Chapter 25 Isla
Isla
Abuzz follows Spencer and me as we walk through the rink where the John Nicks Pairs Challenge is being held.
“I hate this,” I mutter.
This attention is half the reason I took a break from the sport, exhausted by the backlash from the end of my partnership with Sebastian. He rested the blame at my feet, and everyone accepted his narrative.
“Ignore them,” Spencer says as we continue toward the dressing rooms.
“I’m tryin—Fuck.”
My head whips away from where I spot Sebastian and his new partner, Gloria Pellerino, lingering in the lobby, talking to a group of people I don’t recognize.
“What?” Spencer asks, his head turning to find the source of my concern.
“Don’t look,” I hiss.
But it’s too late, I already hear Sebastian’s voice growing louder until it’s my name escaping his mouth. “Never thought I’d see you competing again, Isla.”
My hand tightens on the strap of my bag.
I knew he’d be here, but no amount of preparation could stave off the inferno of rage coursing through me.
Sebastian had been my partner since the beginning of my pairs career.
We started at the bottom and climbed through the ranks.
We celebrated holidays together. He brought me to tears from laughing with his impressions. He was my best friend.
But as I stare at him, I can’t muster an iota of positive emotion. He ruined our partnership, trashed my name, and tainted my source of joy in this world because he couldn’t have me in the way he wanted. I wish I never had to see him again.
“That tracks,” I say sweetly with a condescending smile. “You never were the best thinker.”
Sebastian scowls, the olive skin of his face devolving into harsh lines. The public rarely sees his true self, but I witnessed it every time we hit a bump in the road in our skating career. He hooks a thumb in my direction and asks Spencer, “Regretting your decision yet?”
“Not for one second,” Spencer replies, gripping my hand in solidarity.
It’s the worst gesture he can make in front of Sebastian, who lusted after me for years. Sebastian’s beady eyes lock in on our hands as pure hatred pours from his gaze.
“This guy?” Sebastian barks at me. “You give it up to this guy? He’s not even a real fucking man.”
The noise around us cuts out, leaving a foggy static. I don’t realize I’m stepping toward Sebastian until Spencer places one leg in front of me, blocking my path.
“Not worth it,” Spencer whispers, wrapping his arm around mine. He leads me in the direction we were headed before this unfortunate run-in. “Okay? Let’s go warm up.”
“Best of luck to you both,” Sebastian calls in a mocking tone.
Spencer’s grip tenses on my arm. “He’s not—”
“Fuck you,” I whisper-shout, glaring at Sebastian over my shoulder as Spencer hustles me through the doors that lead to the locker rooms.
“Feel better?”
“Actually, yeah.” I point behind him, in the general direction of Sebastian on the other side of the wall. “How does that not bother you?”
Spencer shrugs. “He means nothing to me, so I don’t care about his opinions. Don’t let him have that control.”
“I don’t, when it comes to me, but he’s not allowed to shit-talk you.”
He throws his arm around my shoulder. “Aww, Isla, that’s so sweet, standing up for my honor like that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, shoving against his side.
Over the next couple of hours, we prepare to compete, which involves spending an inordinate amount on my hair and makeup, and Spencer painting his nails, trading off black and pink.
After Coach Linden gives us her version of encouragement, we don’t talk.
Spence and I listen to music through our earbuds as we wait to be called to the ice.
I keep my eyes shut, not wanting anything to distract me as I mentally walk through our short program over and over in my mind.
A shoulder bumps into mine, and I jolt into reality.
“It’s time,” Spencer says.
I scan the crowd until my eyes land on Wes sitting beside Thea and Brooks.
Challenger events are smaller in size, and this venue has less seating than most, so it’s easy to spot them.
Brooks told me that he arranged for the three of them to fly together.
I’m dying to know what that experience was like, but Wes and Brooks have gone radio silent to allow me to focus.
“Please welcome, representing the United States, the pair of Isla Covington and Spencer Davidson,” the announcer booms through the speaker system.
I give a wave to our cheering section as Spencer and I skate toward center ice holding hands.
We slip into our starting poses—our backs to each other, peering over our shoulders.
Spencer smiles widely at me, while I purse my lips in an unimpressed expression.
Our short program music starts, and I skate away from Spencer as he chases after me.
Wes
I hold my breath as Spencer and Isla perform a series of twists, flips, and leaps that both dazzle and terrify me.
