CHAPTER 103
Ana
I THINK TROY just ordered a new fridge. Or maybe two.
We were supposed to meet at his apartment the next morning to grab breakfast before practice and The Academy’s Winterfest recital tonight, but when I reach his doorstep there’s two giant tan carboard rectangles waiting to be ushered in as well.
I knock on his door—still having his key, but not wanting to push any boundaries with us being, not sure what to really call us now. Friends? No. Ex-rivals? But, yeah I thought that might be really weird to just walk on in.
When he opens the door though, he looks frazzled to see us.
All three of us.
“Hey,” he greets, his voice sounding like he’s been running around. “Didn’t you get my text?”
My brows pull together as I help him push the packages inside.
“No, I didn’t get anything,” I say, then see the message this instant. “Shit, sorry, I just saw it. My phone was on silent and I must’ve missed it. I can go though, it’s no worries.”
“No, don’t worry, stay” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I just have to go to the rink in Wisteria to drop these off.”
He bought two refrigerators for the ice rink in Wisteria?
So I throw those exact words at him, but he just says, “Uh, not exactly.”
_________
Troy Larsson bought ice skates for every single skater at the Wisteria Ice Rink.
The rink I first skated at.
The only one I could afford lessons at as a child.
In our hometown, where Troy and me and his older brother all went to the same elementary and middle school.
The bright gazes of the kids were so darn precious and so emotional, I got all choked up.
No, I actually did start crying. Happy tears. Very happy tears.
Troy warned me not to go.
Well, he didn’t actually warn me not to.
He just gave me the memo that he had to run an errand at the smaller rink, needing to rearrange practice for the afternoon, and that I could join if I wanted to.
Now that I see what he’s done, there’s an unexplainable, bursting kind of pride in my chest.
He’s such a good guy.
And that epiphany brings a whole set of fresh tears.
Happy ones too.
Sharing a plate of chili fries near the rink’s snack bar, Troy turns to me. “Petrov, c’mon, keep it together,” he says, his voice so teasing if he did so much as moved his mouth a bit more, I swear I’d leap right at him and kiss him.
“That—” I choke out, “—what you just did, you don’t know how much that means to those people. To those athletes.”
“I didn’t do anything, Ana.”
“Yes you did, and stop fucking arguing with me when you’re wrong, okay? That was nice. A really nice thing to do. Accept it.”
“Yes ma’am.” His lips twist to the side. “You’re kind of a softie, Ana.”
And I throw a fry right at him just for that.
_________
I think I’m just emotional today.
After the extremely generous gift that Troy gave the younger skaters at the other rink, we reached the Larsson Ice Rink for the annual themed winter recital. And this year’s theme—the Beauty and the Beast—seeing the way it came alive on the ice, made me burst into tears.
The sight of plush toys that the juvenile skaters carry, tak me back to the first one I had, the one of a tiny kitten still stashed somewhere in my skating memorabilia.
Duochrome fabrics, gloves all handmade with the finest crystals, and sets that are crafted meticulously for each theme—the whole event is unlike anything you’d see on the ice, anywhere.
But that’s to be expected from The Academy’s winter recitals; they’re nothing short of lavish and glamour.
The event, one celebrities and tons of famous people from all around the world travel just to have a front row view, feels like a literal circus on the ice, daring and wild, glittery and sometimes even scary.
Frighteningly vivid, stories told through dance and sharp blades, tales of hope, calamity, and from the older seniors skaters, nuanced seduction.
The amount of money, blood, sweat, and tears that go into each one looks effortless, yet every step is calculated and planned for months.
Tons of special effects go into the skate too, the ice transformed into a fictional world for the whole weekend. The rink becoming an escape to a unique world, streaks of technicolor spotlights showcasing some of the most talented faces in the game.
I never really got used to the sound system, the sound engineers honing their craft to give the most immersive experience for fans, leaping in my seat at the sound of trumpets against my ears as the Beast skates toward the gate.
Troy nudges my leg with his, as if teasing me for reacting like a small adolescent at the scene, but the recitals are really that incredible.
I roll my eyes at his amused gaze as the ice eclipses in the finale, bright fuchsia roses scattering across the frozen ground, my brows pulling together when the rink’s main lights start to flicker back on and Violet glides right out the gate, Ethan falling closely behind.
I didn’t know they were going to be a part of the showcase this year, not typical for our academy during Olympic Season.
In fact the last and only time I remember that was the Season before Beijing, when electric shades of blue and pink fabrics coated the ice, the glossy oval framed with thorns and tree branches of sepia, a sinister, dark cloud of teal haze smoking through the air, the Sleeping Beauty theme veiling the rink that year.
The night Troy, of course, was selected by our board to play Prince Philip, and Violet, Princess Aurora.
I was Forest Tree Number Three, I remember, but all was splendid because the Icy Trio—who were chosen as the three fairy godmothers—had a spat right before intermission and their understudies quickly had to step in for the second act.
Except now, as all the lights switch back on, a single spotlight shapes center stage, chilling and phantom-like, Violet nor Ethan appear to be in costumes.
Winterfest Recital costumes.
No, they’re in their skating costumes.
And Violet’s wearing…
“My dress,” I squeak out.
_________
Troy
“Our routine,” I mutter a good thirty seconds into the performance—trying to discern if I’ve grown unusually paranoid all of a sudden or Violet and Ethan have somehow managed to learn our exact same free skate to a tee.
