Chapter 3 #2
I nod, slowing to a stop at the center of the ice as Brayden drifts toward the edge of the rink for a drink of water.
I blow a wayward curl out of my eyes and then tilt my head back to redo my ponytail.
It’s the correction she’s been giving me since I started skating.
I don’t think there’s been one practice where Camille hasn’t reminded me that I’m not doing enough to really sell the routine.
It’s so common now that all she has to do is say the word expression to let me know I’m skating stone-faced when I should be emoting.
“I’ve gotta get going,” I say, skating over to Brayden. He hands the water bottle over to me before wiping at his mouth.
“Let’s go one more time,” he suggests.
“The beds in the guest rooms still haven’t been made. I asked Maria to do it yesterday, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t, and I want everything to be ready to go once they get here.”
“Yeah, about that…” he begins.
“If you two aren’t going to vacate the ice, I’d like to see those twizzles again, and remember, Adriana—” Camille demands, which makes the decision to go again for us, and then nods her head toward the door where Charlie and Maria are coming in, chatting. They have the ice next.
“Expression!” I fill in for her, and then turn to Brayden. “Let’s go one more time.” I echo his words with a smile.
After I take a quick sip of water, we skate together to where our twizzle sequence is supposed to begin.
“Let’s push it,” I say, and I count us in. “One and two and three.”
We push off together, spinning in sync over the ice.
It’s important to get this right, to build momentum through the rotations, because the sequence comes right before the music swells into a crashing crescendo that’s supposed to get the crowd riled and pull them into the second half of the dance.
Our free dance is set to a Game of Thrones medley—it’s Brayden’s all-time favorite TV show—and it never fails to get the crowd excited as we act out the tragic romance of Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen.
Personally, that particular love story kind of grosses me out, but the fans and, most importantly, the judges eat up the routine every time, especially when I manage to make it look like it doesn’t gross me out, which I think I’m doing a pretty good job of right now.
After five one mores, Camille is finally satisfied both with the speed and the unity of our twizzles.
“There’s a party tonight in Fenway. You wanna come?” Brayden asks as we glide off the ice.
“Whose party?”
“Does it matter?” he asks, laughing. “Some people I know.”
“I’m good.”
“You are,” he agrees. “Too good.”
“Good work today, both of you,” Camille says, coming over and saving me from having to respond.
“A compliment!” Brayden says, leaning in close to our coach, eyes narrowed. “Were you body snatched?”
Camille rolls her eyes with affection, a smile creeping over her mouth. Once we’re off the ice, the stern taskmaster disappears and it’s back to the woman who practically raised me.
“Last chance,” Brayden says. “You’ll have to come home with me so I can get ready, though. My mom would love to see you. She likes you more than me.”
I laugh, mostly because it’s probably a little bit true. “I have too much to do here. Have fun, though.”
With a nod he’s gone, headed toward the locker room, already swiping through his phone, probably finding a date for tonight.
“Is there a practice schedule yet?” Camille asks.
“If you ever checked your emails, you’d know we finalized it yesterday.”
“I don’t know my password,” she protests.
“How do you not know your own email password?” I ask, shaking my head. “We have the second session.”
“You’d think as the only favorites to win gold, you’d give yourself the first practice session,” Camille mutters.
“I didn’t want to make it seem like we were giving ourselves priority just because we own the place.”
“But you do.”
“Yeah, but who knows for how much longer?”
That makes Camille stop and grimace. “It’s a shame that you didn’t have any other options.
” She knows better than anyone how much we need the money.
“I spoke to your father last night. You’re right, he is thinking about mortgaging the property.
He seemed pretty set on it, especially if Elisa doesn’t medal. ”
“Did he say that to her?”
“No, of course not,” Camille says, and then sighs heavily. “Your mother never would have let things get this bad.”
“I know,” I say, resigned to it. I have to be, I guess. I can’t control what my dad does with his money. No one can and no one ever could, except Mom.
I miss her pretty much all the time. She’s always in the back of my mind, even after four years, but it’s impossible not to think about her when the subject of money comes up.
When she was alive, she handled all the finances and always managed to come up with some awesome compromise where no one felt like they were being deprived of anything, but the bills were still being paid.
Now? Not so much. Not that Dad ever gets into the specifics or details, but I do enough of our paperwork to know things aren’t good.
After a long pause, my godmother tries a different tack.
“Are you going to be okay? After what you said last night, I’m worried about you…
” Camille trails off and bites her lip, a rare expression.
It means she’s literally holding back something she wants to say, and Camille almost never holds back.
And if it’s not about money, which it’s not because she clearly doesn’t have a problem talking about that, it can only be about one other thing.
“Are you really still worried about the Freddie thing? I told you, it’s fine. I’m fine.”
She lifts one eyebrow in complete disbelief. “Having him back here after all these years, and the last time he was here you were going through so much; I wonder if agreeing to this was the best idea.”
