Chapter 15 #2
“Ah, good, you’re all here,” Camille says, wandering into the café. “Bus is pulling up. Finish up and be outside in five.”
It takes more like ten minutes, actually, but eventually we get our bill paid and venture outside to board the bus for our first training session.
The sun is barely peeking out between low cloud cover and the morning air is crisp but comfortable.
It’s warmer in Paris than it was in Boston, no biting cold that makes your nose go numb and your eyes water.
But I still rub my hands together against it as I wait for the rest of the team to get onto the bus.
“Here,” a voice says from behind me, and I turn. Freddie has a small cup of coffee with a lid firmly in place and he’s holding it out to me. “You only got through one at the table.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking it and grinning. “That was sweet.”
“Nothing sweet about that. It’s black, like you like it.”
“Yeah, bitter,” I say, trying to make it sound like I’m talking about the coffee.
“Adriana, I…” he says, and stops, like he doesn’t quite know how to put it into words, but I bail him out.
“I know,” I say, before looking up into his eyes. “I know.”
Do I, though? No, I don’t. I’m completely full of shit.
Everything feels like a riddle between us right now, one that I’m not even close to figuring out.
Has he forgiven me? Like, really forgiven me?
Does he…does he want to be friends? My mind flickers back to the night before at the club and the way dancing with him felt, like I was finally back where I belonged.
Is that what he wants? Is it even what I want? And even if it is, is it possible?
No. No, it’s not. Not if I’m “with” Brayden. Not as long as Riley likes Freddie.
I just have to put it out of my mind. It’s not going to happen. Too much has happened.
He nods and takes a deep breath before letting it out in a heavy sigh. “Okay, then,” he says, gesturing ahead of me. “Let’s go.”
We’re a well-oiled machine at training. We’ve gotten so used to sharing the ice over the last few weeks that it’s easy to let those routines take over.
We’re spaced out on the ice, working with our coaches to break down different skills, and then we rotate easily to run through our short programs. When our time is almost up, it feels like we should all be able to leave together and walk back to the Kellynch House and maybe have lunch, watch some TV, or even sit together in the living room and scroll through our phones in a comfortable silence, interrupted only when someone has something hilarious to show us.
The team is so efficient that we have a few minutes left after Brayden and I finish up “Vienna” and everyone glides back out onto the ice to work on whatever little problem spots they encountered during the session.
Brayden swings me up into our lift easily and holds me steady as we finish up.
There, it’s perfect. We’re ready to go out there and kick ass tomorrow.
“One more time,” Riley calls out from the corner of the ice she and Freddie are using to work on their lift too. We skate past them and for a split second my eyes meet Freddie’s. I send him a tight smile, one he returns.
“Fine, one more time,” Freddie agrees, and grabs her hand. “Gotta show these two they’ve got some competition.”
They take off down the ice, building some momentum before Riley slides into his arms and Freddie lifts her up against his chest, her legs flying out and holding as he takes her weight against him, and when they go to change positions, something goes wrong.
I think her hand slips and it throws off his momentum.
“Shit!” Freddie yells, when his skate goes out from under him and sends him sliding in the other direction.
Riley’s not so lucky, trying to turn herself in the split second she has in the air, but it’s clear she’s not going to make it.
There’s not enough room. Before she lands, Brayden and I are already sprinting across the ice in that direction.
Then she goes down, her knee cracking against the ice before her head whips back and does the same.
“Riley!” Charlie shrieks, leaping over the boards and skating out to his sister.
A small ice shower coats Freddie’s pants when Brayden and I stop in front of them. He’s still standing there, staring down at Riley’s horrifically still form, one leg twisted at an odd angle, her eyes shut. No movement.
“We need the trainer,” I say, snapping out of my horrified fascination and dropping to my knees beside her. “Don’t move her.”
Brayden skates away at top speed and I can hear people skating to us. Somewhere behind me, Maria is screaming bloody murder.
I check the ice around Riley. There’s no blood. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I grab her hand and squeeze it. “Riley, can you hear me?” I say, leaning in close, hoping that she can, even if she can’t respond. “Riley?”
For the briefest moment, she opens her eyes, but there’s no comprehension there.
She doesn’t see me, just stares at me, and for a panicked second, I think she’s about to have a seizure.
I know that can happen when people hit their heads hard.
Her eyes close again, though, and at least that’s something.
A strangled sound escapes from Freddie, who still hasn’t moved away.
The trainers arrive on the ice and I pull back to give them room to work.
In a blink, they’re examining her, shifting her carefully onto a stretcher, and getting her up and off the ice.
Sirens are wailing in the distance and I jerk at the sound.
It sounds so much like my alarm on my phone that for a second I instinctively want to check it, but it’s not my phone. An ambulance is on its way here.
That was fast, unless it was already close by. Sometimes it’s even in the arena in case someone gets hurt, like the event organizers don’t want to tempt fate by not having one here.
So much for that.
As a group, the trainers move an unresponsive Riley off the ice toward the sounds growing louder by the moment. Freddie whispers, “My fault.”
“No,” I whisper back, but he shakes his head and follows them.
Then Brayden’s there, beside me. “Come on, we can go with them to the hospital.”
