I was amazed at the presence of our support, a strong-hold of USA fans taking over nearly an entire section of the arena and deafening the rest of the crowd with their cheers.

Jillian warmed up next to me.

She was one of the only other girls competing on every event, the one person to place ahead of me at the Trials, and the pressure on us to lead and anchor the largely younger team was immense.

“Are you alright?” she asked, knowing I’d been a different person since team practices had started up when we arrived.

“Yeah,” I assured her. “No worries.” And I was okay. I wasn’t great, and I didn’t think this was the way I wanted it to be, but I was focused. I was ready to be what I needed to be for her and the team and for myself—all the years I’d put in needing to ultimately be worth something.

I laughed and gave her a playful shove, teasing, “Come on! We’re starting on Beam! It doesn’t get much better than that!”

“Oh. Yeah,” she grumbled. “My favorite.”

Genuine laughter drifted from my mouth to my ears, the absolute shock of it waking me up and putting me in a good mood for my routine. I hadn’t laughed like that since the falling out, and until then, I hadn’t even known it was possible.

I gave her a wink and a nudge as I climbed up onto the platform and she yelled slightly offbeat but encouraging advice from behind me.

“You got this! Don’t get your hands confused for your feet!”

“Float like a butterfly, stick it like a G!” And after little to no reaction. “You know? Like a knife? And a gangster?”

I laughed to myself as I rubbed chalk between my hands and onto the soles of my feet, bouncing on my toes and cracking my neck in anticipation of my salute.

My tongue flicked out to wet the dry cracks in my lips, and equally parched air seemed to catch in my throat. I tried to be cool, calm, and collected, but in some ways, I knew it wouldn’t be possible.

Not many people could say with certainty that this could very well be the last time they’d complete a routine for the world to see. But I could.

I’d decided that I was done at the end of the Olympics, no matter the outcome, no matter the pressure, and no matter the opinions of others.

And by done, I meant done. No endorsement deals, no showcase meets, no training on the side.

Tonight, I’d give all I had to give. And at the end of the Olympics, I’d officially retire.

There wasn’t any reason to hold back on the last exercise of the workout. It was the perfect time to give all of my energy—all I had—to being the very best I could be.

My arms flashed up over my head with a flourish and down again when prompted, and a smile stretched across my lips in perfect sync.

It wasn’t so much that the smile was real when a gymnast saluted, it was more of the whole idea of putting on a show.

Peacocking, as Nik would say.

I smiled for real then, the thought of him teasing me with a smile warming and settling my nerves.

Hovering hands turned into a base for my mount, my weight settling over top of them and balancing on a perfect counter point system. The angles of my body changed as necessary for support, and a slow ascent ended with a pose at the top.

My motions moved along quickly, following the tempo of the floor music as I always did and making sure to use a fluid system of effortless transitions between skills I liked to think of as checkpoints.

Each routine had a set of requirements or skills you were expected to perform, the variances and difficulty subject to the gymnast who was performing. The stuffing, or what you put in, as well as how well you actually executed each move were combined to give you an overall score.

The averages varied by event, but Beam was a lower scoring apparatus by a long shot.

I prepared and relaxed, sinking into my legs and bounding back into my series, each skill separate but interconnected in importance. You had to finish one before you could begin the other, a misplaced foot without an escape a danger that could really end up getting you hurt.

But part of the score came from connectivity, and that didn’t just happen by magic. It happened with repetition and faith and a whole lot of muscle memory.

Half of the time my brain didn’t have time to think what I was doing all the way through, my memory and reflexes no doubt delayed even further by my age.

But the muscles—they were where the ease originated, their movements almost practiced into undirected submission.

I could hear Jillian’s cheers as my feet hit the mat, the other girl’s voices blending together in similarity. To me, they all sounded the same.

I knew that sounded like a terrible thing to say, but that wasn’t how I meant it.

What I did mean, was that they were distinctly a unit, whereas Jillian and I tried to carry ourselves above and beyond and as figures of authority.

Given my mental state, it was damn near laughable, but I could guarantee when it came to being here in this moment and doing what I needed to do to not let anyone down, I was giving it more than my all.

Jillian high-fived me on my return, the other girls converging on the two of us and bringing it into a huge group hug.

I reveled in it rather than resented, knowing I wouldn’t be in this place again, with this kind of single-minded group initiative, not ever.

Still, I wondered if Nik was watching, if he wished he could talk to me as much as I wished I could talk to him.

With the intensity of my own feeling, my own insatiable thoughts and desires, I didn’t know if it was even possible.

“Floor,” Jillian said simply getting in my face at the first sign that my mind was starting to wander. I needed to leave Beam and everything else behind.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said with a smile and mock-salute.

I got the distinct impression that she was mentally giving me the finger.

Maybe even a double.

Sort of a one stone, two birds kind of thing.

One look into the crowd reminded me though, one, two, or four, the birds and the stones were welcome. Because words hurt a lot worse and lasted a lot longer.

My dad looked on with a smile, my mom tucked neatly under his arm, but for me, one look at him took me back.

All I could see was his office. All I could feel was the pain. All I could hear were the words that haunted me over and over again.

He agreed. He agreed to—

Start over.

As I watched her on the floor, all I could do was hope for more and wish that I could call out for her to start from the beginning. Not because she’d messed up or done something wrong, but because she’d done all the things right.

Her arms floated like an extension of her eyes and her feet moved with sure, swift steps and jumps from one place to the next. Her musicality was spot on like always, the sound of the song transporting her to another place that she replayed directly on her face.

The zoom of the camera made me feel like I was there, and Con and Carli were starting to make fun of the results of that fact.

“Dude. Do you think you can back away from the TV just a few inches so the two of us can actually see what she’s doing too?”

I only half listened to them as she moved though, focusing on the smirk on her lips and the heave of her chest just before each tumbling pass.

She flipped and flew with control and precision, harnessing the power like I taught her and turning it into just the right amount of energy. Height and distance didn’t mean loss of control, and by watching her tonight, I knew that she’d mastered it.

And despite the distance and the circumstances, her victories still felt very much like my own.