“The money is too good. This plus whatever Elisa brings in from the sponsors after the Games? We might start to make up some ground. Like you said, we don’t have any other choice. Just like I didn’t really have any other choice two years ago.”
She nods and sends me a tight smile before she leaves for the day.
I let myself linger in a long, hot shower back at home, maybe longer than I should have if I want to have everything ready, but it feels good on my muscles after our intense workout.
The NFSC was trying to organize something themselves this year, a team-building camp, but Dad beat them to it, contracts signed and finalized before their plans even got off the ground.
It’s amazing how fast Dad can move when he wants to use his legacy to piss off the NFSC and make some money while he’s at it.
Everyone will be staying at Kellynch House.
It’s a massive old Victorian that sat adjacent to the rink’s property for years before my grandpa bought it, just before my dad took over running the family business.
Some people in the figure skating world call it the Kellynch Estate because we basically own the entire block.
My dad wanted it to look like something out of the Historical Society’s magazine, so after a total renovation I only have vague memories of that preserved the outward look but completely modernized the interior, Kellynch House was born.
It’s able to house more than a dozen people.
Each room has two full-size beds with memory foam mattresses, two dressers, and an attached bathroom, plus we’ve got new linens for every bed.
It’s not a five-star hotel, but from what I can tell it’s at least on par with a Hilton or Marriott.
Almost everyone on the team will be at Kellynch, but Freddie’s sister—and coach—Georgia O’Connell-Croft and her husband are going to take over the guest room in our house for the time being, so that’s mission one, and then the rest of the beds at Kellynch need to be made up.
Usually there’s a full staff, but since everyone’s coaches are coming with them, Dad decided to let people fend for themselves once they get here, and it felt like a waste to have them in just to set everything up. I can do it, and we won’t have to pay them and cut into the profit we’re making.
“Some help would be great,” I say to Maria after changing the sheets in the guest room and putting fresh toiletries in the bathroom.
“Charlie and I are going shopping in a bit.”
“Shopping?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at her. We do not have any money for shopping right now.
“Don’t look at me like that. He wants to get a Gucci belt and his dad finally gave in, and I have a few gift cards that I didn’t use from Christmas.”
“Okay, we need five rooms ready to go for this afternoon, and if you help me, I have a Visa gift card in the top drawer of my dresser you can take with you. There’s at least a hundred dollars on it.”
Her eyes light up immediately. “Really? Because I’ve been looking at these amazing shoes that I’d love to take to Paris. Like, can you imagine how people are going to dress at the parties after the competition? It’s Paris.”
“Make up two of the rooms, and the gift card is yours.”
She pulls the sheets and towels out of the closet so fast that the rest spill out onto the floor at my feet.
It’s not hard to get the rooms ready, but halfway through the third room, it hits me.
By tonight one of these rooms is going to half belong to Freddie O’Connell.
I bet he’ll room with Ben Woo, one of the singles skaters.
They’ve been close friends for a long time.
And one of these beds might be Freddie’s.
Ugh. I’m being such a creeper. Who cares where Freddie sleeps? I shouldn’t, and he’d be so freaked out if he knew I was thinking about it. This shouldn’t be anything new. We’ve been around each other before.
Not this close, though, and not for this long, I remind myself.
But we can be mature about it, right? Or maybe not mature, but we can ignore each other, just like we have at every competition and event we’ve crossed paths at in the last two years.
Maybe it’ll be like that. He stays in his lane and I stay in mine.
That’s probably best, because there’s no way we’re ever going back to the way we were before.
We were partners, but more than that, we were best friends.
We skated together for four years. He was there for me when my mom died.
And then I turned my back on him and no matter how good a reason I had, it was still a betrayal, and it uprooted his entire life and so many others’.
He moved down to Atlanta to live and train with his sister and started skating with Charlie Monroe’s twin sister, Riley.
Charlie’s mom lives down there with her full time, while he and his dad live here in Boston.
It’s not the weirdest figure skating family living arrangement I’ve ever heard of, but it does suck.
And by this afternoon, every single one of them will be here.
Turning, I catch a glance of myself in the mirror hooked over the back of the door. So much upheaval, all because I grew before Freddie did. Because he did grow, eventually. Less than a year later, he shot up, not as tall as Brayden, but tall enough to be my partner and definitely strong enough.
What would have happened if I’d waited?
Back then, that didn’t feel like an option. It could have meant sitting out an entire season, or more, for the both of us. We wouldn’t have gone to Junior Worlds the next year. Who knows where we’d be now? Where I’d be.
The front door slams downstairs and brings me back to my surroundings. From the window I can see Maria skipping out the door toward Charlie Monroe’s car.
How long have I been standing here?
I peek into the two rooms she got ready and roll my eyes at the totally wrinkled duvet covers before remaking all four beds neatly. I’m fluffing the last pillow when I hear the crunch of gravel and slush underneath tires.
They’re here.