Chapter 18 Raven
RAVEN
Ifling myself at Foster the second I come off the ice. Still panting from exertion, adrenaline pumping through my blood, I feel floaty and lightheaded. I go to him without thought or hesitation, and he closes his arms around me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The arena is quiet as we wait for the officials to compute my final score for this event. The wait is usually agonizing, but right now, I feel like I’m on top of the world. I competed in the Olympics! And I did well. Not the best. But damn good.
“I’m so proud of you,” Foster whispers in my ear, his palm rubbing circles on my back.
I should pull away, but I melt into him, letting myself catch my breath, surrounded by the security and safety he provides.
I wish I could scent him, but his blockers are doing their job.
I’m sure he smells amazing, something manly and woodsy to go along with the massive, muscular arms holding me with care.
Looking up, our gazes lock, and I’m surprised by what I see.
There’s a sparkle in his eyes that speaks of pride, admiration, and possibly even…
love? Well, maybe not love—that’s probably just wishful thinking—but something more than strictly professional feelings.
“Raven Alexandra Novak!” Coach Ana hisses under her breath, her tone causing me to startle and turn away from Foster’s heated stare. “People are watching.”
Oh, shit. I wasn’t thinking about the optics. Foster is my bodyguard, not my boyfriend. My show of affection for him is fodder for the gossip mill, and goodness knows the omega detractors don’t need anymore ammunition.
I shouldn’t be showing my omega proclivities when I’m trying to prove that we aren’t any different from other athletes. Even if I’m touch-starved and alpha-hungry. And even if the other betas—and the alpha—who performed before me all hugged people after their set.
I jump back from Foster and throw my arms around Ana. Maybe being extra excited with everyone will help? What do I know?
I hug Harriett, my publicist, next for good measure.
“Good idea,” Harriett whispers. “But let’s avoid throwing ourselves at alphas in the future, if you can.” The last part is said with a touch of condescension I try to ignore. “You have an image to maintain. Hmm?”
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” I try to laugh off the reprimand. “I was just excited.”
“You shouldn’t be.” Coach Ana pulls me out of the line of the camera, dropping her voice. “The landing on your double axel was sloppy, and I thought we agreed you’d do a triple.”
“We did, but—”
“You’ll have to do one tomorrow if you want a chance at medaling.” Coach looks like she wants to say more, but then the announcer’s voice booms through the arena, preparing to announce my scores. We all look up to the screen in anticipation. I wring my hands in my lap.
“I punteggi per Raven Novak dagli USA…”
The announcer's voice is loud but I cease hearing him as my scores finally flash on the screen. My heart sinks like a lead balloon.
Technical Elements: 34.91
Presentation: 32.67
Deductions: -1.00
Total Segment Score: 66.58
Not good enough.
Coach narrows her eyes at me, and I feel two inches tall under her steely gaze.
“As soon as they clear the arena, I’ll see if we can get some extra practice time. You obviously need it,” she says, then walks off, presumably to talk to whoever she needs to in order to arrange that.
I slump down onto the bench, my muscles still shaking. Foster looks over at me, checking in, and I give him a weak smile, wishing I could go back and freeze that moment when he held me. I could use that comfort now.
Instead, he squeezes my shoulder, urging me to stand so we can leave the box as the next program starts.
His grip is firm as he guides me through the crowd, his alpha presence radiating enough power that other alphas and betas alike avert their gazes and step out of our way when we pass.
An omega whine tries to creep up my throat, but I force it back down and drop my face to stare at the ground.
That is not a weakness I can allow anyone to witness. Not here.
Coach Ana was right, I should have attempted the triple axle to up my technical difficulty score.
I just wasn’t sure I could nail the landing, so I played it safe.
But this is the Olympics, not some regional event back home.
At this level, you have to take big risks or you’re guaranteed to go home empty handed. I need to be better. I can be better.
After the press conference, I’ll head back to the arena. Coach Ana will get me extra skate time come hell or high water. That woman is a shark when it comes to getting what she wants.
Foster’s hand leaving my shoulder pulls me out of my panic spiral, but when I look up, we’re not at the media tent as I expected.
“What are we doing back at the dorm? We’re supposed to give a post-skate interview. And Ana wants me to practice for the free skate. Foster, we have to turn around. I need—”
“What you need,” Foster cuts me off with a growl, “is to rest. Fuck the press and fuck practicing tonight. Your body and brain are being stretched past their limits, Raven.”
A warm feeling settles in my chest, swiftly followed by the cold fingers of panic and dread. “No, you don’t understand. I’m fine. We can just go back to—-”
“No.” Foster’s voice is stern, just shy of a bark.
When he feels me stiffen, he takes a deep breath then tries again, his face softer than before.
“No, principessa. It’s my job to protect you, and tonight, that means no press, no interviews, no extra skating.
Tonight, we’re going to go upstairs and take some time for you.
You’re going to take an extra hot shower to release some of this stress.
Hell, stay in there until the warm water runs out.
Or don’t. I don’t care what you do as long as it has absolutely nothing to do with figure skating or the Olympics. ”
“But…” I protest one last time, but it’s weak even to my own ears.
“Cucciola. They call these the Olympic games. It isn’t a matter of life or death. Nothing truly unsalvageable will happen if you play hooky tonight. Okay?”
A ball of stress I didn’t realize I was carrying seems to crumble off my shoulders. I take stock of my body, my mind. I’m tired of appeasing everyone. I’m tired of the interviews and the outings and the criticisms. I’m just fucking exhausted.
I look up into Foster’s dark brown eyes and smile softly. “Okay.”