Chapter 21
GUS
Rafe was a beautiful skater.
Obviously, I’d known that already. I’d watched him practice, I’d seen the jumps, twists, and turns with fancy names I never got straight. I mean…what the hell was a Lutz?
But I’d never seen Rafe perform in costume with music he’d chosen. It was…unforgettable.
We had a fifteen-minute window before training began. Lights were dimmed, and my only job was to push Play on Rafe’s cell and attach it to the portable speaker I’d brought from home. He skated quickly to center ice, struck a pose, hands on his hips, gave a brusque nod, and closed his eyes.
I recognized the song immediately…something older from Coldplay with an ethereal vibe. “Fix You,” I think. It was pretty.
We’d had long conversations about the importance of choosing the right tune to set a mood.
He liked classical music—Verdi and Vivaldi were favorites.
I couldn’t tell them apart, to be honest. That usually led to a minor lecture on the structure and arc classical composers embodied in their work.
According to Rafe, the best contemporary music was selected for emotional impact and power that would hopefully be reflected in the performance.
Rafe raised his hands, opened his eyes, and began to move.
His arms spread wide, he tore across the ice, nearly tipping backward like a bird stretching its wings before soaring into the night sky. And that was exactly what he reminded me of in his dark trousers and the nearly sheer top that shimmered and glittered like falling stars.
Rafe gained speed and jumped, and for a heart-stopping moment, he hung in the air…then began to spin. He landed seamlessly, smiling as he took off again.
I clapped like a maniac, mesmerized by his strength and beauty and raw talent. Christ, figure skating was like…athletic art.
His friend Celine had told me in passing that Rafe was a gifted choreographer with a reputation for incorporating a whimsical signature to required elements.
“If he’s in the zone, he’s unbeatable,” she’d said.
“Did he tell you that he was hand-picked by the coach at Dartmouth? I’m sure he didn’t.
Rafe doesn’t brag much, and he should. That was a big deal.
He’s won some impressive awards. People know who he is, and I don’t think he realizes it. My boy is the real thing.”
I could see it. Rafe’s confidence grew with each stride and complicated twist. Amazing. So fucking amazing and so—
“Who are you?”
I gave a quick sidelong look at the pudgy, white-haired man with a Russian accent who’d sidled next to me, his attention fixed on Rafe. He was one of Rafe’s coaches…I knew that much. “I’m Gus, Rafe’s…roommate.”
“The hockey player. The captain of the team. I’ve heard of you.”
“Ah.”
“You have a reputation for liking a good time.” A statement of fact delivered with a slice of judgment. “You like figure skating too.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered and hoped he’d move on. “Yeah. Rafe’s pretty damn good.”
“He is extraordinary,” the older man agreed in a monotone. “He could be a household name one day…if he continues to work.”
The music swelled in a crescendo. A triple twist, a leap, a sitting spin and slowly…he stilled. And I will fix you.
I grinned, forgetting the older man as I whooped and cheered for my…friend, my lover, my…person. Rafe bowed and laughed, resting his hands on his knees. I saw the moment he noticed his coach. His smile dimmed and he glanced away.
I should have been pissed at the little guy’s timing, but it hadn’t spoiled the show for me. Rafe was, as he’d put it…extraordinary.
The Russian remained stoic. He didn’t applaud, and his expression didn’t crack. He just stared and pivoted to face me.
“You see, yes? It’s good.”
“Try great,” I corrected, my gaze wandering to Rafe on the ice.
“Greatness will come, but not in Smithton. It’s too small, too…typical. I hope you know that and will not get in his way. You are not a good distraction.” His lips twitched in a condescending tilt before he turned on his heel and walked away.
I instinctively opened my mouth to protest and tell the meddling asshole where to shove it. Who the fuck was he to judge me? He didn’t know shit.
But he knew Rafe had a big dream and that someone like me would only slow him down.
“So…what’d you think?”
I pasted a goofy grin into place and swept Rafe into my arms as soon as he stepped onto the mat.
“I think you’re magic.” I whispered into his ear and kissed his cheek. “Fucking magic.”
Two days later, Rafe found out that he was on the roster for the US Collegiate Figure Skating Championships.
He sat on his unmade bed with his hand over his mouth, staring at his phone in shock.
“Did you win a year’s supply of raw milk or M&M’s? I can’t tell if it’s good or bad, ’cause your face is doing this…” I pulled a silly expression that didn’t remotely resemble Rafe, but was good for a laugh. “And this…”
Rafe chuckled and held up his cell. “I made it.”
“Fuck yes, you did!” I body-slammed him onto the mattress and kissed him as he wriggled and howled with laughter. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m serious. You came back from the brink and made it happen. You. You did this. I fucking—”
“You fucking…what?” he prodded, wrapping his arms and legs around my waist like an octopus.
“I fucking think you’re pretty fucking great.”
And this from a future English teacher. It wasn’t my finest, but Rafe smiled, and that was enough.