Chapter 22
The crush in the lobby is immediately too much.
There are too many people. Too much noise.
Too much light. This party is basically for me and I can’t stand to be there for one more second.
I duck my head and make for the elevators, smiling and nodding at everyone who greets me along the way, but not stopping.
I fold my arms around my middle while the elevator’s floor number runs down from four to three to two to one and then finally the doors open.
There are people gathering behind me. So much for a private elevator ride where I can sob to my heart’s content.
When the doors open, I step in and immediately move to the back, pressing myself into the corner, hoping they don’t notice me.
They’re wearing bemused expressions, like they weren’t a part of the massive crush of a party, so my shoulders relax a little bit.
They won’t recognize me. They’ll have no idea that I’m Adriana Russo of the Kellynch Russos and that I shouldn’t be upset or angry right now.
That I should only be feeling joy and accomplishment and all the other things that go along with winning a gold medal.
“Quatre, s’il vous pla?t,” I say in my best attempt at a French accent and one of the men in the group presses the fourth-floor button for me and I’m relieved to see they’ll be getting off at two.
We ride in silence and they leave without a word, and as soon as the doors close behind them, I feel the tears burst forth like a tsunami. There’s no way to stop it or choke them down.
I shouldn’t have to threaten my father with public embarrassment in order to keep him from stealing from me. Because that’s what it would be, even though he would never see it that way. It’s entirely fucked up and it’s my family and there’s nothing I can do about it except cry.
Twice in one day.
Probably some kind of record.
Those were happy tears, but these?
It’s not only sadness. It’s frustration and disbelief and anger at my own disbelief because how could I be so naive to not see any of this coming?
Blindly, I tread down the hallway and unlock my hotel room door before shutting it behind me and bolting it. Maria’s at the party. She won’t be back for a while, but I definitely don’t need her to see me like this. She wouldn’t be able to handle it.
And that’s fucked up too, because even after all of this, I’m still thinking about what my family needs and wants before me. It might actually be good for Maria to see what Dad and Elisa think is important, more important than me and very likely her as well. Money and prestige. That’s it.
I’m not really sure why I assumed anything else mattered, but I won’t make that mistake again.
Lesson learned.
I step into the room and kick off my shoes and my foot lands on something, a small packet of paper I can’t really make out as I lean forward in the dark.
Patting the wall beside me for the light switch, the small hallway that leads into the main part of the room is suddenly lit in a warm golden glow from the ornate sconces that sit on each wall.
It’s an envelope, a pretty thick one, with my first name scrawled across the back.
“What the hell,” I mutter to myself, like I’m Alice wandering around Wonderland. I roll my eyes, again at myself, and then laugh.
Well, at least I’m not crying anymore.
Picking up the envelope, I move into the room and sit down on the edge of my bed. My name is printed across the back in handwriting I haven’t seen in years but recognize immediately.
It’s Freddie’s.
He left me a letter…about what?
I’ll never know unless I read it.
Taking a deep breath, I slide a finger beneath the seal, and it pops open.
There’s a small card tucked inside with a recipe written on it.
It’s for coq au vin and the card is embossed with the logo for the restaurant we went to the other day.
Thought you could try this when you get back home is scrawled in the corner of the card in Freddie’s precise handwriting.
A teardrop rolls off my cheek onto the corner, smudging the ink a little.
He noticed I liked it, and what? Went back to ask the chef for the recipe, even back when he thought Brayden and I were together?
I struggle to pull in a breath as a tsunami of affection crashes over my heart.
I…I love him so much. What the hell am I going to do?
I glance down at the envelope and there’s a thick sheet of paper still folded inside of it. Pulling it free, I see it’s a piece of hotel stationery with the same handwriting neatly covering every inch of space.
Dear Adriana,
I’m writing this letter before you go out on the ice and skate, completely confident that by the time you read it, you’ll be a World Champion.
You were always meant to be standing at the top of the podium because you’re the hardest-working person I’ve ever met, not to mention the best skater I’ve ever seen.
You’ll probably deny that. You’re already listing all the skaters who have superior skill and technique in your head. Stop it. None of them are you, so to me, all of them fall short.
You’re probably wondering what this letter is even about, why I’m writing and if you should keep reading.
I hope you will, but I understand if you don’t.
This is my third draft and I hope I’m able to finally put down exactly what I’m feeling, but I’ve given up on making it much more than just a ramble.
So here it is, the truth. My truth.
When Georgia told me that we’d be training at Kellynch before Worlds, I was furious.
In fact, I’m not sure that fully covers it.
But I was terrified too. I was so scared that going back to the place where my world crumbled out from underneath me would destroy everything I built in the last two years.
That it would destroy the person I’ve become.
I learned to live without you in my life and it pissed me off that you were being forced back into it.
I tried to pretend, pretend that being around you didn’t eat away at me, pretend that not only was I over you, that I was stronger and happier and better, even, than the decimated sixteen-year-old who left Boston heartbroken and never looked back.
I wasn’t wrong. I was right to be afraid. The layers I buried my old self under were peeled away, every day, every hour until I couldn’t hide from it anymore just by being near you.
I know I made you feel like maybe I still resented you. That I blamed you for making the choice you did. And then you confirmed it the other night and it’s been driving me nuts ever since.
Maybe I did blame you, at first. I’ve been stewing in that anger and resentment for years.
It’s what fueled me. It’s what got me out onto the ice every day.
It’s even what made me first ask Riley to be my partner.
She was as different from you as I could find, in every way.
She looked nothing like you, she skated nothing like you.
And it worked, for a while. It let me see who I could be without you and it turns out that’s a pretty damn good skater and, when I’m not being blinded by jealousy, a decent partner.
I failed Riley, in more than one way, and I’m determined not to fail her again. I’m going to be better. For her.
Which is why I have to tell you how I feel, how I really feel, because I need to be honest with myself.
I’ve been in love with you since I was ten years old.
I might not have known what to call it back then and up until a few days ago I would have denied it with my dying breath, but that’s the truth.
I love you.
I always have and I always will.
I tried to stay away from you. Tried to just ignore you and avoid you and I failed. I’ve never been happier to fail in my life because I think that maybe I’m not alone in this. That maybe everything I’m feeling, you’re feeling too.
Maybe this is the coward’s way out, leaving you a letter like this, not facing you and telling you, but I know I’m probably crossing a line here and you’ve probably moved on, but if there’s the slightest chance, I can’t leave it unsaid.
A look or a word will be enough to let me know if I’ve read this all wrong or if, somehow, I’ve read it right, but no matter what you decide, I’ll respect it.
Love always,
Freddie O’Connell
I release a long breath because I held it the entire time I was reading.
He loves me.
He’s always loved me, even when he tried to convince himself to hate me.
Just like I loved him, even when I tried to convince myself I was over him, when I tried to convince myself it was okay that he was over me.
We’re such idiots.
And yet, even though this letter is everything, even though all I want to do is run out of this room and find him and kiss him, I can’t do that. He must not know how Riley feels. Though, how can he not?
And suddenly, I know what I have to do. I need to talk to Riley, right now. I’m going to tell her, be totally honest and whatever she says, that’s what I’m going to do, because I owe her that much at least. Both Freddie and I do.
Pulling out my phone, I go to text her, only to see that there’s already a message from Riley waiting for me.
Where are you? Everyone wants to celebrate with you!!
I tuck the letter inside my suitcase, burying it under my clothes, splash some water on my face, fix what’s left of my makeup, and then head back down to face the crowd.
This day has been wild, but I’ve had way worse, and right now it feels like anything is possible because I’m a World Champion and Freddie O’Connell loves me.