Chapter 6 Hannah
SIX
HANNAH
Sixteen months later
“That was weak, Hannah. Your posture is collapsing.” Justine, my coach, gives me a pointed look from across the ice, and I acknowledge it with a sharp nod. “Engage your core and fix it.”
“Got it,” I say, bending to tighten the laces on my right skate. It’s easier than being the focus of her attention. “The next one will be better.”
“Hey.” Tierney Paige skates up to me. My best friend tosses one of her box braids over her shoulder and puts a hand on her hip. “You normally land that part of your program perfectly.”
“Not today.” I roll my shoulders back. Anxiety sits in the pit of my stomach. I take a deep breath, but it feels like I’m swallowing knives. “My entry sucks this afternoon.”
“Want me to take a look and give you a different perspective?”
“And interrupt your day? Nope.”
“It’s not interrupting when I want to help. Do it again.” Tierney gestures at my spot on the ice. “Let’s see if we can figure out what’s throwing you off.”
I fight back a smile. She’s invested now, and her persistence is one of my favorite things about her. “Fine, but only if you don’t make fun of my weak core.”
“Says the girl whose skating resume includes a gold medal at the World Championships and two silvers at the U.S. Championships.”
“That was years ago. I haven’t medaled since.”
“We both know a weak core is the last thing you have.” She snaps. “Do an upright spin, please.”
I don’t want to spend more time on a move that feels impossible, but she’s giving up her time to help me get my shit together. It would be stupid to not take advantage of it, and I give her a nod.
I begin the program at the top, nailing all of the early elements. My double Axel is perfect, and my triple Lutz is even better. I push into my layback, the upright spin I prefer the most, but my right ankle wobbles. I lose control of my edge, and I can’t stop myself from collapsing on the ice.
A little girl in a pink tutu and pigtails passes me, wrinkling her nose when she sees me on my ass with a knee that’s not nearly as bruised as my ego.
“Well. This is a new level of embarrassing.” I blink up at the fluorescent lights above me. “That’s one of the first technical components I ever mastered, which means I’m falling apart.”
“You’re not falling apart.” Tierney offers me a hand and I take it, letting her pull me up. “The good news is it’s an easy fix. Your calf isn’t parallel to the ice and your knee is angled when it shouldn’t be.”
“I’m in my head.” I fix the pink ribbon tied in my hair and hook my thumb over my shoulder. “Which means I need to tap out early. The last thing I want is a broken ankle.”
“Want to grab lunch and get your mind off things?”
“Please, but we should hurry. Coach is shooting daggers at me, and I don’t like being on the receiving end of her anger.”
Tierney giggles. “At least she’s nicer than Coach Bellamy was. Remember when she made us do MITF testing for an entire three-hour practice? Everyone else had dropped out, and we were the only two who survived all those turns, steps, and edges.”
I smile.
I could never forget.
We’re both from Florida, and we became fast friends as the youngest ones in our first skating class twenty years ago.
After Grant was drafted by the Stars, I moved to DC with him.
I knew the training in the area was significantly tougher than down South, and I had big dreams I wouldn’t be able to accomplish unless I broadened my horizons.
There’s almost always a skater from the Atlantic region on the podium at the U.S.
Figure Skating Championships, and since I’ve been here, I’ve kept that tradition alive.
When I told Tierney about the caliber of talent in my club, she moved to DC too. I quickly learned grueling training is more tolerable when your best friend is on the ice with you.
“The good ole days.” I skate to my bag on the bleachers. “She told us we were the only people she deemed worthy enough to continue training with her.”
“If she wasn’t good at her job, I would’ve stopped skating years ago.”
“Same. Now look at us: you’re one of the best skaters in the world, and I’m a has-been happy to cheer you on.”
“Stop.” She laughs and pinches my cheek. “That’s enough self-deprecation for today.”
“Fine. I’ll go back to being optimistic.” I smile and drop on the bench, stretching out my legs. I wipe the smudge away from the toe of my skates and slip soakers over the blades. “Where do you want to eat?”
