Chapter 18

"Absolutely not," Matt says when Danny suggests a hike after their morning workout. "I'm gonna go to my room and die, thanks."

"All right, Grandpa Miller's out." Danny grins and looks over at Noah, who's still young enough to have energy to spare. As the non-traveling alternate for the worlds team, Noah won't be making the trip to Glasgow, but he's been putting in the hours with them at the US Olympic Training Center all the same; lucky kid didn't even have to fly here, since he lives right in Denver. "How about you, man?"

"I can't, sorry," Noah replies, putting on his sunglasses as they exit the gym. "I promised my coach I'd help him clean out the pit."

Danny and Matt both wince. "That's, like, free practice for a month right there," Danny says, and Matt nods in agreement.

"Yeah, dude, have fun picking up all those band-aids."

"Hey, as long as it's not a dead mouse"—Noah shivers—"I'm cool with band-aids."

They split up in the parking lot, Matt heading to the residence halls on the north side of campus, Danny and Noah getting into their cars. For a moment, Danny wonders if it's even worth hitting the trail alone, but in the end he decides to go for it. His meditation app is always talking about self-reflection, anyway.

He leaves the USOTC complex and drives through downtown Colorado Springs, heading towards the mountains. Even on a weekend, the traffic here is nothing compared to southern California, and in ten minutes he's on the highway, windows down, tapping on the steering wheel as music blasts through his speakers.

These days, any free time he can get feels like a luxury. After wrapping up his junior season (the Knights had won their third NCAA championship in a row, fuck yeah), he'd spent most of the summer at his home gym, coaching the camp kids in the morning and then training in the afternoon—first for the Pan-American Games in Toronto, where he'd won the all-around, and then for the US Championships in Indiana. There, he'd earned his third national title, clinching a spot on the worlds team.

He'd had two more weeks at home, and then he'd gone back to LA U for fall semester; but less than a month after arriving on campus, he'd packed up again, road-tripping through the Rockies to Colorado. Now he's getting ready for worlds, and his life is pretty much eat-sleep-breathe gymnastics: morning practice, rehab, afternoon practice, rehab, early to bed and early to rise, five days a week plus a half-day on Saturdays.

He's so far behind on his homework it's not even funny, but when it comes to training, he's exactly where he's supposed to be. Pacing himself for both Glasgow and Rio, slow and steady on his upgrades, feeling good and (fingers crossed) injury-free—if he can just keep the upward momentum going, he'll finally be able to add some world medals to his collection.

As long as you don't choke again.

He tries to ignore the voice in the back of his head, but he still remembers that botched high bar routine in Antwerp, the fall on pommel horse in Nanning. Still thinks about some of the comments online, the ones Matt told him not to read, like why does USAG keep giving Danny chances?? and this guy never gets his shit together when it counts. He can't help imagining what they'll say if he blows yet another world championships, coming home empty-handed for the third time.

"Okay, buddy, that's enough," he mutters. Good vibes, positive thoughts—that's what he needs right now. So he reminds himself of everything he's grateful for today, like FaceTiming Buddy and Luna (and his mom) on the way to practice, making it through a whole pommels circuit without banging his shins on the horse, and getting a picture from Sasha. Plus some sassy texts.

This still doesn't happen as often as he'd like—either pictures or sassy texts—but he can tell Sasha's trying to be better about it, which means a lot. Now, every once in a while, Danny will wake up to a Good morning or a gruesome gymnastics injury, sometimes both. If Sasha's at home, it's usually a delicious-looking dinner or a random dog on the street (and Danny doesn't know what he loves more, the doggos or the fact that Sasha thinks of him when he sees one).

He's smiling as he pulls into the Garden of the Gods, one of the most popular parks in Colorado Springs. It's always crowded on the weekend, but Danny doesn't mind. Especially not today, because just a few minutes into his hike, he meets an older couple with a golden retriever who looks so much like Buddy, he has to stop and say hello.