I let him lead me off the ice.
There are dozens of people in the rink and everyone has their phones out, videoing the stretcher being wheeled away from the ice and out toward the ambulance.
“Fucking vultures,” Brayden says, nodding at them.
That’s what finally snaps Freddie out of his daze.
For a moment, I think he’s about to dive into that crowd and smash every single phone on the concrete floor, but Ben and Jimmy fall into step with him and practically perp walk him out of the arena with the rest of us.
Vaguely, my brain registers that we’re in a car following the ambulance as it winds through Parisian traffic.
The city I wanted to see so badly a few hours ago is a five-minute blur, then we’re in an emergency room, where everyone speaks French, so there’s a lot of confusion at first until Mr. Monroe arrives, his phone pressed to his ear, and he’s able to shout loud enough to find someone who can speak English and then take him and Charlie to where they brought Riley.
The waiting room is small and cramped and there are barely enough chairs for us to sit down.
Who knows how long we’ve been sitting here? I check the clock on the wall. It’s the early evening now. It was barely three in the afternoon when we were finishing up our practice session.
Two hours and no word.
That can’t be good.
“Maybe we should go back to the hotel and wait for news there,” Camille says.
“I’m not leaving,” Freddie says, his eyes never leaving the doors they took Riley through.
“I’ll stay with you,” Georgia answers, putting an arm around her little brother’s shoulders even though he’s a good foot taller than her.
Camille nods. “We should go then.”
“Can we wait for—” I start, and stop.
I can’t quite get the words out, but Camille nods. “We’ll stay until we get some news.”
“We’ll go get everyone coffee,” Jimmy says, and he enlists Ben to go with him.
Brayden stands up. “I need to stretch my legs anyway. I’ll come too.”
They disappear in the general direction of where a sign with a coffee cup illustration is pointing.
“I’m going to hit the ladies’ room. Do you want to come?” Camille asks after a few silent minutes, but I shake my head. Georgia stands to join her.
Sighing after they leave, I sit back in the hard plastic chair and run my fingers over my hair. The bun I put it in this morning is falling down, but I can’t be bothered to redo it. I lean forward and put my head in my hands, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes.
Maybe this is a terrible dream. Maybe the sound of ambulances around me is my alarm trying to wake me up. Maybe none of this actually happened.
“It’s my fault,” Freddie says, and I turn my head enough to see him. He’s a full seat away from me, staring out ahead into the middle distance now. “If only I’d—”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I wasn’t thinking about anything except winning and beating—” His eyes fly to me as he cuts off his thought. “Training was over. I should have called it.”
“It’s not your fault,” I repeat firmly. “Falls happen.”
He shakes his head. “This fall didn’t have to and now she’s—”
“Hey,” I say, shifting over a seat and grabbing his hand. He’s got it clenched so tightly that once I pry it open, I can see little half-moons in his palms from his blunt fingernails. I hold one hand in both of mine and squeeze. “She’s going to be okay. She has to be.”
“You can’t know that,” he protests, but his hand flexes and then relaxes in mine.
“No,” I say softly. “You’re right. I don’t know, but I have to believe it. I can’t do anything else. I’ll believe it for you, if you need me to.”
He nods and he squeezes my hand again. “Adriana,” he rasps, and I look up at him. He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at me and something thunks in my chest, hard and fast, and then it blossoms into a soft hum through my blood.
Bam!
The door that leads from the waiting area to the emergency room swings open and slams against the wall.
Charlie’s rushing through it at full speed.
Together, Freddie and I fly to our feet and meet him halfway, as he skids to a halt in front of us.
His eyes are red and puffy. Oh God, he’s been crying. What happened back there?
I try to speak, but the words get caught in my throat, then Freddie squeezes my hand and I’m able to force them out.
“Is Riley okay?”
“She’s awake and she’s going to be okay.”
A Mack truck of relief plows through me, but no, that’s Freddie pulling me into a crushing embrace, his arms wrapped around my body.
For half a second, I stiffen against it.
We were this close last night, but this is different.
There’s no doubt that this means something because he’s not pulling away and neither am I.
And when he turns his face into my neck, his lips brushing my pulse point, I sink into him, my forehead tucking into his shoulder.
I tighten my arms around him, my hand burying itself at the back of his head, sifting through the soft hair that’s grown a little too long at the nape of his neck.
Then a throat is clearing behind us. Shit. Charlie’s still standing there, probably with more news about Riley. Freddie pulls away like he touched a live wire and I fall back on my heels as we blink at each other in utter shock.
With a shake of his head, Freddie turns to Charlie. “Can I see her?”
“Uh.” Charlie hesitates, looking back and forth between us before he says, “Yeah, sure, c’mon.”
Then without a backward glance, Freddie follows him through the doors that lead into the emergency room. I want to follow, but I don’t; it’s not my place, and when I turn back to my seat, there’s Brayden with a steaming cup of coffee and a tight grin.
“Thanks,” I say, reaching out for the cup and letting out a heavy sigh as I sit back in my chair.
“She’s going to be okay?” he asks, still staring at the door Freddie and Charlie disappeared through.
“Yeah, she’s going to be okay.”