Chapter 19
NINETEEN
SIERRA
“YOU TWO ARE going on a date,” Lidia says.
I spit out my water, slapping a hand over my mouth.
My eyes dart to Lidia while Dylan’s gaze sears the side of my face.
I wipe the water off my pink zip-up that I wore to trick Lidia into thinking I was turning on my “green light.” That was a talk she had with me every year because body language and appearance says everything, and mine was telling everyone to fuck off.
She’s not wrong.
“Joking around doesn’t really suit you, Lidia,” I say.
She narrows her eyes. “When have I ever joked?”
“But we should be using every second we have to skate; there is no way that’s your solution.”
Dylan hasn’t said a word, and the silence is making my ears itch. He should be opposing this just as strongly as I am. The last thing we need is more time together.
Since I spent most of practice avoiding eye contact with him, it takes me a good while to meet his gaze. He catches my attempt to get him to take my side, but he must suck at reading facial cues because he says, “I think that’s a great idea.”
My jaw drops, and Lidia appears surprised too.
“Not the date part,” he clarifies, and I relax but not before a tiny beelike sting pokes me in the chest. “We can have another chemistry read as we practice. On the ice this time.”
“Chemistry isn’t the issue. That was made very clear during our mat sessions.” She says it like she wants to roll her eyes. “Now that I’ve heard both of your tired excuses … get changed, we’re going on a field trip.”
After our prickly practice last week, Lidia has made it her mission to get Dylan and me on the same page. On the ice we work well together, but there’s a layer of unease that lingers in our routine, and after Dylan pointed out that it’s coming from me, the practices have been shitty.
I’m used to falling, but it’s when I’m hauled over his head that panic hits.
It’s not the pain I’m worried about, because I barely felt it that night.
All I could think was that I’d left a sparkling solo career to train with Justin for four years just to end up on the fucking floor.
I was furious. I used to obsess over skating fail compilations.
I’d study the mistakes, practice the moves, and know it could never be me. It was never supposed to be me.
I stare at the skates I’d meticulously laced before practice, then glide behind Dylan to the gate. He clicks on his guards, hands me mine without a word, and holds open the gate for me before heading to the locker room.
Outside the arena, we get into the back of Lidia’s red Toyota Yaris.
I tried taking the passenger seat, but she didn’t unlock it.
Dylan stood with the back door open for me, and I tried to squeeze myself as far over as I could, but her seat was filled with boxes and boxes of spare skates, outfits, and foam rollers.
There’s a first aid kit by my feet and mini orange cones that we use for drills.
The lack of space leaves Dylan’s huge body crammed right next to mine, and our sides stuck together like glue.
As he manspreads like he owns the back seat, I knock my knee into his, but he doesn’t move and instead knocks my knee back. When I roll my eyes, I spot Lidia watching us from the rearview mirror with a slight shake of her head that makes me straighten.
She drives for so long, all my lost sleep from the week starts to catch up to me. The heater turned up to the max doesn’t help either. The feel of Dylan’s body, the heat, the low hum of classical Russian music coming from the radio all blend together to weigh down my eyes.
It feels like hours have passed when I wake up only to find my head resting on a warm shoulder and the car parked in some deserted area on the side of the road. I spring up, to find Lidia on her phone, yelling at someone, when her eyes meet mine in the rearview.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Ms. Romanova,” she says deceptively sweetly, carelessly tossing her phone on the passenger seat. “For the passengers that were awake, we’ve been dealing with some road bumps.”
I glance at Dylan, then curse myself for doing it. He’s so quiet it tricks my brain into thinking he’s even more attractive than he already is. Something about him not running his mouth does it for me.
“What kind of road bumps?” I ask.
“One that punctured my tires, and another that got your cooking class canceled.”
Dylan lets out an amused breath.
“Cooking class?” I ask. “You thought us being around sharp knives and fire was a good idea?”
“Kinky,” Dylan whispers, speaking for the first time since I used him as my personal pillow.
“If you had the option, and didn’t use it, that would be a win. But they had a gas leak,” she says. “So, we’ll postpone, because even with the terrible cell service I was able to call a tow—” A horn beeps, and a red Roggi’s tow truck parks in front of us.
The driver comes to Lidia’s window, and she manually cranks the lever. “You guys can hop out. My truck only has room for one though, so I can’t give you all a ride.”