Luckily, Harvey is just as friendly as his owners, and before long Danny's squatting on the ground, petting and scratching him in all of Buddy's favorite spots. Harvey's in heaven, and so is Danny, honestly, because he really misses his dogs. The owners are more than understanding, especially when he shows them a picture of Buddy and Luna, and they even let him take a selfie with Harvey before they continue down the trail.

After sending the photo to his parents, Danny hesitates, wondering if it would be weird if he sent it to Sasha, too. As far as selfies go, this one's pretty innocent; it's not like he's standing in front of his bathroom mirror or anything. But it's still a lot more personal than a workout video, and he's not sure if Sasha would want something like that on his phone.

He checks the time in Moscow and decides it's worth a shot—Sasha should be back in the dorms by now, away from all his teammates. And he's never actually said he doesn't want a selfie, so…

Less than ten seconds after he sends the photo, Sasha calls him.

Oh, fuck.Guessing that's a "don't ever do this again," Danny moves to the side of the trail and picks up the phone, bracing himself. "Hey, Sash, what's up?"

"Hello," Sasha replies, and then, after a pause, he asks, "How are you?"

Danny's a little confused, but if this is Sasha's way of telling him he's okay with selfies, he'll take it. "I'm good! Just got out of practice and, uh, now I'm hiking. How are you?"

"That is not your dog," Sasha says, although he sounds a little uncertain.

"Oh, yeah, no, he looks like Buddy, but I just met him a few minutes ago. A lot of people come here with their dogs, it's like this big hiking area."

There's another pause. "That is nice," Sasha finally answers.

Danny frowns, wondering if something's wrong. Sasha's not exactly the chattiest person in the world, but this is reminding him of their first phone call after the American Cup, when Sasha had said "Hello" and then barely anything else as Danny babbled on and on, desperate to fill the silence.

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

"Yes. Okay," Sasha says quickly. "Just tired. How is your foot?"

Danny glances down at his sneakers; the left one feels tighter than usual, thanks to the tape wrapped around his toe. "It's good, thanks. Can you believe that, though? Like, all the stuff I do at the gym, and it's the stairs."

"What happened?"

"Okay, so, I was, like, running late to practice, but then my mom FaceTimed me while she was taking Buddy and Luna to doggy daycare, so obviously I had to talk to them—"

"What?"

"Oh, doggy daycare? You guys don't have that?"

"You talk to your dogs on phone?"

Danny grins—Sasha's clearly never owned a dog before. "Yeah, of course I do."

"But they don't understand you," Sasha says, slowly, like he's concerned that Danny might not realize this.

"Well, yeah, but they recognize my voice. Or Buddy does, anyway. Luna doesn't really care."

Danny's about to start walking again when he notices a large group of hikers coming towards him; figuring it'd be better to let them pass, he stays where he is on the outer edge of the path.

"But yeah, so, I was FaceTiming them, and I, like, wasn't really paying attention to where I was going, and then I tripped and hit my toenail, like, right on the edge of the stair—oh, yeah, and I was wearing these flip-flops, which, like, I don't even know why, it wasn't that warm, but whatever—so the blood was, like, everywhere, and Matt came in after me and was like, ‘Dude…'"

Shit. He's getting some very annoyed looks from that group of hikers. And one of them just muttered something about millennials always needing to be on their phones. Yup, he's that douchebag right now.

"Danny?"

"Sorry!" Danny lowers his voice. "I think I'm talking too much."

He's expecting a laugh, but instead, Sasha clears his throat and says, "No. Not too much."

"No?" Danny echoes, surprised.

"No. This is… this is good."

Okay, well, that's a relief. Because Sasha keeps accepting his calls, so obviously he doesn't mind hearing a lot of rambling stories—but Danny's never been a hundred percent sure that he actually enjoys it, either, and this kind of sounds like maybe he does. Like maybe it's not always a bad thing when it's quiet at the other end of the line, because Sasha's still there, listening.

He feels like he could pump his fist right about now, but that would get him some more looks, so he contents himself with a grin as he starts walking again. "Okay, good. How's your hand, by the way? That looked pretty nasty. Were you working the Cassina?"

"Yes." Sasha sighs. "It was stupid. I am not doing it for worlds. I should have waited."

