Chapter 9 #2
He’s in all black, even the crisp shirt blending in with the night sky. I wrinkle my nose as he pats at the pocket of his suit jacket. That’s probably where he’s hiding a flask of whatever he’d like to spike my drink with tonight. Take the edge off, or whatever.
Riley lets out a short giggle while Katya and Gillian look on with their eyes wide. Jimmy snickers and Charlie raises an eyebrow at me while Freddie leans over and whispers something to Ben, who shrugs, shaking his head.
What did he ask? I’m suddenly desperate to know, but there’s no way I’m going to ask. The urge to do something is so strong, I channel it in a different direction. “One out of two.”
Brayden quirks a grin at me when I turn to face him again. “You sure?”
“Let’s go,” I shoot back.
Our fists fly out, and on three, I put down one finger, and he puts down two.
Laughing in victory, I take a nice long sip of the coffee, burning my tongue a little bit, but not caring in the slightest, smiling at the group, who laughs with me, Brayden just rolling his eyes in mock annoyance at his loss.
“Everyone,” Camille calls, and the music abruptly cuts off. “The competition is about to get started, if you could take your seats.”
There are tables reserved for us near the front, mostly so the cameras can get our reactions as everything in Beijing is beamed back to our screen. I make sure to grab Maria and pull her into the chair next to mine, while Brayden slides in beside me.
“You ready for this?” he asks, his arm around the back of my chair.
“As I’ll ever be,” I say, suddenly nervous.
“It’s gonna be okay.”
Is it, though? There’s a lot riding on Elisa’s shoulders tonight.
She’s an underdog for sure, but a win, or really a medal of any color, would be massive.
Not only would she be an Olympic medalist, but the sponsorships alone might keep Dad from having to mortgage the house.
At least it should put a dent into the debt, right?
That’s the kind of thing Olympic victory brings.
But what if she loses?
Shit. What if she loses? I never even gave myself room to really consider that before. It was always a given. Elisa would go to the Olympics and she’d win a medal and this constant pressure would ease, but what if she doesn’t?
No, that’s tempting fate. I’m not going to think about that.
Except now that it’s in my head, I can’t stop.
“I…” I trail off as the broadcast starts, the announcers introducing the competitors as they warm up on the ice, a cheer going up when Elisa skates across the screen, her blonde hair curled to perfection, ready to skate to her Taylor Swift medley the crowds always love.
“I’ll be right back.”
I can’t even give voice to it, the sudden panic that I’m going to have to watch my sister succeed or fail at her lifelong dream in front of all of these people, on camera for the world to see.
I don’t want to watch.
I can’t watch.
I slide out of my chair. Maria doesn’t even notice. I’m sure Camille does, but I don’t look back. I just slowly move between the tables, smiling at everyone as I pass them until I’m at the door that leads downstairs. I slip through it and then stop in my tracks.
Freddie’s there, silent as usual, but brow furrowed at my appearance. He looks over my shoulder as the door slams shut behind me and I cringe.
Everyone probably heard that and looked over and maybe now they’re noticing that I’m gone.
“Are you—” he rasps, and then clears his throat. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I can—”
He tilts his head down, his eyes finding mine, and the tension in his face softens. “Do you want me to get someone for you?”
It goes unspoken that he’s not the person who can be there for me right now, even if he clearly kind of gets what I’m feeling.
Of course he does. He always did. Like when my mom got sick and he stuck by me.
A wave of memories hits me in a way I haven’t let them in way too long.
Like when he would sit next to me, holding my hand when everything hurt too much to skate.
When he did the same thing at the wake and then the funeral and then the months after that when I couldn’t bring myself to skate, not knowing if I’d ever be able to stomach getting on the ice again.
And how did I repay him for all that? When I grew faster than he did, I dropped him. I didn’t wait for him, like he did for me, and he should hate me for it. Really hate me, and he doesn’t. Maybe I hate myself enough for the both of us.
“No, I’m—” My voice cracks before I can force out the word okay.
“You’re not—” he insists, and he’s reaching out now, for my hand, and I pull back before he can take it because if he does, I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop the tears that are already threatening to fall. His jaw twitches, his hand retreating to his side, clenched in a fist.
Great job. He’s just trying to help and I made him feel like shit.
“I’m sorry,” I start, and his expression softens. “I didn’t mean—”
The door behind me swings open.
“There you are,” Brayden says, clear relief in his voice. “She’s about to go on and everyone’s wondering where you went. Oh, hey, man.”
Freddie quirks a grin at him over my shoulder and does that chin-nod thing boys do.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath before turning away from Freddie and back toward the thing I was running away from just a few seconds ago. I don’t really want to go back out, but I have to. What was I even thinking?
“Sorry,” I say, sending Brayden a tight smile. “I needed some air.”
“Inside?” he asks, raising his eyebrows and then glancing back to Freddie with an expression that clearly reads girls, am I right?
“Yeah, I needed some warm air. It’s freezing out there,” I correct. “Let’s go before we miss it.”
We slide back into our chairs as Elisa settles into the middle of the ice, moving into her starting pose and waiting for her music to begin.
As the harmonies of Taylor Swift’s “Gold Rush” pour out of the speakers in the arena and onto the rooftop, Brayden’s hand slides over mine, squeezing. I let out a breath and watch my older sister glide across the ice.
“Here’s the triple loop she had trouble with during the team competition,” the broadcaster says, and my stomach plummets before she even takes off.
Because I’ve watched Elisa do that skill more times than I can count and I know what’s about to happen.
She put too much power into it, probably an overcorrection from when she fell the other night, and she can’t control the landing and she’s down before I can pull in a breath to hold.
The music keeps playing, but she stays down. Brayden’s grip on my hand is like a vise and I lean forward, trying to get closer to the screen.
Then Elisa pushes up to her skates and relief slides through me, but it doesn’t last long.
She skates furiously, skipping through some of her choreography with perfunctory carelessness, something that will kill her performance component score.
And then she goes into another jump, this one a combination, triple flip, triple toe, and she never makes it to the toe, just goes sprawling to the ice.
And she gets up again, her face red, her mouth set in a furious line, but it doesn’t matter.
It’s over.
Her dreams are dead.