Chapter 19
“Damn it, Adriana!” Brayden shouts after another aborted lift halfway through our run-through of the program. The training rink is nearly empty and his voice echoes through the entire space. “I’m not going to drop you.”
I push away from him and drift out toward the open ice. “Your arms were shaking.”
“Because you didn’t lock your body. It’s like trying to lift a squirming snake.”
We only have to train one program now. Thrones was always tough, but now it feels impossible.
Every time Brayden goes to lift me today, it feels unsteady, like I’m about to fall face-first into the ice and he won’t break my fall.
And it’s probably my fault. After yesterday everything about this feels wrong.
I need to tell him what happened with Freddie.
Keeping it a secret, even just overnight, is weighing on my chest.
“Enough!” Camille commands, skating out toward us. “You sound like children.”
“We are children,” I mutter petulantly, but the glare Camille pins me with is enough to shut me up.
“You,” she says, and points at Brayden and then hikes her thumb back behind her, “hit the showers and call it a day.” Brayden throws his hands up in frustration, but then leaves without protest. “And you.” She turns to me. “We need to talk.”
We glide off the ice and onto the bleachers that adjoin it. Camille waits until Brayden disappears into the locker room and then she raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t ask; she waits.
I finally give in, if only to get this conversation over and done with. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me what the hell is going on. I can’t fathom that a team who broke the world record a few days ago looks like that. I don’t even have a word for it. I’ve never seen either of you skate this badly.”
“Thanks, Coach, so inspiring.”
“Adriana, be serious.”
“That’s all I ever am,” I mumble.
“What?”
I shake my head, not wanting to go down that road. It’s a little too real. “Nothing, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine and Brayden’s right, you’re the one not trusting him. Did something happen between you two?”
“No, it’s not like that, I just…I can’t tell you.”
“If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.”
I sigh and say, “I know.”
“Then you need to figure it out.” I glare at her and she raises her hands in defeat. “Because skating like that is unacceptable and, frankly, dangerous.”
“What if I can’t?”
She’s the one who sighs this time. “Then you better start looking for another partner.”
My stomach drops and twists as bile rises in my throat at the idea. Another partner. I don’t want another partner. Brayden and I are great together…were great together. Now? Who the hell knows what we are? And that’s on me. I broke our rule.
Camille pats me on the knee and stands. “You coming to the ladies’ competition this afternoon?” she asks.
“Yeah, of course I’ll be there.”
“Good. We’re going to do a family dinner in between, before Maria and Charlie’s final. I invited Brayden earlier, before I knew, well, before we spoke. I hope that’s okay?”
I nod. “It’s fine,” I say, though I have no idea if it is, really, and then she leaves me to my thoughts.
It’s a decent day outside, so I don’t bother getting a car back to the hotel.
I want a hot shower and to get ready for the ladies’ competition this afternoon.
Katya and Gillian are down in eighth and tenth places after the short program, but I still want to be there to support them while they skate.
We’ve been a team all the way through this and we’re still a team.
Maria isn’t in the room when I get back. She’s at the rink with Charlie and their coach, getting ready for the pairs’ final tonight. I shower quickly and pull my wet hair back into a bun. There’s no time to dry it, but if I leave it up for a few hours, it’ll give me decent curls when I let it down.
I’m checking my bag, making sure my phone and my hotel room key are in it, when there’s a knock at my door. When I look through the peephole, I nearly shriek when all I see is the top of a head with braids dangling over a pair of shoulders.
Flinging the door open, I squeal when Riley, with a huge smile across her face, swings forward on her crutches and hugs me.
“I thought you were getting out tomorrow morning!”
“These two busted me out,” she says, nodding back at Ben and Jimmy.
“Come in, guys, I’m almost ready.”
“You’re gonna sit with us, right?” Riley says, moving past me, while the boys seem more hesitant, but then follow her.
“Yeah,” I say, “I have to do family dinner after, but, like, obviously.”
“Uh, yeah, my dad was invited and he’s making me go too. No offense.”
“None taken. I’m glad you’ll be there with me.”
“Same,” she says. Then she asks, innocently enough, “Is Brayden sitting with us now?”
“Uh, no, probably not.”
Riley shoots me a questioning look that I ignore, twisting the bracelets at my wrists as a distraction.