"Nah, I get it. You want it." Danny knows that kind of impatience—there's nothing like being hungry for a new skill. "And you're gonna get it, too. That video you sent last week was, like, right there."

"Thank you. Maybe." Before Danny can correct that "maybe" to a "definitely," Sasha changes the subject. "Do you have plans? For weekend?"

Danny doesn't respond right away, because there's a black Labrador puppy coming towards him on the path, little legs pumping furiously as he (or she) tries to chase after a chipmunk.

"Sorry, I just saw the cutest puppy," he tells Sasha, making an "aw" face at the owner. "Uh, plans, uh… oh yeah, I'm hanging with Patty tomorrow, my high school friend. He goes to CU Denver. I don't know what we're gonna do yet, though. And then Noah's family invited everyone over for a barbecue, so that's probably the last time I'm gonna have good food until after worlds. What about you?"

"I am going home tonight," Sasha says, and Danny frowns, looking at the clock on his phone—it's already pretty late over there.

"You're still at Round Lake?"

There's the longest pause yet from Sasha, and then he admits, "No. I am at party."

Danny stops in his tracks. "Wait, what? You're at a party?"

"Not fun party. Our Ministry of Sport has dinner for world team. In Moscow. It is very boring."

Danny can hardly believe what he's hearing. "Sasha, you're at a dinner with the government and you're calling me?" They've been on the phone for almost ten minutes—Jesus, has Sasha been hiding in the bathroom this entire time? "Dude, you gotta get back in there and, like, talk to people."

"Kirill is better at talking," Sasha says, as if that settles it.

"Yeah, well, you can be too, if you practice! Just talk to whoever he's talking to."

"I don't want to talk to them. I want to talk to you."

Danny knows he should be ending the call so Sasha can get back to the party, but that I want to talk to you stops him short. It's not just the words—it's the way Sasha says them, soft and almost desperate, like he's exhausted and Danny's the only blanket he has to curl up under.

And there's no chance in hell Danny's hanging up now.

"Okay," he agrees, starting to move again. At this rate, it's going to take him the rest of the afternoon to finish the trail loop, but as long as Sasha's on the phone, he's not in any rush. "So, you're going home tonight? To your mom's?"

There's audible relief in Sasha's reply. "Yes. Kirill, too. Tomorrow she is making… what is the word? For late breakfast?"

"Brunch?"

"Yes. Brunch." Sasha's accent comes out strong on that one, a rolled r that sounds very sexy, even though he's only talking about bacon and eggs. "But first she makes us go to church."

"Oh, yeah? I didn't know you were religious," Danny says, intrigued.

"My mother is. She started every week when I was eleven? Or twelve? After training becomes serious. She is always nervous about gymnastics. She prays so I don't get injury."

Danny grins at this new glimpse into Sasha's family life. He's already told Sasha pretty much everything there is to know about his parents, grandparents, assorted cousins, and, of course, Buddy and Luna, but Sasha doesn't usually volunteer a lot of information unless Danny asks. It's kind of like eating a lobster—totally worth it, but he has to work for every bite.

"Aw, that's awesome. Do you pray? Like when you go to church with her?"

"No. I sleep."

Danny bursts into laughter, drawing some serious side-eye from the other hikers around him. "In church? Dude. Doesn't she get mad at you?"

"No. I always sleep in church. When I was child and I don't—I didn't—want to take nap, she brought me to church and five minutes later, I was sleeping. All the time."

Danny loves everything about this story, especially the mental image of a young Sasha nodding off at his mother's side. "So now you, like, can't help it."

"Sometimes it is problem at weddings," Sasha admits, and Danny has to swallow another laugh, because otherwise someone in this park might actually murder him. "Kirill and my mother wake me if priest is looking."

"Oh." Danny had almost forgotten about Kirill being there, and he gets a weird, split-second image of Sasha dozing on Kirill's shoulder. Trying to shake it off, he asks, "So, where are Kirill's parents? Are they in another city?"

"They are in Moscow."

Sasha doesn't elaborate, and Danny has a vague memory of him not wanting to talk about Kirill's parents in Nanning, either, so he decides not to push it. "Hey, have you guys gotten your hotel rooms yet? For worlds?"

