CHAPTER 78
Troy
“WHEN WERE YOU planning on telling me?”
My father shoves a stack of papers in front of me before I recognize the logo from the ice rink in Wisteria.
“I wasn’t planning on telling you,” I reply, hoping that comes out like a joke because it’s technically true.
I wasn’t planning on sharing the detail with him for reasons that pertained to his head exploding, which he’s just proven I was right.
“I’m not playing with you, Son,” my dad says, turning impatient. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Coaching,” I say that dry as hell because his tone is starting to piss me off.
“At the rink that isn’t ours,” he reminds like I don’t know that.
“At the rink that isn’t yours,” I rephrase.
“All this to just spite your father, huh. I knew you were a rebel, Troy. But this, even this is too far for you. You have a reputation to uphold as a part of this family. You already threw most of it away ice skating, but you think it was smart to coach other ice skaters at another rink? You only think of yourself.”
“I only think of myself?” I laugh, dry. “Dad, you only think of yourself. Mom loved that rink, and the minute you found out she was helping out there, you stopped it.”
“It was a hobby. Her and I decided together that it would be best to focus on the family rink.”
“That’s what you tell yourself? Nothing about that decision was what she wanted. But you never cared what she wanted, or what I wanted. The only reason you cared about what Dimitri and Karl wanted is because it was the same thing that you wanted.”
“They understood the family’s obligations.”
“No, they decided to do what they loved. The same way I did. But it just happens that you hated what I loved.”
It’s a good thing Karl steps into the kitchen in that moment, ready for me to take him to school.
Without a glance back at my dad, the guilt I felt for even a second in helping with a rivaling rink shreds—not when he’s still the same selfish, cold guy.
_________
“You don’t want any?” I ask Ana, nudging the plate of grilled chicken and white rice her way.
“No, I’m not hungry,” she says, her eyes down at her phone, scrolling through the device with an unusual level of focus.
“Did you eat today?”
That gets her attention on me. And a look of irritation.
“Of course I ate today,” she snaps. “Why would you even ask me that?”
“I don’t know,” I say, worried I’ve just said the wrong thing but also stressed from the image of her last night, how it’s all I’ve managed to think of the entire day. “I just want to make sure you’re eating.”
“I appreciate the concern,” she says, her tone giving away that she’s clearly offended, “but I can handle my own diet.”
“I know you can, but it doesn’t look like you are,” I add because somewhere in her voice I get the sense that she’s trying to avoid something and it bothers me that she thinks I can’t tell.
“I’m just not as hungry lately,” she replies. “I don’t know, maybe it’s the stress, that usually brings my appetite down a bit. It’s not a big deal though. I eat enough for us to skate if that’s what you’re worried about.”
That’s what I’m worried about?
Anger rips through me at how she could even think such a thing.
“I swear it’s not about my weight,” she adds even though I didn’t imply that it was, and that convinces me that it is. At least somewhat related.
“You know the size of your leotard is bullshit, right?” I say. “Eat what you want.”
And at those words, she looks like she wants to strangle me as if I’ve just embarrassed her.
Instead she tidies her things, shoving her phone into her gym bag, and asks, “Are you ready to go?”
_________
“Just one more hour,” Ana promises as we reach the final pose of our revised free skate.
Like she also promised earlier in the evening, just a few more minutes.
“No, Ana,” I say. “You said that an hour ago. We need to stop before we both get injured.”
“We’ll be careful. Please.”
“I’m not going to lift you when it’s not safe. Our muscles are tired right now, and if I lift you and something goes wrong, I won’t forgive myself.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Thank you,” I sigh in relief, gliding toward the rink’s gate.
“But I’m skating for another hour, alone,” she declares. “I need to practice the landing of that last twist lift.”
“Ana,” I say, snapping around, watching her tighten her bun and the sweat that’s soaked her entire thermal, neck, and face.
“I’ll meet you for dinner later,” she says it like that’s reassuring.
“It’s 10 o’clock already,” I say, trying my best not to mock her. “Dinner was three hours ago. This isn’t smart, and you need your rest too.”
“I will rest later tonight.
“No, you need to rest now.”
“I’ll rest when I feel it’s necessary. You don’t get to decide for me.” She turns away from me in a haste motion, her blades scratching into the rough patches of ice. “Besides, why do you even care this much?”
“Because I care if you get hurt.”
“Yeah? Since when? You never cared before. Why now?” She shifts back around to face me, skating backwards, giving me the cruelest smile. “Is it because I’m letting you fuck me? That’s suddenly made you care about me?”
“Seriously?” I grit out, anger and something like pain flooding through my veins without warning. “I have cared about you, but you’re too fucking stubborn to accept that. To even see it!”
I see the discomfort in her eyes, the one she blinks away in record speed, like she’s already decided she’s going to cut off any feeling from whatever the hell it is that we’ve been doing.
Right, just sex.
“No one cares about anyone,” she snaps, her tone growing in coldness, “especially not here!”
“That’s not true,” I say, lowering my voice to show her I mean it. “I care.”
“So I don’t get injured so that we win at the Olympics.”
“Fuck the Olympics.” Ana’s shoulders flinch at the harsh declaration, biting my tongue when even that momentary emotion disappears from her face. “This is useless. If you’re going to skate, skate. But I’m not going to support you hurting yourself like this.”
I hate myself for sticking around and sitting on a bench in the lobby until she’s done but the very real possibility of her getting injured and facing that consequence in a dark rink at night all alone wouldn’t let me leave her side.
But when I finally hear the sound of skates stamping onto the ground, I shoot off from my seat and straight to my car until Ana finally opens the passenger door—two hours after I left the ice.
_________
By the time I reach my bed, I nearly pass out from my fatigue.
Sighing into an elbow that’s folded across my head—and cursing at why I ever agreed to adding an extra hour of practice let alone moving our extra hour of practice to the evening to change our free skate when none of it was necessary—the reason appears right at my bedroom door.
When I hear a knock and a much more recognizable face pop right through asking if she can come in.
Like I’d ever say no.
I scoot to the side for her to sit if she wants and she does, bringing the sheets to cover her knees, making my neck buzz all of a sudden.
“I’m sorry,” Ana says.
At the apology, my entire face shifts toward her.
And clearly she’s just as surprised by it with the deep exhale she releases.
“I didn’t mean to behave that way. I was rude, and I really appreciate everything you’re doing for us.” She sighs again. “For me.”
“I mean, you were pretty rude.” Her mouth opens but I see the way her eyes sort of smile, and I want to kiss her just for that but I feel dumb after the past 24 hours we’ve had.
“Yeah?” she says, her voice teasing.
She leans in, brushing her strands away to show me her sweet neck, and I get a soft smell, just a trace of that strawberry, and I realize I’m okay with playing dumb just for one night.