“How about that Thai restaurant near your apartment? They make the best Tom Yum Goong in the city.”
“You’re speaking my love language. Did you drive today?”
“Yeah.” Tierney adjusts the bag slung over her shoulder. “Do you need a ride?”
“I drove too. Meet you there in twenty?”
“Last one there has to pay the bill,” she says, but I know she’s kidding.
Her brother, Jamal, is an NBA player who was traded to the DC Bullets two seasons ago.
Having siblings who are professional athletes means they cover a lot of our expenses, even when we try to fight them on it.
Every other week I have a Venmo notification letting me know Grant sent me money I didn’t ask for.
Payback for all the nights you sat in that shitty college arena that smelled like death and cheered me on, he said when I refused the first check he handed me. I have more than enough money. Take it so I know you’re looking after yourself.
I do my best to think about the long-term instead of the things I want to buy right now.
After paying my coaches, I put most of Grant’s contributions in a savings account where most of my earlier competition earnings sit.
The content I create for social media performs well; the short clips I film of myself skating rake in a couple thousand dollars a month.
The sponsorships with Edea and Gatorade bring in money too, but from a competitive standpoint, it’s been a rough stretch of time.
“You don’t stand a chance, T.” I grin, popping to my feet. “I’ve always been a sore loser.”
Thirty minutes later, I slide into the booth across from Tierney with a scowl.
“I had to park two blocks over because of construction and I got catcalled by a group of douchebag finance bros. Today blows.”
“Men.” She shakes her head. “Always such a disappointment.”
“Cheers to that.” I reach for the water waiting for me and take a sip. “Thanks for giving up some of your afternoon so you can commiserate with me about my shitty skating skills.”
“I wasn’t going to bring it up, but since you did…” Tierney rests her elbows on the table. “Are you ready to tell me what’s really going on with you? And don’t try to bullshit me. I know when you’re lying.”
I hesitate. It would be easy to blame the way I’ve been out of sync on a sore ankle or a situation happening in my personal life, but Tierney is the most supportive person I know.
She’s been there for me through everything; a friend before I made it big and a friend who sees me as someone she loves, not as her competition, and lying about how shitty I’ve felt lately isn’t fair.
“I’m going to tell you something that’s scary to admit, but the more I consider it, the more I think it might be true.”
“You’re freaking me out, Han.”
“I’m… I’m pretty sure I’m suffering from burnout.
” I pause and rub my thumb across my bottom lip.
“Skating has been my entire life for as long as I can remember. I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything else, but lately…
” My exhale is heavy. There’s an ache behind my ribs that’s been persistent for weeks.
Dread down in the brittle of my bones. “Lately, it feels like a chore. I don’t look forward to practice.
I’m drained all the time. When Coach tells me the things that are wrong in my program, I’m overwhelmed by trying to figure out how to fix them.
And honestly? I just don’t care like I used to. ”
“Oh, sweetie.” Tierney stares at me. “How long has this been going on?”
“This time around? About four months.”
“It’s happened before?”
“Unfortunately. But I broke out of the funk.”
“What helped stop it last time?”
My mouth snaps closed.
Last time the cure was Brody Saunders and the orgasms he gave me, but that will not, under any circumstances, be happening again.
That night is locked away inside a vault. Ironclad, impenetrable. I don’t play it back. I don’t daydream about it. I don’t let myself wonder how differently it could’ve gone if Riley hadn’t gotten hurt.
It’s sealed off. Closed up and finished.
Lately, though, I’ve found myself thinking about Brody when I’m lonely and confused and debating what the hell happens next in my life.
It’s not because I miss him. God, no.
I’ve never relied on another person to be my source of happiness, and he’s not going to be the first.
I just… I can’t help but hope he’s okay.
I’ve seen him from a distance at games and he’s looked fine. Intense in his coaching. Meticulous in the way he studies his whiteboard before giving his players orders. A playoff run last season despite the challenges the Stars faced.
That night… the way he left… it wasn’t him. At least, it wasn’t the him that I saw for the hour prior. The one who knew I skated and told me he had been thinking about fucking me for months.
