Chapter Four
“Looking good,” Coach Camille shouts from the side of the rink, her shrewd gaze never leaving our synchronized movements as we fly past her. “Keep that core tight, Pippa.”
I barely acknowledge her as I engage my stomach muscles, the tension in my body like a loaded spring, ready for bursting, I’m sure Evan can feel it through our clasped hands. Less than two weeks until our second Grand Prix. Two weeks to nail a routine that will give us a significant boost in our ranking if we win. Not a mere 0.87 advantage.
“I get that she said tight, but Jesus—” Evan huffs a laugh and wiggles his fingers. “Ease up with the grip.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, clenching my jaw but relaxing my hold. Tighten, loosen, tighten, loosen. Nothing is ever right.
“ Perfect, that’s better, Pippa. Much better than how you started this week,” Coach yells, and I haven’t missed that she hasn’t given Evan any pointers once this whole practice. “Okay, one more loop and then into the side-by-side triple Lutz.”
We take off around the rink, our blades matching stroke for stroke, and then I start counting in my head, syncing my breaths to the numbers. Three…two…one . We drop hands and launch into the air at the same time. My eyes flutter shut as we spin, fast and weightless above the ice, and my heart almost skips a beat. Perfectly matched, perfectly centered, rotating as one until I hear the snick of one set of blades hitting the ice, followed by the other.
Shit. I know I landed first, a mere millisecond before Evan, and I look at him, my eyes wide, silently screaming. He scrubs a hand down his face, hiding the smile I know he’s fighting to contain.
“We almost had it.”
“I did have it,” I say through gritted teeth. “ You were out of time.”
He shrugs. “No one would have noticed that. And if they did...” he pauses, his nose wrinkling like it isn’t a big deal as we continue skating in unison. “A half-point at most deducted.”
“We can’t afford a half point.” Frustration coats my whisper. “Half a point could be—”
“Pippa, you were early on the takeoff,” Coach cuts me off, her words creating a greater chill than the ice beneath me. “Remember, lift after the one, not on the one.”
Evan slips his hand into mine again, his touch warm and reassuring as my arms shake with barely controlled rage. Me? I was early? Why is it never Evan? Why wasn’t Evan the one who was slower off the ice? Since this routine was choreographed, I’ve run through it every night before falling asleep and every morning in the shower. I practice it alone when I go home for the weekend. I—
“Let’s try it again, and I will count you in this time so you can hear the timing,” she adds. We get ready to set up the jump just as her phone rings. “Actually, take five, okay? I need to get this.”
She disappears down the shoot and into the locker rooms, and I snatch my hand away from my partner.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I snap. Coming to an abrupt halt, ice shavings wash over Evan’s boots and ankles. “I was fine. You were the one who was off.”
“She was going to make us do it again, regardless of who was at fault.”
I stab a finger into my chest. “But it wasn’t me.”
“Why does it matter?” He chuckles, the sound light and easy, but it slowly dies as he regards my face. Itching the back of his neck, he sighs. “Coach Camille only wants to make us better, Pippa.”
“No, she wants to pick faults in everything I do, Evan. This isn’t about making us better. This is about...” I trail off, the same damn insecurity rearing its ugly head, making me doubt everything.
His heavy exhale casts a plume of fog in front of him. “I know, and I’m sorry. I should have stood up for you.”
“Whatever,” I say with a shake of my head. “I just keep thinking we need to do something different. I’ve watched Skate America daily, and I can’t figure out how the Canadian team beat us. We were flawless, Evan, but still came second.” He frowns, and I push off on one foot, the blade effortlessly gliding across the ice. Chewing on my lip, I turn, letting my momentum carry me backward as I look at him. “What would you say if I said we should switch up the order of our routine? I think we should follow the triple Lutz with a triple toe loop.”
Evan swallows, his face unreadable until he barks a laugh, his blue eyes crinkling at the sides as he grins at me. “Yeah, and while we’re at it, why don’t we put our skates on our hands and compete upside down.”
“I think it’s what could take us from second to first place at the next competition.”
His entire face drops, eyebrows knitting together as he realizes I’m not kidding around with this. “Pippa, for that to work, we need to execute it perfectly. No mistakes. And even then, if we managed it—”
“It will get us a higher score with the judges.”
Skating to the open rink door, he walks across the rubber mats toward a wooden bench, dropping on top of it and reaching under for his water bottle. I follow him, leaning against the boards and watching as he thinks it over. Right now, our routine is strong. We know it like the back of our hand, but something inside my head is screaming it’s not enough.
“If you want to mix things up, I don’t mind changing the order, or maybe we could do a more advanced version of the death spiral. What if—”
“No,” I snap. “Evan, we need something to stand out from the others. We need something that will make the judges speechless.”
“I'm pretty sure we’ve already left them speechless, considering we brought home silver,” he says, pointing his bottle toward me with a knowing look. “If we tried that and it went wrong, imagine how pissed you’d be when we end up with major deductions rather than a 0.87 margin? Pippa, there’s nothing wrong with our current routine. If we keep practicing, keep scoring second place...”
