CHAPTER 15
Troy
THE WIFI NEVER works here.
I want to quit, so damn badly. But now I know I can’t.
Ana can’t win.
Not like this.
And, ice dancing?
I know I’m partially to blame for the mess we’re in now, but no one gets under my skin like she does. It’s as impressive as her skills on the ice.
Turns out the dye was, in fact, temporary. After the rink, I got home, and with the help of an oil-based shampoo, I managed to remove all the bright green ink right off. (Of course, Ana strategically chose to withhold these details from me when I confronted her earlier).
A notification pops up on my phone from the ice rink in Wisteria, the small rink five miles outside of Faerieladle. Before I have the chance to read the message, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
Turning around, nerves pool in my stomach at the middle-aged woman whose curly hair is always done up. Mrs. Waterhouse. The chatterbox of the town.
“Troy, oh,” she gushes, “I saw Karl’s team play last weekend and just found out about the college news! How exciting.” She presses into my cheeks with her red-manicured fingers. The woman still doesn’t know a thing about boundaries.
“Yeah, we’re really proud of him.” I offer an easy smile.
“I’m sure.” She drops a sigh full of longing. “If only Daphne was here to see her beautiful boy all grown up.”
And there it is. The icicle that pierces right through my skin, doesn’t feel numb, no matter how many years it’s been.
I don’t know what’s worse. The rehearsed look of sympathy plastered on her face. Or the fact that more people ask about my mother now that she’s dead than when she was alive.
But this is routine. And Mrs. Waterhouse will leave this café, forgetting about our conversation. And I will try to do the same, except without success.
So I press the icicle down, hoping it thaws away the reminder, as I reply the way I always do, “I know.” Nod. Nod.
“Oh, how selfish of me!” She presses a hand over her lips. “She also missed Dimitri’s and your achievements. The Stanley Cup, the Winter Olympics, wow. It makes me awfully sad whenever I’m reminded.”
I think Mrs. Waterhouse needs a freshening up on the definition of “selfish.”
Genuinely having no clue how to respond to her invasive remark, relief floods through me when the barista calls her name.
Luckily, she receives a phone call before she has the chance to strike up another conversation with me.
She slips on a pair of flashy brown sunglasses as she approaches the exit, waving a carefree goodbye my way before she finally leaves.
I stare down at my phone, feeling empty and heavy at the same time. The unilluminated black screen reflects back at me as I struggle to remember what I came here for.
Whenever the mention of Mom comes up, I can’t bounce back from it easily. My mind drifts off into a void of flashbacks from the past. And when her name’s mentioned, it’s a twist of a knife.
My phone buzzes, cutting off the vicious cycle. It’s the owner of Wisteria Rink:
Shane: We're excited to have you as a coach in the
fall! You don't know how thrilled everyone
is. See you in August. Have a wonderful,
summer, Troy
Me: Thanks, Shane. Happy to join the Wisteria
team soon. Hope you have a great summer as
well
My heart sinks when my dad’s name pops up at the top of my screen but then scoff once I open the message.
No hello or anything. Just a link to check-in for my boarding pass for Greece.
Not expecting a greeting, I also wasn’t planning on receiving vacation updates for a trip I still don’t want to go on.
Out of pure guilt, I reply with a simple thanks.
Probably since I’m well aware how Dad doesn’t know I’m going to be a temporary coach for the preliminary ice skaters (at a rink where the family dynasty has no affiliation with).
I suspect he’d kill me after he found out. That would be family name treason.
No sports reporters or media publicists pay visits to the still relatively unknown ice rink, so if Dad’s not finding out from me, he’s definitely not getting any info from the typical gossip culprits.
I’m tired of secrets, but since Mom’s death, my father made it clear that our world would be built off just that.
_________
Between the turn of skating events from this morning, my encounter with Mrs. Waterhouse, and Dad’s message, a moment alone at the coffee shop and positive well wishes from the other rink wasn’t enough to reset my mood.
So I decide on the one activity that solves most problems.
Skating.
Nothing lets out my steam like an intense free skate. Practicing without the expectation of competing. When that pressure isn’t there, those are the moments I’ve picked up on a thing or two on the ice. It’s funny how those same moves then come to your advantage when it’s time to compete.
As I’m slipping on my thermal, I spot the gold medal that rests beside the TV in my room. Not the Olympic gold medal, but the faux gold medal my mom bought me at a gift shop when we attended the Winter Games in Sochi, a year before she passed.
My baby, that’s going to be you, one day, she had told me.
Mom loved the Winter Olympics. The Games were as valuable to her as the World Cup is for soccer fans and the Super Bowl is for football fans.
She’d wait restlessly every four years to see which figure skaters would be crowned the highest titles in the sport that she’d closely followed the years prior.
But she admired every level, from the most elite athletes to the preliminary skaters competing at local winter showcases.
If there was a figure skating tournament she knew about, Mom wouldn’t miss it.
The thought once came to me, why she never started skating, and when I asked, she smiled fondly at me, saying she knew the thick skin it involved, the hard work it took to pave your path among the greats, and explained how she was always a fan, first.
