CHAPTER 89
Ana
I ALREADY FEEL buzzed when we step inside Sasha’s apartment.
Her place is packed, very organized, and covered in so many autumnal decorations that a tiny smile almost reaches my cheeks.
Almost.
Because the humiliation hasn’t left me, not remembering the last time I fell during a competition. Plenty of times before them, but rarely, if ever, when the routine mattered most.
And I think Troy felt awful for me, probably why he agreed to bring us here tonight without even an interrogation as to why it would be bad for my well-being.
But I need another drink because I’m starting to remember everything again. And the room is moving too slow, and I’m sprinting in it while standing motionless, so another cup, or three wouldn’t hurt.
The alcohol worked phenomenal for my system—it must have—by the way I’m not even batting an eye at Troy when he starts to glare at me from the corner of his eyes. Starts to worry about me.
But I’m not drunk, and I can handle myself without his supervision.
I watch as he leans in to say something to Xavier—who he decided to bring with us tonight, and Conrad, who was already invited—turning toward the hallway by the set of stairs when I notice Violet standing with Natalia.
My stomach tumbles at the sight, not even thinking she’d be here tonight.
But then, why wouldn’t she?
She fucking won first place at Skate America while Troy and I barely managed to secure third place, and this party was the celebratory event for that very same competition.
It’s her glory soirée and my nightmare reminder.
My drink nearly spills by how furious I am, knowing that without her words I might’ve still held my ground on the ice, at least finished strong without a televised fall for all eyes to point to and mock for weeks until my bones have shriveled up some more just because they can.
It's like Violet can feel me starting to breakdown, a signal that reaches her brain before her eyes manage to hook onto mine. But she doesn’t linger there, she decides to make sure I’m watching before drifting her gaze onto Troy’s face.
And I know exactly what that means.
“I never slept with Violet. Which is why she’s probably doing all of this to spite me.”
Troy’s words.
At how Violet wanted Troy but he didn’t want her.
The way all of this started.
How the winner doesn’t quite have everything she wants.
And I suddenly feel like a really sore loser.
Watching as Violet leans against the edge of the crowded hallway, her gaze testing.
Me. Wondering why Troy and I are ignoring each other if no trouble has watered down our partnership, the way her friends have continued to gossip about behind my fucking back for months, the way they all think that he’s using me.
Meeting her snarky grin, seeing Troy seated right next to Conrad and Xavier on the sofa now, the idea hits me out of the blue.
I stride right up toward Troy, quickly resting my knee on a side of his hips, fast enough where my pain doesn’t catch up to my anger, pulling my other leg around until I’m straddling him.
“Hey,” he whispers along my ear, his voice noticeably surprised by my sudden public display of affection. The one I’d been avoiding up until this very moment. And I see the change in his eyes, the concern part ways, the soft glimmer in them punching my gut.
But one glance up at the coldhearted, degrading smile from my periphery, I ignore the hope that this could be bringing him, sticking to the plan.
The plan to make Violet hurt the way she’s done to me for years.
Keeping my gaze on Troy, I start reconsidering the whole thing when I catch the ache in his face.
How bad he wants this. For real. How he thinks this means we’re no longer hiding, and he’s finally getting what he wants.
But he’s not.
And I won’t stop.
I can’t stop.
Because of her.
She has to pay.
So I close my eyes to avoid his and kiss him.
The sound of his friends cheering us on immediately sharpens against my ears, feeling Troy let go his hold on my waist—knowing he’s flipping them off. And that somehow hurts even worse. Then the curved mouth that tickles against my lips a second later almost kills me.
So I push my lips against his with more force, hoping each tug bursts all emotion from my heart.
“You smell good,” I say, not recognizing my own voice.
My hands clasped tight around the back of Troy’s neck, I open my eyes mid-kiss, locking eyes with Violet as she watches us.
A powerful kind of smile carves my lips, parting them wider, pushing my tongue deeper into Troy’s mouth, hoping the move stabs right into her chest.
Instead, Troy’s eyes fly open, sensing my face tilt, my chest shaking restlessly when he looks at me, his lips swollen, his expression disoriented.
And when he turns around, I can feel his face crumble.
While my lungs crumble.
The column down his throat twitches as he swallows, facing me.
“Was that because you wanted it,” he asks, his voice low, “or you knew Violet was watching us?”
“Both,” I say quietly, holding back a tear when his gaze flickers away from me.
“Well,” he says, dropping his hands from my body, “at least you’re honest.”
Pulling my outer leg from his hip, I slide off him. Ready to tease him, his friends start poking at him as I spot the disappointment settle over his features all whilst trying to keep a smile on his lips.
_________
“Seems like you and Larsson don’t make too bad of a pair,” Violet scoffs from the corner of the empty hallway as I’m exiting the restroom from the second floor—after locking myself in there and crying for a good five minutes at what I just did to Troy.
Though somehow, staring at the cruel gaze that stays glued on Violet’s face, my sadness ticks back into a need for vengeance.
At how our kiss wasn’t enough to faze her.
No, I have to do more, tell her more about us beyond a quick peck on the lips, slowly losing sight of the agony on Troy’s face by each sarcastic lift of her cheeks.
So I blurt, “You didn’t think that would happen when you tried to sabotage us by practically forcing us into skating together, did you?”
“Ethan was tired of skating with you, babe,” she grits out, her voice all knives. “Can you blame him? There’s only so much patience someone has until your long legs get in the way of those axels.”