“Second place isn’t good enough,” I shout, my voice echoing around the rink.
He rears back, his mouth turned down at the sides. “Since when?”
“Since it’s not first, since it’s not gold. We should be winning. We should be better than everyone else, Evan. I should be better.”
Sympathy softens his features, and a lump forms in my throat. “Babe...”
“Don’t,” I croak, swallowing hard to dislodge it. “You know we’re better than this, Evan.”
“We’ll make it to the U.S. Championships… If that’s what you’re worried about,” he says gently, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “We’ll perfect the triple Lutz and get our precision on point so that the whole crowd will think they’re watching one person. We’ll...”
“I’m not worried about the U.S. Championships,” I say with a conviction and desperation that leaves me exposed. “I know we’ll place well there. I know we will get on that podium. It’s the Olympics I want, Evan. And that means every competition counts.”
When I bring home the gold for my country, no one will ever doubt me again.
“I know, Pippa, believe me, I know. But coming second in our first skate of the season is fucking amazing.” I let out an exacerbated huff, and Evan scrubs a hand through his hair. “You just want to give a big metaphorical finger to the person who wrote that magazine article last week.”
I freeze, my fingers coiling around the edges of the boards, and for once, I am extremely grateful for the gloves covering the knuckles I know will be white.
“I didn’t see it,” I lie, shrugging my shoulders. I can feel the weight of Evan’s stare as I pull myself toward the door and step onto the matting surrounding the rink. “I just think we’re better than we give ourselves credit for.”
“Babe...”
I hate that one word has the power to make me feel so vulnerable, like he can see into the deepest parts of my soul. The parts I hide from everyone. There is no need to get to know the rich girl. We already know what she’s like. Sitting beside him, I tug at my laces to redo them, my eyes laser-focused on my task. “If we add in something more difficult—”
Evan grabs my shoulders and twists me to face him, his hands sliding down my arms to take mine in his. “I know you've seen the article.”
I bite back a shiver, the cold wood under my butt creeping through my leggings. “How?”
“Skylar found it in the trash and told me.” I’m about to roll my eyes, when Evan tugs sharply on my hands. “Hey, she’s only looking out for you.”
I glance away and look down at my knees. “That could have been anyone’s magazine.”
He huffs. “You are such a bad liar. Who else would tear off the front page and crumble it in a rage before tossing it away?” Urging me to meet his gaze, he squeezes my fingers. “Skye also said she heard you and Molly arguing before practice, too.”
“She’s just a little tattle-tail, isn’t she?” I scoff.
Evan smirks. “Nah, she’s got a soft spot for me, so she will do whatever I ask her to do.”
“Which is?”
His grin widens. “Let me know when people are giving you shit.” He hesitates, screwing up his mouth as he considers his next words, ones I suspect I won’t like. “Specifically, when Molly is giving you shit.”
I glare at him. “I’m a big girl. I can look after myself.”
“I know that,” he agrees. “But I also know that the bullshit written in those articles gets stuck in your head.”
He tries to tap my temple, but I slap his hand away.
Groaning, I let my head tip backward. “I was just having a shit day that day, okay?” I straighten, knocking my skate against the leg of the bench. “And yeah, maybe I thought if we did something different, it would stop assholes from writing about me. At least for a while.”
Evan barks a laugh and pushes to his feet. “Babe, you’re Pippa- fucking- Cartwright. You’re always going to be written about. It’s only worse now that you’re a success in your own right, not just your father's. But it’s not just you. The second you start winning is the second people will have something to say about it. Whether that’s good or bad, it’s up to you how much power you let their words have.” He stretches out his hand and hauls me onto my blades. “I mean, if I read every negative thing the press said, or worse, my so-called friends sold to magazines when I started, I’d never get out of bed.”
“I know,” I concede, following him back onto the ice. “Didn’t help though that you made a name for yourself in the community as the biggest man-whore to ever man-whore.”
He dusts off imaginary lint from his shoulder. “When you are this good-looking, why keep that just to one person? It’s my civic duty to share the love around.” I roll my eyes this time, and he skates beside me, bumping his hip into mine. Leaning over, he kisses my cheek. “Fuck the haters, Pippa. Now come on, what other ideas did that pretty little brain of yours come up with?”
“Really?” I ask, picking up speed, the cold air stinging my cheeks.
“Sure, why not? But not what you first suggested,” he muses. “Let’s get the landing for the Lutz as clean as possible and we can think about how to make our routine better, okay?”
I reach up and pull at my hair, tied tightly in a bun, my bones rattling with frustration.
“But we’ve got Coach Camille,” I implore him. “And as much as she might be getting on my last nerves right now, she is the last person I've seen flawlessly execute that combo in the past ten years.”
He makes a sound like he’s thinking about it. “Okay, we’ll ask her.”
“Ohmi—” I squeal.
“But if she doesn’t think we’re ready, we’re not doing it, okay?” he interrupts, but nothing he can say dampens my excitement. He grabs my hand and pulls me after him, laughing. “C’mon, let's try to ace that landing before she comes back.”