Chapter 49
FORTY-NINE
SIERRA
WHEN I WOKE up to a good morning text from my boyfriend, it worried me.
Dylan usually sends a picture—him in bed, in the shower, or cuddling Kian’s kitten.
But today, he texted me a good luck for my exam, and he had a bouquet of yellow lilies delivered to my dorm.
The note simply read: I love you. What threw me off was that he got them delivered, by some freshman who looked like he was forced into it.
I know Dylan, and he’d never pass up on the chance to immediately reap the benefits of his romantic gesture.
So, after my forensics exam, I head up the front steps of their house with two of my favorite carb-loaded pre-performance meals in hand.
But as I’m using my key to get into the house, the door’s yanked open, taking my key with it.
That’s when I see Summer. She smiles, giving me a quick hug and a so proud of you before descending the steps to sprint to the truck.
Aiden bursts through the front door just seconds later. “Summer!” he yells after her. He’s still in his boxers and doesn’t seem to mind the bitter chill or the frost he’s barefoot on. The truck roars to life, and my gaze ping-pongs between Summer’s glare and his smile.
“Did she just steal your truck?” I ask, watching as she pulls out of the driveway.
“It’s basically her truck now.” That seems to be the only reaction he has to that. “Are you here to see Dylan?”
“Yup. Today’s the big day.”
“Congrats on everything. And good luck tonight, we’ll be rooting for you two in the stands,” Aiden says with an oddly stiff smile.
I enter Dylan’s room, and that’s when I step on the full-grown man on the floor.
“Ouch! Are you wearing cleats?” Kian hisses, then he stands with Whiskers in his arms, stretching with a loud yawn.
“I’m wearing socks.” I put the food on Dylan’s desk. “Why are you sleeping in here?”
“Just worried about D—” Kian stops abruptly. He glances at Dylan’s empty bed, then around the room until he hears the shower. He sighs inwardly. “W-worried about … having nightmares,” he finishes.
“You get nightmares?”
He nods. “We watched The Ring last night. Guaranteed nightmare-giver.”
When I notice a pair of crutches against the wall beside the bathroom, my heart plummets. Just seeing them takes me back to after my surgery, when I used crutches for a week. Seeing them brings me back to the cool air on my raw skin as the hospital gown billowed around me.
“Whose crutches are those?” I ask, my voice shaky.
The mattress squeaks when Kian drops onto it. “Mine!”
“Yours?”
“Yeah, can you pass them? My ankle hurts from all that standing.”
I hand them to him, feeling the cold metal like a distant memory under my fingers.
“I hurt my ankle after our game last night. I’ll be okay though.” Kian blinks so rapidly it kind of freaks me out. “It’s just a sprain. The doctor said he—I—will be fine with some rest. But he—uh, I—can’t play,” he stammers, tripping over his words.
The bathroom door opens, and Kian lets out an audible sigh. Dylan’s already dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and sweats, socks and all. It’s the first time I’ve seen him fully dressed before leaving the bathroom; he usually rummages through his closet in a towel or stark naked.
“Hi, baby.” Dylan walks over, and presses kisses to my forehead.
“You didn’t tell me Kian got injured last night,” I say.
Dylan cuts a serious look to his best friend. “Yeah, sorry, it was late when we got back from the ER. Didn’t want to worry you.”
I look back at Kian. “You think you’ll still be able to come to our performance tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” He smiles. “Even if it kills me, apparently.” He aims a glare at Dylan. The two of them seem to communicate something, but I don’t try to decipher it. Sometimes, it is just better to smile and nod when they’re together.
Then, as Whiskers tries to escape from Kian’s hold to go to Dylan, I remember the tiny bag I stuffed into my purse. I pull it out and give it to Kian. “I made you and Whiskers matching hats. Thought you might like them.”
Kian blinks and pulls out the tiny green one first. “You made us Shrek ears?” There’s a quiver in his voice. He glances at Dylan like he’s pleading, but Dylan stares blankly. Kian swallows. “Thank you, Sierra. I’m sorry.”
I furrow my brow. “Sorry for what?”
“We should probably eat,” Dylan interjects. “Lidia texted to meet early.”
I stare at them a second longer but step away to grab our food. “I bought extra. I’ll get us some plates.”
And as I’m heading out the door, I hear a smack, and Kian grumbles.
WE DROVE TWO hours to the venue. My parents were already in the audience, and Dylan’s sister and mom came too, because I invited them. I couldn’t help but notice how Dylan wasn’t acting like his usual self. He looked distracted.