I’ve seen them practice these elements a hundred times at my rink, honing them to perfection.
As far as I can tell, they’re perfect today.
The crowd whoops as Spencer spins Isla in a circle around him.
She’s radiant as she stretches her body to its full length and arches her back.
Isla glimmers as she moves, her one-shouldered black skating costume with silver slashes of color catching the lights from above.
The routine is winding down, the music reaching a crescendo as they approach their final element.
They skate backwards toward the center of the ice, Spencer behind Isla.
Their left hands clasp over her head, while their right hands link down at their sides.
Spencer squats, then lifts Isla crossbody, spinning mid-air until she’s positioned behind his head, legs out wide, her free hand straight out to her side.
And then everything goes to hell.
One moment, Spencer holds Isla in place with one hand clasped with hers, and the next, he’s unsteady on his feet, swaying from side to side like he’s losing his balance.
“I think it’s his skate blade,” the woman beside me murmurs.
A collective gasp rips from the audience as we watch Spencer and Isla crumble to the ground in a tangle of limbs. I’ve seen them fall together countless times, but never like this. Blood gushes onto the ice, but it happened so fast that I can’t tell who’s hurt or how they became injured.
“What happened?” Brooks jumps to his feet, one hand over his mouth.
Thea grips my arm. “Are they okay?”
We watch as medical staff rush onto the ice and tend to them. I wait until they start guiding them off the ice, and then I’m on my feet, sprinting toward the exit.
“We’re right behind you,” Brooks calls as we maneuver our way through the crowd and break through the rink doors into the hallway.
“Where are they?” I bark at the first person I see in a neon vest that reads “Event Staff.” He rears back, taking a step away from us. “The skaters who got hurt. Spencer Davidson. Isla Covington. Where will they take them?”
“We’re family,” Brooks clarifies, smoothing over my roughness with his charming smile. It’s strained at the edges, but he’s better than me at trying to pretend he isn’t losing his mind with worry.
“Follow me,” the man says.
My heart pounds as we follow him down the hallway.
We’re forced to wait outside the room for a few agonizing minutes until the man leads us inside the medical room, where Spencer sits on a table as a medical professional threads a stitch through the skin of Spencer’s forehead while he stares at his phone.
“Uncle Spencer!” Thea calls, rushing to his side.
“Damn, that looked nasty. Stupid skate blade,” Spencer says, cheerful as ever, waving his phone at us. Video of their fall has already made it onto social media. Isla’s going to hate this.
I glance around the room, searching for her, but she’s nowhere in sight.
“She took off once she knew I was okay,” Spencer says, reading my mind.
“What do you mean she took off?” I ask through gritted teeth.
Spencer turns toward me, forgetting the stitching in progress on his forehead. The doctor grips his chin, keeping him in place. “Isla isn’t hurt. She’s got some bruising and a few scrapes. They checked us both for concussions, and we’re fine.”
I let out a relieved breath that she’s not hurt until the rest of his words register. “You let her leave?”
Brooks snorts. “You don’t let Isla do anything. I figured you’d know that.”
“She could barely look me in the eyes,” Spencer explains. “She blames herself for what happened.”
“Did she say where she was going?” Brooks asks.
“No, she left in a daze. I tried to talk to her, but…well, what Brooks said. She said she needed space.” He points to the other side of the room. “She left her phone, so she couldn’t have gone far.”
If I know Isla as well as I think I do, I know exactly where to find her.
“You’re good, Spence?”
“Oh yeah, this is all cosmetic. Brooks and Thea can watch over me.”
I turn to Brooks.
“She’ll want to see you,” he says, knowing my question before I put voice to it. “Take care of her.”
“I will,” I say with one definitive nod.
I snatch her phone off the table and leave the room.
I roam the venue for the next five minutes searching for stairwells.
The first one I find is empty on both floors.
I walk the length of the building for what feels like an eternity, ignoring other skaters and event personnel, until I stumble upon another set of stairs.
I rip open the door, and there she is, sitting on the ground, still in her figure skating costume covered by a loose gray zip-up hoodie.
It looks like one of mine. I didn’t realize she had it.
Her legs are pulled into her chest, arms hugged around them.
Dark makeup stains the skin beneath her eyes from the tears.
Fuck, I hate seeing her distraught like this.
I drop to my knees in front of her. “Hey, hey, hey, you’re okay.”