Chapter 24
Adonis
Adonis gasped for breath, holding his arms up at the end of the song. He collapsed in a bow. People cheered and clapped, and the announcers shared his scores. He heard none of it. It was white noise in his ears.
He hadn’t pulled this off on his own.
For months, he’d practiced this routine as a way to blow off steam.
Clarisse had occasionally helped him, offering feedback on his choreography.
Neither of them had ever expected him to debut it anywhere, let alone at the Olympics, but they had made sure that his routine included all the moves that a free skate program required.
After Damien had appeared in Adonis’s room and officially categorized himself as a piece of shit, Adonis had gone to some of the older members of Team USA, specifically to Emily Bogdanovich and Clarence Tupper, a pair of ice dancers who were on their third Olympics.
“I need help,” he said.
“With what?” Clarence, who had been kind enough to show Adonis some of the ropes of the Olympics earlier, said.
Adonis had told them his plan: he wanted to change his song for the free skate without telling his mother or Damien Zelinksi. He didn’t care if Team USA knew, but he wanted to keep it from his personal management team, knowing they would try to stop him.
Emily and Clarence had both thought this was an incredibly foolish idea, but they compromised by asking Adonis to perform his new routine for them.
When the routine left them both in tears, they said they would help him.
They told him what strings to pull, what people to talk to, and how he could make it happen.
He followed their instructions and practiced the routine in secret.
Damien didn’t reach out to schedule any more practices, and apparently told Anamária that he’d come down with a nasty case of food poisoning.
When Anamária told Adonis about this, Adonis scoffed.
“Poor guy,” he said, but there was venom in his voice.
Anamária had looked at him curiously, but Adonis had refused to elaborate. He didn’t trust his mother after what Damien had said. Blackmailing HPD to get him on the team? What the fuck, Anamária?
With this routine, he hoped he could prove that he was meant to be here, on his own, with his own skill.
This routine had never been touched, never even been seen, by Anamária or by Damien. If he did poorly, it was entirely on him. If he did well, then he had earned it, goddamn it.
Immediately before the performance had started, he had texted his mother the recording of his interaction with Damien.
The rage of that memory had fueled his performance.
Now the performance was done, and it was time for him to get off the ice.
He didn’t even hear the results as the announcers read them off. His mind was numb to anything but the steady beat of his heart.
When he exited the ice, Anamária was waiting for him. Her eyes were wide, almost fully round.
He had already prepared a full defense for his choice to change the song. “Mom, I—”
She pulled him into a fierce hug. “Adonis, that was incredible,” she said into his shoulder. When she released him, her eyes were wet. “Now, where’s that piece of shit, Damien?”
——
Coaches, trainers, and the like were put up in a nice hotel not far from the Olympic facilities in Milano.
Anamária screamed (in perfect Italian) at the concierge of the hotel until they were let up to Damien’s room.
Adonis followed his mother, a few steps behind, out of breath, as she stormed through the hotel.
She swiped an access card from an unattended cleaning cart just before they got to Damien’s room.
She banged on the door with the force of a disgruntled FBI agent.
“DAMIEN CARLOS ZELINSKI!” she bellowed. “Open this GODDAMN door before I break it down with my fists!”
The door didn’t open.
“Fucking coward,” Anamária said, and swiped the card. The door unlocked. “Wait here, Adonis,” she said. “I don’t want you to see this.”
Adonis shook his head and pushed into the room after Anamária. He absolutely wanted to see this. He also thought it might be beneficial for there to be a witness, just in case his mother actually murdered Damien, because then Adonis would deny it in any court that interrogated him.
No, your honor. Damien slipped and fell! We have no idea how he ended up impaled on a curling iron! Accidents happen, don’t they?
Damien was cowering in the far corner of the room, trying to wrap himself in one of the hotel curtains.
“You motherfucking piece of dangling ass shit,” Anamária hissed, stalking across the room straight to the tangle of curtains.
Adonis gaped.
“I—” Damien began.
“Shut the hell up,” Anamária growled. She snatched him from the curtains by the collar of his Gucci turtle neck and threw him against the elegant brocade wallpaper of the hotel.
Damien yelped in pain.
“You’re lucky I no longer have diplomatic immunity in the European Union,” Anamária hissed.
Diplomatic immunity? Adonis wondered. What the fuck?
“Because if I did,” Anamária continued, “I would throw you out this window right now, and if the fall didn’t kill you, I’d steal a taxi and drive repeatedly over your sorry, shattered body until you were so dead that when they tried to do an autopsy, they’d have to use a spoon to get you off the street. ”
Damien was white in the face.
“I will ruin you,” Anamária said. “You will never work in the world of figure skating again. Your husband will never show another piece of art in even the dingiest gallery. Hell, I might even get your American passport revoked. I won’t take you to court, but I’ll take you to the fucking court of goddamn public opinion, and I will rue the day you thought about ever taking advantage of my son. ”
Damien spluttered. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“I recorded it,” Adonis said quietly. “The whole thing. Would you like me to play it back for you?” He held up his phone.