“No matter what happens out there, I know that this is where I’m supposed to be, and who I’m supposed to be with,” I say, more as a reminder. I’m not sure what’s bothering him, but I want him to know where I stand.
Dylan raises his brows. “That’s a big deal coming from you.”
“Because I mean it. No matter what.”
“Win or lose, Romanova, you still got me.”
We’re watching the skaters finish their routine to a Coldplay song when I notice a man talking in front of the light of a camera. “Dylan,” I say. “Tell me that’s not who I think it is.”
He follows my line of sight, as I gawk at the man in a full suit and microphone. The one I’ve been watching on TV for months.
Dylan chuckles, sounding a bit hoarse. “Oh yeah. Surprise.”
“Surprise?” I smack his arm. “You got the weatherman to host the competition?”
Dale Thunderman is talking into his mic with a camera crew in front of him. He gestures back to a group of fans, then pulls a kid to interview from the crowd. There’re women in the corner fanning themselves as if we aren’t near a huge slab of ice. But I get it, because I might fangirl too.
“Honestly, it didn’t take much persuasion,” Dylan says. “Weathermen aren’t really a hot commodity, babe.”
“Pfft. I bet he could pull more girls than you,” I say.
One corner of Dylan’s lip quirks. “Yeah? Does that list of girls include you?”
I roll one shoulder. “Depends.”
He narrows his eyes. “On?”
“Whether this girl is taken.”
Now he’s full-on smiling, and I relax seeing him back to how he should be. “Baby, there’s only one girl I want to pull, and after she spends the next four minutes in every angle imaginable, we’re going to do it all over again in my room.”
The mouth on this man. “Naked?”
“So naked.”
I lift a brow. “You sound so sure.”
“Because I am. You’re with me and only me, Sierra. There’s no one else I’d be with on or off the ice. We’re partners. Forever.”
“Sounds scary.”
He intertwines our fingers. “Sounds like us.”
I smile. “Remember when you asked me what gets me out of my head?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s you.” When my lips meet his and my hands cup his face, I feel it—his skin is cold and clammy, almost like he’s nervous.
He’s behaving like I do before a performance, jittery and unsure.
But ever since our last competition, my nerves have faded.
With him, skating feels more like a thrill than a source of anxiety.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly, sitting beside him on the bench, waiting for our turn.
He lifts our entwined hands and presses a gentle kiss to the back of mine. “I’m perfect.”
“All right,” Lidia says, crouching in front of us.
“We’ve practiced, we’ve bickered, we’ve given me migraines that get stronger each day, but we’re here.
You two have been the toughest pair I’ve ever coached, but that made it worth it.
Whatever happens, I’m proud of the phenomenal team you’ve become in such a short amount of time.
Now go show them what you’ve worked for. ”
Dylan and I glance at each other. This might be the sweetest speech she’s ever made.
“If we hug you, are you going to kill us?” I ask.
“Of course not, Sierra,” Dylan answers instead. “She’ll just make us do our free skate nineteen times.”
Lidia rolls her eyes and pulls us both in for a tight hug. Then when our names are called, she pulls back, and I swear I hear her sniffle.
We glide to center ice, me as Rapunzel, Dylan as Flynn, complete with that stray lock of hair falling over his forehead and my short hair. He rests his hand over my steady heart, and I place mine over his. To my surprise, I feel his pulse racing. Before we begin, he mouths an I love you.
The music starts, and each lift is strong.
But when we do a synchronized spin, my smile falters because Dylan winces.
I try to see what’s wrong, but he hides it well under his perfect smile.
Each lift is flawless on the outside, but I notice the smallest, most minuscule tremor in his hand.
For the next three minutes, I push the questioning thoughts away, but a part of me wants to stop, to make sure he’s okay.
I know he wouldn’t even bat an eye if we lost. But I wonder if he knows I’d do the same.
Every part of me is in this because he’s with me, but skating would never come before him. Not ever.
His smile falters when he meets my eyes, and my heart sinks.
Despite that, he snaps back to focus, and when he lifts me in the exact position that I fell all that time ago, there’s not an ounce of fear in me.
The crowd seems to hold their breath, and Dylan hoists me up in a reverse one-armed lasso, and we execute it to perfection.
Back on my skates, we descend into our closing routine, and when we’re back-to-back in our end position, we’re both breathing hard.
We glide off the ice, and as we move to the kiss-and-cry for our scores, I don’t even care to look, but when we’re ranked first, a wave of relief hits me because Dylan smiles. He holds me tight, and for a moment, I want to stay like this. Then he pulls away, and tells me he’ll be right back.