30. Nico
I was lacing up my skates on the bench when Adrian plopped down next to me.
This was different.
Usually he kept his distance during practice.
Stayed on his side of the rink, warmed up in his own corner, maintained the careful separation we'd both silently agreed to since...
everything. But today he pulled his skates out of his bag and started lacing up right beside me, close enough that I could smell the sweet herbal scent of his vape.
He didn't say anything for a minute. Just worked the laces with practised efficiency, his rings catching the fluorescent light.
“Sucks about Osaka.”
I kept my eyes on my own skates. “It's fine. I'm still in contention.”
“Fourth place though.” He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather. “I don't remember the last time you didn't medal.”
“Happens all the time.”
“So you don't remember either?”
I tugged a lace tighter than necessary. “Juniors. I was sixteen, so you were already a senior citizen by then. Fell on my triple Lutz. Landed on my ass in front of three thousand people.”
“Tragic.”
“It was formative.”
He snorted. Finished his left skate and started on his right. The silence stretched between us—not quite comfortable, not quite hostile. Something in between.
“It really is just one competition,” he said finally. “You know that, right Nicky?”
I looked up. He was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Not mocking. Not gloating. Something almost like... concern.
“Are you—” I blinked. “Are you giving me a pep talk?”
“Of course not.” He pulled his lace tight. “Maybe a little. Point is, don't quit.”
“Why would I quit?”
“You had that look. After the scores came up. Like you were calculating whether it was worth it anymore.” He shrugged, still not meeting my eyes. “Don't quit. That's all I'm saying.”
“I'm not quitting.” The words came out sharper than I intended. “You're not getting rid of me that easily. You want to go back to the Olympics, you're going to have to beat me to get there.”
Something flickered across his face. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“Good.” He stood, testing his weight on his blades. “I like fierce competition. It's boring otherwise.”
I finished my own laces and stood beside him. We were almost the same height—he had maybe two inches on me—but he always seemed to take up more space.
“You had a good program,” I admitted grudgingly. “In Osaka.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Oh? So you were watching?”
I rolled my eyes. “Everyone was watching. You were in first place. It's called paying attention to the standings.”
“Sure, Nicky.” The smirk was back now, familiar and infuriating. “That's definitely why you were watching.”
He skated off before I could respond, gliding backwards so he could keep his eyes on me, grinning like he'd won something.
I told myself the heat crawling up my neck was irritation.
It was a very convincing lie.
◆◆◆
“Are you headed to off-ice conditioning?”
Adrian caught up to me outside the locker room, his usual skating uniform of track pants and sleeveless compression shirt traded for athletic shorts and a tank top.
I tried not to think about how quickly he would ditch the shirt in the gym.
Tried not to notice the way the tank top hung loose enough to show the edges of ink along his ribs when he moved.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Me too.”
Julien and another junior skater, Carter, were leaving as we approached. There was that awkward eye contact, the kind that made my skin prickle with discomfort. Julien gave me a small smile, tentative and a little sad. I nodded. Kept walking.
Adrian and I were alone, and when the door swung shut behind us, he turned toward me with a raised brow.
“Which one?” He picked up a resistance band and started stretching his lats.
“Which one?” I repeated.
“Which one did you fuck?”
“Pardon?”
“Please, Nicky. That was so cringe, I got blasted with secondhand embarrassment. Don't tell me it was the baby faced one. He looks like he still has a bedtime.”
“I don't kiss and tell.”
“Hmm.” He grabbed a set of dumbbells and settled onto a bench like we did this all the time. Like we were friends. “I could tell when you and Théo started fucking too. You really wear your emotions on your sleeve, Nicky. You should work on that.”
“Fuck off, Zhao.” I moved to the cable machine, putting distance between us. “Like you haven't slept with other skaters. You brought a gigantic box of condoms to Osaka.”
“Actually, no.” He started his reps, casual as anything. “You're the first. I don't shit where I skate. I just like to be prepared. Good little boy scout, that's me.”
I snorted. “I've seen you all over The Spill with other skaters. Müller. Reynolds.”
Adrian paused mid-rep, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Have you been stalking me, Nicky?”
“It's called being aware of the competition.”
“Uh huh. Well, for your information, Müller was interested in my best friend. Reynolds is just a friend. Imagine that.”
“Hard to imagine anyone willingly spending time with you.”
“You're here.” He set down the dumbbells and, right on schedule, peeled off his tank top. Because of course he did.
I kept my eyes fixed on the cable machine. Adjusted the weight. Did not look at the serpent tattoo curling around his hip. Did not think about tracing it with my tongue.
“Not willingly. What is your game, Zhao?”
“No game. I’m just working out.”
“You know what I mean.” I turned to face him fully. “You've never wanted to train together before. What's with the sudden interest in being gym buddies?”
He shrugged, picking up a heavier set of dumbbells. “We're both probably going to the Olympics. Yes, we're fighting for our own medals, but it's still Canada against the world, right? Shouldn't we get along for the sake of our motherland?”
“So you want us to get along… in the name of patriotism?”
“What can I say? My love for Mother Canada runs deep. I bleed maple syrup.”
“Do you actually believe your own bullshit?”
He laughed—genuine, surprised—and I found myself biting back a smile despite myself. Adrian had that effect. The ability to make you laugh when you were actively trying to stay annoyed with him.
“Fine. You want the truth?” He sat up, forearms resting on his thighs, dumbbells abandoned on the floor. “You skated scared in Osaka. I watched you hold back on every jump, every transition. You were clenched so tightly, you forgot you can do this shit in your sleep.”
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“I've been watching you skate for a long time, Nicky.” He held my gaze. “And it pissed me off. I want to beat you at your best. Not whatever that was.”
“And the other thing? In Osaka?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them. “Was that part of your strategy too? Get in my head?”
Something shifted in his expression. The smirk faded and he rubbed the back of his neck—a gesture I'd never seen from him before. Adrian Zhao, uncomfortable. It didn't compute.
“I was pissed off that night. At Théo. The way he was acting at dinner—then looking at you like he still had the right to worry about you after he—” He stopped himself.
Jaw working. Started again, quieter. “He's a selfish bastard, Nicky.
Stands there all concerned and protective like he didn't walk away. Like he didn't leave you behind.”
I didn't know what to say. I'd assumed his hostility toward Théo was competitive—two alpha skaters circling each other. I hadn't considered it was personal. That it was about me.
“Théo did what he needed to do for his own recovery,” I said carefully. “I don't blame him for that.”
“Of course you don't. You never blame anyone for anything. That's your whole problem.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I'm not saying he's a bad guy. I'm saying you deserved better than being left to deal with the fallout alone.”
“I don't need you to fight my battles, Adrian.”
“You're always so busy taking care of everyone else.” He met my eyes. “Someone should take care of you for once.”
The words landed somewhere soft and bruised.
“I don't need taking care of.”
“Sure you don't.” He picked up his weights again, the vulnerability shuttering closed. “And I'm a natural blond. We all tell ourselves stories, Nicky.”
We trained in silence for the next hour. Him on weights, me on conditioning drills. Every now and then I'd catch him watching me in the mirror. Every now and then he'd catch me doing the same.
Neither of us mentioned it.
When I finally grabbed my towel to leave, he called out without looking up from his lat pulldown.
“Same time tomorrow?”
I should have said no. Should have maintained the distance that made sense.
“Yeah,” I said instead. “Same time tomorrow.”