Damien glared at him, and then at Anamária. “Would you please take your hand off my neck?”
“Oh, now you care about respecting physical boundaries?” Adonis snapped.
He stepped forward. Seeing his mother go scorched-Earth on Damien had given him the spark he needed.
“You are a sad, sorry man, Damien. You hang younger men like trophies on your arm because you never thought you were cute enough or successful enough on your own. No matter how many younger guys you show off or ‘train,’ you’ll never make up for your own inadequacy.
You thought I needed you to succeed at the Olympics?
Fuck you, actually. I did my own routine for my free skate, without a single fucking piece of input from you, and guess what?
” He leaned in close, holding up the results on his phone. “I got fucking silver medal.”
Anamária released Damien, who wheezed for breath and clutched his neck. “You did?” she screeched.
Adonis felt like sobbing. “I did!”
“Holy shit!” Anamária said.
“Holy shit!” Adonis repeated.
“Can I go?” Damien said.
“Fuck all the way off,” Anamária said.
——
After their vigilante escapade, Adonis and his mother went to an elegant café three blocks from Damien’s hotel, where he ordered an espresso, and she rolled her eyes and ordered a bottle of red for them to share.
“I owe you several apologies,” Anamária said when the waiter brought them the wine.
“Damien said that you blackmailed HPD to get me onto the Olympic team,” Adonis said in answer.
“Oh.” Anamária had been pouring the wine for them both, and now went back to pour several more ounces into each glass.
“He’s half right,” she admitted. She sighed, a look of devastation on her face.
“I am very, very sorry. In December, I emailed Connie Zielstra—remember, we met her in Colorado Springs? I didn’t blackmail her.
I did, however, suggest that we could come to a quid pro quo, much as I’d helped her son with some placements years ago.
I regret that already. She rejected the proposal, and I’m glad she did.
The fact that you got on the team still speaks to your skill.
You earned your spot, completely on your own. ”
She raised her dangerously full wine glass. “And you got silver entirely on your own. That routine was magnificent. I’ve never seen that before—when did you create it?”
Adonis raised his glass to meet hers. “In between all of my other practices.” He cracked a small smile. “You know. With all my free time.”
“You’re not hiding your sarcasm very well.”
“Good, I didn’t mean to.”
Anamária sighed. “Like I said, I owe you several apologies. I’ve worked you too hard, and I’ve been a bad mother, using the excuse that I was at least a good coach and a good manager. I’m very sorry.”
Adonis nodded slightly. “Thank you for saying that. I forgive you.”
Anamária’s eyes were wet. “I want to do better.”
Adonis gulped some of the wine, hoping for a shot of liquid courage. “Well, maybe we should talk,” he said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my future, and I’m sorry that I haven’t brought you fully into that thought process, but I think I’ve made some decisions.”
Anamária tensed briefly, but then nodded. “Go on.”
“I don’t want to skate professionally after I graduate. I know you’ve invested so much time and money in me and in my skating, and I’ve always enjoyed skating, but as I think about my future, it just isn’t what I want to do with the rest of my life.”
His mother was silent for a moment. She took a long drink of her wine. “Okay,” she said at last. “And you’ve really thought about this?”
“I have.”
“What do you want to do instead?”
Adonis’s turn to return to his wine. “Law school,” he said.
“Law school?”
“Law school. I…I took the LSAT, and I applied to a bunch of schools.”
“When?”
“Like I said, with all that free time I have.” He managed a smile. “Mom…I’ve gotten into several schools.”
She offered a genuine smile. “Honey, that’s incredible. Have you thought about what kind of law you want to practice?”
“Yes. Sports law.” He swallowed. “What happened with Damien only reinforced for me that I want to work with young athletes to advocate for our—for their—rights. I want to be their voice. I don’t know if that eventually means nonprofit or foundation work, but something like that.”
He could already see the wheels turning in Anamária’s head. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “I love it. I think you’ll do a great job at that.” She paused. “Law school is expensive—”
“I know. I’ll apply for scholarships and loans—”
“But,” she continued. “I think there’s an angle I can work here.”
“What do you mean?”
She took his hand. “Adonis, you have a dozen brands chomping at the bit to sponsor your skating career. I think I can work some of my magic to turn some of those sponsorships into scholarships.”
His eyes lit up. “Really? Is that a thing?”
“When has that ever stopped me?”
He laughed. “Good point.”
“If you want,” she said, “and only if you want, I can help you with this.”
“I’d like that, Mom. I really would.”
“I’ve focused too much on what I thought you wanted and what I thought would make you feel successful. If this is what you want. Really, it was what I wanted. What made me feel successful. If this is what will make you feel successful, then I will help you as much as I can.”
He squeezed her hand. “Thank you. I really mean that.”
“I love you, Adonis.”
He wiped his eyes. “I love you, too.”