His departure hurt at first. I took it personally.
I’m not justifying his shitty behavior and the ask for me to pretend like the whole thing didn’t happen, but the more time that’s passed, the more I get it.
He was scared. Grieving preemptively for a loss he thought was coming, and it was never about me.
I would’ve bolted too.
The flowers he sent the next day helped soothe the sting.
A big bouquet. Dozens and dozens of roses that match the tattoo on the back of his hand.
No note, but I knew who they were from. An apology, an acceptance he can’t change what’s done, but he can better about not being a total dick going forward.
Brody was right that night, all those months ago. There isn’t a world out there where a thing between the two of us could ever mean more than sex, but I can’t deny the impact he had on my skating.
I was doing well in the aftermath of our hookup.
A silver medal at the Eastern Sectional. A pewter medal finish at the U.S. Figure Skating Championships after a weak program, but the excitement has faded. That same discomfort creeps up when I lace my skates, and this time, I don’t know how to fix it.
“Something that’s impossible to replicate.” I shove away the thought of his palms exploring my body. That rose tattooed on the back of his hand and the brush of his fingers against my jaw. “I’ve been tossing around the idea of stepping away from skating.”
“You’re going to retire?”
“Maybe temporarily? This sport is all I know, and the longer I go through a rough patch where my technical work is shit and I’m unmotivated, the more obvious it’s becoming I need to figure out who I am away from the medals and pressure of constantly preforming at such a high level.
” I sigh. “I need to fall back in love with skating, and that’s not going to happen if I keep pushing my body to do things it doesn’t want to do. ”
“Okay.” Tierney scoots her chair closer, taking my hand. “How are we going to do that?”
“Ah. Another question I don’t have the answer to.
” I laugh and lace our fingers together, grateful for her.
The knot of tension I’ve been carrying with me for weeks starts to unravel the more I share, and I’m glad I was honest. “The first order of business is dropping out of Skate America. After that? We’ll see. ”
“Drop out? You’re projected to place in the top spot for the women’s singles. Everyone is saying it’s your comeback, and—”
“I’m not happy, T. What good is an attempt at another medal if I’m miserable trying to earn it?”
“Fuck. You’re right. I’m sorry for suggesting otherwise. Forget about the medals and rankings. Besides the burnout, are you doing okay mentally? Being an athlete is such a fucking trip, I swear to god. And the comments on social media? It’s a hellhole.”
I swallow. I’m not ready for the backlash I’m going to get from fans when I announce my decision to pull out of next month’s competition.
The rumors will fly. There will be speculation.
I’ll have unwanted attention on me, but disappearing into oblivion without so much of a word about my absence isn’t fair to the people who spend money to come and watch me skate.
“I might need to disable comments on all my Instagram posts,” I say weakly.
“I did that years ago, and I’m much happier. Do you want to take a weekend away? Jamal has a game in New York on Saturday. We could get courtside seats. Find a hotel room overlooking Central Park and order room service.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer when things slow down in the new year. As for being okay… I’m not okay, but I’m also not not okay. Does that make sense? I’m a work in progress.”
“A work in progress is still something to be so proud of.” She glances at me. “You should tell Grant what’s going on. I know their season just started so you think your shit isn’t as important, but it is. Promise me you’ll give him a head’s-up?”
“Fine,” I relent. “I will. But I know how it’s going to go: he’ll try to fix the problem because he’s a people-pleaser who doesn’t like when his loved ones aren’t happy. Which is unfortunate, since I’m not sure I can be fixed.”
“You’re unbreakable, Hannah Everett. We’re going to figure this out.”
I fumble with my water glass in an attempt to stop the tears that are threatening to fall.
Unbreakable is the last thing I am. Cracked and fragile and absolutely clueless about where I go from here is a more accurate description of my current life.
I’m so far from the girl I was five years ago, back when magazines wanted to take my picture and people packed into arenas to watch me perform, but deep down, I feel it.
The glimmer of hope. The flicker of optimism, and maybe there’s a solution out there I haven’t considered yet.
I just have to find it.