The revised one Ana and I have been practicing privately at night in an empty rink for over two months now—except for Todd, who comes in for his night shifts.
And Violet’s in Ana’s dress (the one she’s been saving just for the Olympics) and God, one glance back at Ana—the first thing I did when I realized this can’t just be a coincidence—it’s obvious.
Violet and Ethan—somehow—took our routine.
No, they stole it.
Ana’s legs push out her seat as if she’s about to lift off it, her hands gripped over the arms of the chair, each one glued to it tightly, like she’s waiting, hoping that if she sticks around a little while longer, wait until the two of them reach their final poses, that maybe reality might change and this could just be a big, gloomy accident.
Except, nothing changes.
And the crowd roars with buzzing cheers while the seat beside mine empties so quick, I’m nearly sprinting from my own and after her, bumping into a bunch of smiling faces through the tunnel, through the lobby, past the snack bar, skate shop, but instead I find Ethan, a fuckass grin on his lips, like the dick is happy for what he just did to us. To Ana.
Oh I’ve been fucking waiting for this.
“Kasoff!” I stride up to the deep brunette, wanting so bad to shove him against the wall of the restroom he just stepped out from.
But, this weasel, he’s not fucking worth the attention.
“Larsson,” the fucker drawls out.
I scoff. Deep, violent. “You’re really that fucking pathetic to do this to her?”
“First off, I don’t know what you’re talking about.
” My hands begin to clench into tight fists as he plays the fake innocent card.
“And, what about you? You soft now, Troy? Because you couldn’t wait to crush us both before.
” My anger stabs into my neck, his crass grin building at the reaction he’s drawing from me.
“Is her pussy that good? ‘Cause she never let me have a go—”
I cut him off before he can continue, twisting my fists under the collar of his costume, wanting with every fucking fiber of my being to slam him against the wall, to crack his scull open for dropping Ana, to shove his gut for speaking about her like that, to teach him a lesson for taking something from her that he knows would destroy her the worst.
But he won’t win.
I won’t let him.
With a smile of my own, I drop my grip around his shirt with a weighty push to the side.
There’s a wash of fear in his eyes—good—at my grin.
But grey blue eyes latch onto mine from the edge of the hallway, and Ethan scrambles like the coward that he is.
She heads right up toward me, her eyes determined.
“How did you do it?” I ask Violet, my brows pulled together in confusion despite the anger still ticking in me, because from the years I’ve known her, the many years we’ve skated together, she’s never done something like this.
No, not just skated together, heck we had a partnership.
One she bailed on with no explanation.
And for whatever insane reason, she wanted to pair with Ethan. That was her call and fine, got it, great.
But, this?
This, I need to understand this.
“We were partners,” I go on, feeling a strange level of hurt hit me suddenly, “I never did anything to you, so I really don’t get why you had to do this, Violet.”
“Maybe your new partner can fill you in,” she jabs.
“So this is about Ana?” I ask, confused, frustrated—again, when she was the one who left me. “Is that why you’d always stare at her during our practices?”
“I was the one staring at Ana?” she snaps like this has been bottling up inside of her for ages.
“You couldn’t look away from her, Troy. Every time we practiced.
At every competition. At school. At every single fucking party.
So don’t make me feel like the stupid one here.
” Her grin remains on her face, building actually, except the corners of her eyes start to dip down.
“Your dad may own this rink, but my mom runs this academy, so I’d be a little more careful the next time I try and sneak into the building after-hours to practice my free skate. ”
A snarl from her lips and she marches off.
_________
Ana
This isn’t happening.
Months of literal blood, sweat, and tears—and more shifts at the diner than I should’ve pushed myself with to save up for my extra costume—and it’s all…gone.
Just like that.
Poof.
The whole thing was just swept from right under Troy and me, all of it except for the song.
They chose “Journey to the Past” from the same film, but other than that, a carbon copy of our revised free skate.
The routine that really paid off by the sounds of heavy cheering—and fucking standing ovation Violet and Ethan got.
For our routine.
With my dress.
Give it enough time and you’ll forget what a panic attack felt like but somehow the ruckus of anxiety never fails to find its way back to you.
My system, on its verge of collapsing again, erasing weeks of progress made with therapy, meditation, and removing myself from stressful situations.
Ones that might trigger me and such.
One’s like fucking now.
And—it’s happening again.
Slumped over the women’s locker room bench, the one in the very back corner, and the sound of slippery skates are unmissable, lifting my gaze, spotting the satisfied glare from the blonde.
“Anything to win, right?” Violet lures, leaning against a locker just a foot from me, gazing down at the sparkling navy veil around her costume, running her fingers over a few of the gemstones.
My gemstones. “Have we learned nothing, Ana?” she adds like the fucking monster that she is. “You’ll never win in the end.”
When the tears want to fall, I don’t stop them this time. No longer capable of avoiding the streams in front of her.
“Why…,” I force out, “why are you doing this?”
Violet finally pushes her gaze to mine, her eyes traveling to my cheeks, odd, I think, when she quickly snaps them over to her feet.
And her voice softens.
“This isn’t personal, Ana.”
I spring off the bench, my rage uncontainable by our many years of back and forth, her relentless cruelty.
“You know damn well this is personal,” I say with my whole fucking chest.
And my tone, the subtle implication thrown in there that only she’d understand, her eyes flinch back to mine like a fuse just burst inside of her while she started remembering everything from the very start.
Regret floods over her whole face, impossible, I wonder, but I swear that I saw it right before she sprinted off.