Jimmy checks his phone. “We’re waiting for Freddie too. He said he’s coming and will meet us in the lobby,” he says, but he’s looking at me when he does.
“Oh, okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, but failing spectacularly.
The hotel’s lobby is always bustling, but with the competition today and then another one tonight, it feels like Fenway before the Sox play the Yankees.
We spread out over two chairs and a couch, watching the people come and go, while I ask Riley about when her surgery is scheduled and how long the doctors think she’ll be out, when finally, the elevator dings and Freddie steps out with Georgia and Harry right behind him.
We stand up, and his eyes find us almost immediately, but then he stares in shock, mouth open at Riley.
In a few long strides he’s across the lobby and pulling her up into his arms. His relief is palpable and my chest pangs at the sight.
They look right together, and I suddenly feel so guilty I want to sob an apology to Riley right here in the middle of the hotel lobby.
Riley can’t walk to the arena, obviously, so we grab two cabs. Ben holds Riley’s crutches for her; she slides into the car and then he follows.
“We’ll get the next one,” Jimmy says when he notices there’s no more room.
The three of us squeeze into the next car with me in the middle, even though Jimmy is shorter than me, and I find nearly one side of my entire body pressed up against Freddie.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“Don’t mention it,” he says, sending me a shy smile, and I tilt my head in confusion.
Is he flirting? Even after what happened last night?
Why is all of this so confusing?
The ride is short, and we make it in through the entrance used by the athletes, coaches, and media easily enough while the lines of fans wrap around the arena.
“There you are,” Elisa says when we’re inside, and I blink at her. It doesn’t sound like she’s happy, either, though what the hell she could be angry about is totally beyond me.
“Guys, give me a second. I’ll meet you at the seats.”
“You’re sitting with them?” she says, and even though it sounds like a question, it’s not. It’s a judgment.
“My friends. Yes. What do you want?”
“Charles wanted to talk to you about an interview he needs you and Brayden to record.”
“And you thought you’d remind me?” I ask, like that’s some sort of smart comeback.
Elisa rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Adriana.”
“Fine, I’m going to sit with my friends. Tell him that we’ll record it tonight after pairs.”
“Will do,” she says with a shrug, before turning on the heel of her brand-new Dior boots and walking away.
· · ·
Katya and Gillian don’t even come close to medaling, but that doesn’t mean we don’t cheer our heads off for them as they skate through their programs. What I’m most interested in, though, is one of the Russian skaters.
There’s a girl skating with a quad axel, one of the first women—actually, she’s barely thirteen—to attempt the skill.
That’s four and a half rotations and she doesn’t quite get it around, but it’s a close thing and she stays on her feet.
And she’s not the only junior with a quad jump.
I almost wish I was sitting with Elisa, to get her reaction.
She didn’t win a medal in Beijing and now she’s got this crop of juniors coming up behind her who can jump like that. It’s wild.
“I bet I could do a quad,” Riley mutters, and all of us turn to her in horror. “Bad joke, sorry! Too soon?”
Shaking my head, I laugh, and so does the rest of the group.
“Come on,” I say as the crowd starts to thin out. “We’ve got, I don’t know, is this even dinner, or lunch? It’s like three o’clock?”
“Whatever it is, it won’t be hospital food, so I am in,” Riley says, and we say goodbye to the boys.
It turns out it’s the same restaurant Freddie and I stumbled into the other day, and the ma?tre d’ even recognizes me. I flush, wondering if he remembers how dinner ended, but he says, “Ah, mademoiselle,” as Dad gives his name for the reservation. “Bienvenue.”
The group looks at me, but I shrug and smile blithely. Camille’s eyes narrow, though, and as we’re led to a table, she ends up next to me.
“You’ve eaten here before?” she asks. “Would that be the other day when you disappeared for hours and nearly made me call the metro police to find you?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” I whisper, making sure Riley can’t hear me. “Freddie and I walked around a bit and we ate here. Nothing crazy.”
She slides into the seat beside me and with Riley on my other side it’s one of the nicest family dinners I’ve had in a long time.
I haven’t eaten much all day, so I don’t hesitate to order the coq au vin and savor every bite. I even take a picture of my meal and tag the restaurant in it when I post. The least I can do, with my nearly five hundred thousand followers now, is give a shout-out to an awesome restaurant.
Dessert is on its way when Dad turns to Charles and asks, “And how are the negotiations with Nike proceeding?”