on a movie?Or started packing his stuff to move out?
That thought came closer than all the rest to tipping Tyler over into darkness.He slid his chair back and stood abruptly.The noise level skyrocketed, as reporters called questions to him.He ignored them, managing to mutter a brief “Thanks, Coach,” before turning and heading blindly for the nearest door.One of the facility's security guards stepped between him and the reporters, letting him duck out the back door and directly into the office.From there he could get to the security-restricted area of the building.Even through two doors, he could hear the hubbub of raised voices, although not the actual words.
For a moment he hesitated in the cool dimness of the hall, his mind a complete blank.Since that point hours ago when he'd watched blood welling from his numb foot he had been focused on the scene he'd just left – himself at the press table telling the world that he was through, he quit.And now he'd done that, even outing himself in the process.He was emptied out and cut loose, and he had no idea where to go next.
Chapter 4 - Tyler
Onautopilot,Tylermoveddown the hall to the locker room, now quiet and dark.Training was a full-day, every day, but you could only push your body so long, and the coaches sent everyone home to rest by seven.The heat and damp of the last guys' showers hung in the silence.
What now?He had clothes and equipment in his locker, but would he need any of it again?There were his grips, three of each, carefully worked in to the perfect degree of flexibility but not beyond, and his uniforms, socks and vault shoes, and—to hell with all of it.If the Olympics weren’t enough incentive to keep him training, the odds were good he was never going to need that stuff again.Oh God!
He doubled over, clutching his stomach.Oh God, I really quit gymnastics!He wondered if his knees would give way, but before he hit the tile floor a voice behind him exclaimed, “Here!He's in here.”
The door banged, and light from the hall spilled in.Then strong hands caught his arm.By some miracle, he heard Eli's voice saying, “Tyler, are you okay?”
He turned to see Eli's face, just inches from his own, Eli's changeable hazel eyes, dark, almost brown now, peered at him in concern.The light caught Eli’s hair in a halo of curls but left his face shadowed.Tyler stared, wondering if this was some apparition of his exhausted brain.