The roaring sidelines was where she felt at most ease watching her favorite sport, while she cheered on newcomers alongside title-holding legends.
The pain in my chest fuses with the bittersweet. As much as skating will always remind me of her, the ice is also the one place I forget about everything but skating.
The pain itself is just bitter. Pain I feel inside from her absence. Then pain I feel for her.
It's not the competitions she’s missed. College news. The Stanley Cup. The Winter Olympics.
She didn’t get the chance to enjoy her life.
And that’s the worst part.
_________
I feel my skates scrape along the ice that’s in desperate need of resurfacing. Performing a triple axel like this is probably a terrible move, but the tempting distraction it’d give me ultimately wins over.
Getting in my starting position, I reach halfway across the ice, the cold air pressing against my cheeks, as I build the momentum through the air. The high—quite literally—of those spilt seconds your feet aren’t on the ice is fucking incredible.
It’s the weekend and summer, so hardly anyone else is here, most likely just Dean and the custodian, Todd.
Catching my breath, gliding across the opposite side of the rink for a round two, a loud megaphone almost makes me trip over my skates. “Shit,” I mutter.
Peering over at the bleachers, I spot Xavier sitting in his dressed up clothes.
I skate over to the gate, stepping off the ice.
“Next time,” I say, approaching him in the stands, “you could maybe wait until I’ve stopped skating, yeah?”
“If I hadn’t done that,” he defends, “you wouldn’t have stopped until Todd kicked you out.”
And shit, he has a point.
So I shrug like and?
“C’mon,” Xavier announces, gesturing toward the exit, “we’re going out. It’s bar night.”
“I was just out.”
“When?”
“Your party.”
He lets out a scolding kind of laugh. “You mean the one from two weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
“As your best friend, I advise you to spend more time out. Preferably, time that involves you not leaving back to your place alone.”
“This is, what? Your third time trying to get me in bed with someone.”
“You’re making me sound so sleazy.”
“Just telling you how you sound.”
“Well, if that’s what it takes, I’ll keep that burden. Go take a shower, and then we’re going out.”
“I have to wake up illegally early tomorrow. I’d rather go home.”
“You wouldn’t ever miss bar night. What happened to you?”
My best friend shakes his head, bringing the back of his hand to my shoulder with reprimand like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
And he’s right.
Troy in undergrad wouldn’t even miss one party. Now it all feels routine. Meet someone. Small talk. Fuck. Get bored of each other. Then repeat.
The sex part sounds more appealing tonight, though.
“Give me an hour,” I say.
_________
It’s not long before I lose Xavier once Lauren strolls through the front door of Bailey’s, Faerieladle’s go-to bar and restaurant.
With or without my friend’s presence, it’s still probably best that I agreed to come tonight—to take advantage of my last two days of peace.
Before they’ll be consumed day and night with her.
Sitting at the bar, I spot Violet’s friend, Natalia, at a small booth across the room and notice her eye me with a flirty glint in her gaze as my lips touch the cold rim of my beer bottle. I smoothly divert my attention elsewhere, not wanting to give her any.
Friend to Violet equals trouble. No matter how hot the trouble presents itself as.
Turning to my right, a platinum blonde with icy blue eyes slides into the barstool beside me and asks, “I hope this seat isn’t taken.” The smile she gives me is playful, and I’m quickly more intrigued.
“How can it be when I was saving it for you?” I say.
Damn. That was terrible.
“Smooth.” I barely hear her chuckle. “I’m Astrid.” She extends a hand out toward me.
“Troy. Nice to meet you.”
_________
I wasn’t expecting to end up in my car with the woman I met not even three hours ago. Or to have my cock pumping in and out of her mouth, while she’s kneeling in the passenger seat of my Porsche. But after our mutual eagerness and two are you sures, here we are, both spent and satisfied.
“You have such a good cock,” Astrid moans around my wet shaft, pulling her teeth between her lips in arousal.
I might sound like a total douche to admit this but she’s not the first girl who’s said that to me.
The ladies like what I have I guess.
And they’re usually not subtle about it.
Take now, the girl just met me and already has her hand tucked shamelessly between her legs, while she sucks on me with reckless abandon, her gaze locked to my hips through each eager tug from her mouth, giving these soft whimpers when she reaches my swollen cock head.
Astrid finally releases me from her lips once she’s stirred the exact reaction she was hoping for, licking my come off her fingers happily.
It’s been a few months since my dick got this kind of attention, and now it’s greedy for more. Much more.
I watch Astrid push her half-naked weight above me again with hunger in my eyes, while my palms search for the curve of her ass. Pulling in for a second round, she lets out a pant, reeling her hands to my shoulders.
“I really should be going, I’m already super late.” She giggles when I pout. “But this was a lot of fun. Really.”
In a soft motion, she grinds her hips over mine as I drag my lips against her bottom lip, tugging on it with the kind of adrenaline that could last the whole night.
When I let go, she lifts herself up before slipping each of her ankles back into her red lace thong.
My cheek feels a final kiss, while she unlocks the door, making me groan at her early departure.