She turns to walk away from me like she always has, never giving a shit about who she damages on her way out. And that, it fucking finally makes me dig the raw courage out my throat.
“Bitch,” I say it cooly, watching the delay mess with her head, figuring out if the word actually left my lips. And when she realizes it, she snaps around in a fraction of a second.
“What did you just call me?”
“What I should have called you years ago. A fucking bitch.”
Taunted me for more than a decade where it hurt the most, took my confidence smashed it right between her fingers, and reminded me every minute why I’d never be as good as her.
But not now. Not tonight.
“You know, Violetta,” I say because she hates being called by her full first name. “I don’t blame you for what you did. I get it now. I’d probably do the same if Troy had rejected me.”
She scoffs, but the blonde’s eyes soften visibly, like she finally is a little hurt.
Bingo.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Violet says, trying to keep her tone strong even as her voice lowers.
And I finally cracked through Violet Dupont.
“It’s okay, babe,” I mock in the same patronizing tone she loves to use with me, “It’s probably for the best that you don’t know how well he can use his cock. And that mouth…” I bite over my lower lip for exaggeration. “But I do. Because we fuck. All the time.”
Her brows wrinkle together in such shock, it’s evident now she thought the kiss was just a gimmick coming from me.
“You’re lying,” she tries to challenge, noticeably growing frazzled. “You hated him.”
“What? You think you’re the only one who would do anything to win?” I laugh but even as I do, it feels uncomfortable.
But it also feels…thrilling.
Powerful, to have this level of control, the kind that I’ve never had before.
And it quickly starts to feel addictive.
“The whole thing’s funny when you think about it,” I scoff, my rage spiraling. “He wouldn’t even fuck you, and now he’s my boyfriend. That’s gotta sting.”
I see the stab in her eyes, finally like they’re welling for a change.
Which for a second, a little guilt tries to creep into my veins at the sight, at what I’m to be blamed for this time around, but then I remember.
Remember all the times she did worse.
Said worse.
Destroyed worse.
All the tears I cried, the one’s she’d never hear, she’ll never know about.
She’d never care about.
Every damning word that attacked me from her mouth and tore at a thick edge of my skin before it slowly thinned, ripped, broke into my chest and bruised my spirit.
And all that at too young of an age where I could’ve had the chance to talk myself down before it damaged me from the inside out.
So no.
I don’t feel bad, watching her grimace before she walks away.
And when she leaves, the adrenaline, from emptying my chest for once, it’s so strong—uncontrollable—it only rivals the high from winning a skating gold medal.
But when I turn around a shard of glass rips into my throat.
Figuratively.
Though might as well be.
_________
Troy
“Anything to win, huh? So you used me.”
“No, Troy,” Ana cries out. “I would never do that.”
Feeling annoyed all of a sudden—and extremely fucking stupid—I reply, “Just like you’d never tell someone I’m your boyfriend when the mere thought of me taking you on a date disgusts you.”
She sighs in deep frustration, the move making my jaw tense.
“Violet has said some pretty shitty things to me for years,” she tries to explain, “and I just wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine for once. You have to believe me, I didn’t mean anything I said.”
“I know she has her moments,” I reply, honestly still trying to process what I just fucking heard a second ago, “but when I told you about me and Violet, that was in confidence.”
And granted, Violet has said stupid shit before, but I’ve never seen her speak to anyone the way Ana just spoke to her, the moment still making my chest burn in sadness and confusion.
“I’m really sorry,” Ana says and for some reason I don’t really believe her.
“What are you sorry for?” I ask.
“For stooping to her level and bringing you into it.”
“You called me your boyfriend,” I repeat, feeling like a loser for admitting how good it sounded to hear her just say that, then how fucking hard it hurt to know she was just lying.
“I know,” Ana says, her eyes narrowed like she means the apology, “I’m sorry.”
“For calling me that when you knew I would have been that for you if you wanted?” I question, my sudden pain steering my words into a way too deeply personal level I’d realized I hadn’t even spelled out to her before. “Or that if I hadn’t overheard you just now, you wouldn’t have even told me?”
“Hold on,” she snaps like I just struck a chord, one she wasn’t ready to hear. “You’ve despised me for years, Troy. I think the sex might be clouding your judgment a bit.”
After everything we’ve been through, every moment we’ve shared together these past few months, the years we’ve known each other before any of that even existed, my jaw clenches at her snarky tone, how stupid she is to suggest such a thing.
“If that’s what you think,” I grit out, “then you have no idea how I feel.”
“Okay, then how do you feel?”
The girl I don’t recognize asked the question, I know this fact by the forced sarcasm she added just to test if it would push me away, but as I lean forward, blue eyes flicker in surprise, and that artificial persona starts cracking, the Ana I know beginning to resurface.
But she does exactly what she’s done since the first time that I kissed her, blinking it away, shutting it out with just one tiny flick, choosing to make the same decision that she’s made every other moment she’s noticed herself start to feel something more between us.
Something more than just fucking sex.
This time, parting her lips like it just occurred to her—a shocking kind of revelation—before I can get any words in. To even decide if I want to try and get through to her again.
“Wait, don’t say you’re falling in love with me.” She laughs nervously like the idea is so far-fetched, it can’t be possible. “Or that you’ve been secretly in love with me this entire time.”
“Fuck you, Ana,” I say harshly.
And I walk away.