"I think, yes. Why?"

"Well…" Danny rounds a curve in the trail that opens up to a stunning view of the Tower of Babel, a massive rock formation gleaming like amber beneath the afternoon sun. He barely looks at it. "I'm gonna be with Matt. So I can definitely get him to give us the room for a few hours one night. Maybe two."

There's a pause, Sasha considering this information, and Danny wonders if he's still uneasy about the fact that Matt knows what's going on between them. He'd told Sasha a few months ago, because it didn't feel right not to mention it, and Sasha had freaked out; the only thing that had finally calmed him down was Danny reminding him that Matt couldn't out Sasha without also outing Danny.

"I mean, we'll see how prelims go," he adds, since Sasha still hasn't said anything. "Obviously. So, like, we can figure it out when we get there. But I just wanted to let you know, it's, like, an option."

"Okay." Sasha exhales, his breath crinkling with static in Danny's ear. "I will be with Kirill. And others will be there, too. Not like American Cup."

"Yeah, I know." Danny bites the insides of his cheeks, hoping they can still make it work—otherwise, they're shit out of luck until Rio. And then how's that going to happen, when both of their teams will be there, too? But he can't ask Sasha to put himself at risk just so Danny can finally kiss him again. "I mean, if you'd rather not…"

He can't even finish the sentence, because he honestly doesn't know what he's going to do if Sasha doesn't want to see him in Glasgow.

"No," Sasha says quickly. "We can. But we have to be careful."

Relief rushes through Danny, and he almost trips over a rock. "Okay. Sweet. We'll sneak you into my room or something." Because of course, he's going to have his teammates on either side of him, and usually it's a free-for-all, with everyone wandering in and out of each other's rooms… fuck. He wishes he'd appreciated the American Cup more while it was happening.

But they'll make it work. Somehow. There's no other choice.

Thinking about their teammates being in such close quarters makes him realize he better check on that selfie issue. "Hey, uh, that picture I sent earlier—is that okay? Like, can I send you pictures of me?"

"Yes. Maybe."

Danny smiles—Sasha had said yes a lot faster than that maybe. "Maybe? Like…"

The line goes silent, but it sounds as if Sasha's either thinking or translating. "If picture you send to friends, okay," he eventually says. "But not picture for girlfriend."

All right, Danny can work with that—although he can't resist asking, "So, no shirtless photos?"

There's a split-second hesitation before Sasha says, "No."

"Hm. Sure about that?"

"Yes," Sasha replies, after what seems to be a lengthy internal debate. "But maybe you can for Instagram."

That's… a great idea, and Danny's not sure why he didn't think of it sooner, especially after the cowboy hat video. It's not like the fans are going to complain, and there's something kind of hot about sharing a photo with a hundred thousand followers when it's secretly only meant for one person.

Before he can suggest that Sasha do the same—which is a long shot, considering Sasha never posts anything—he hears someone, maybe Kirill, calling Sasha's name in the background.

"I have to go," Sasha says quickly, his voice sinking to a whisper. "Goodbye. And… thank you."

The call ends, and Danny's not really sure what Sasha was thanking him for; but when he puts his phone away and finally starts paying attention to his surroundings again, the sun over the Garden of the Gods has never seemed so bright.

It comes in handy fifteen minutes later, when he reaches a spot on the trail with sweeping views of all the different rock formations. Getting an idea, he takes off his shirt and snaps a photo of himself with the Sleeping Giant in the background, angling the camera so the light shines perfectly on his abs. He feels like a tool, and it's a little—okay, a lot—embarrassing when someone nearby mutters "Look at that idiot," but sometimes you have to make sacrifices for quiet Russians with bright green eyes.

Suns out guns out,he types, shirt tucked under his arm, squinting at the screen. Peace sign emoji. Sunglasses emoji. Hashtag noshirtsaturday. Hashtag everyone in this park hates him right now. Hashtag he doesn't care, because in less than three weeks, he'll be on a plane to Glasgow, and so will Sasha.

He can't fucking wait.