“I told you on the phone there were three people,” Lidia argues.
The man scratches his long beard and pulls at the collar of his stained coveralls. “Poor reception, ma’am. We barely got your location.”
“I’ll call an Uber,” Dylan suggests.
The driver lets out a hearty laugh. “You won’t get the bandwidth for that out here. We could barely make out Lidia’s call. But there’s a bus stop half a mile out.”
Lidia shakes her head, and the man seems to shrink. But then her blue eyes light with something new. Like an idea. Oh no.
“Perfect.” Lidia smiles. “You two, get out.”
“What?” Dylan and I say in unison.
Lidia simply gestures to the door.
Dylan seems like he’s still got more to say, but to save us from the wrath that follows, I push him to get out of the car. His gaze catches mine, and he must see the fear on my face because he reluctantly opens the door and lets us both out.
There are times that I’ve thought Lidia’s gone insane, but this one tops them all. The man tows the car and gets it all strapped in before opening his passenger side door.
“Lidia, we don’t even know where we are. Plus, there’s no service,” I try to reason, watching her pull her coat tighter around her and tame her hair as it whips in the wind.
She roughly pats my cheek like I’m dumb. “That’s what teamwork is for, devushka.”
There it is.
Dylan shifts behind me, letting out a soft sigh as he gazes up at the sky. As if I want to be here.
“Kysh! I’ll see you two on Friday,” she says, and climbs into the tow truck. The driver seems to pity us, and I wonder if he’d let us just hold on to his bumper.
“Lidia!” we call in unison, but all it does is make her plastic smile fade into a sharp glare she shoots us through the window, the kind I’ve never dared to mess with.
The pebbly dirt road crunches under the swift speed of the tires, and I watch the red truck drive away with the tiny red car with the Figure Skating Federation of Russia sticker on the rear window.
There’s a lot of ways I imagined today going, but being stuck in the middle of nowhere with Dylan Donovan isn’t one of them.
The bushes and trees surrounding the area dance in the wind, and I hug myself a little tighter.
I forgot to check the weather network today.
Dale Thunderman would be so disappointed.
“Now what?” I say, turning to stare up at Dylan, who only gives me a brief sidelong glance before he starts walking. “Hey!”
“What?”
“You don’t even know if this is the right way.”
“Well, since I was the conscious one on the ride, I was actually paying attention to the road.”
Those words keep my mouth shut, and I let Dylan take the lead.
When we’ve walked for what feels like miles, I start to worry that I’ll have to find a dry patch of grass to sleep on tonight. Based on the length of the drive, I’m assuming we’re either in Andover or Georgetown.
Just when I think this trek can’t get any worse, a drop of rain lands with a cold splash on the tip of my nose. My thin leggings and zip-up barely shield me from the biting wind, and now the rain soaks my cold skin.
“This is a nightmare,” I mutter.
Dylan seems to find it amusing, because he chuckles, shaking his head as he quickens his pace. I hurry to keep up with him.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
The caustic tone makes me stop to pull on the sleeve of his hoodie. “Tell me.”
“Don’t,” he replies in that deep, rumbling voice. My hand drops from the hoodie, but for some twisted reason, it only makes me more determined to drag out whatever he’s holding back.
“Don’t pretend to spare my feelings, Dylan. Say what you’re thinking.”
He shakes his head again, and the sardonic smile on his face remains firmly in place. The wind whips around us, and the sun begins its slow descent toward the horizon. Rain-soaked strands of my hair cling to my face, and I’m pretty sure a few leaves have tangled in there too.
“Say it.”
“Sierra,” he warns.
“God, you are insufferable!”
That makes him stop so abruptly that the side of my body collides with his and I stumble back.
The dirt from the makeshift path smudges my white shoes—at least, I hope it’s dirt.
But I can’t focus on that. The slow turn of the irritated man in front of me suggests I should be scared, but something about his darkening gaze makes me stand straight and hold my chin up.
No matter how scathing his glare may be, I won’t let him see me weak.
“Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re the only one on this team we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”
“Me? Are you kidding?” I shout, straining to be heard over the torrential rain that lashes down on us now. “You haven’t done a single thing to make this feel like a partnership.”
“And you have?” he retorts.
“You act like you don’t want to be here, and I’m not in the business of begging people to stay.” Nothing could force me to do that again.