Chapter 22 #2
"Regionals," I say. "I was fifteen. I had this program set to an old Edith Piaf song, which my coach at the time thought was too mature for me.
" I grin. "She was probably right. But about thirty seconds, in I stopped thinking about the judges and the score and whether my left edge was right, and I just skated.
It felt like my body knew the whole thing by heart.
I didn't need my brain anymore." I pause.
"I came off the ice and I cried. Happy crying, which is weird for me. "
Anna nods like she knows exactly what I mean. "That's the feeling. That's the one you chase your whole career."
"Did you have it at the Olympics?"
"Every single time." She does a small, effortless turn, backward now, facing me as we glide.
"The fourth one? I skated that final program knowing it was probably my last competitive performance.
I had that blissful feeling the whole way through.
" She tilts her head. "What happened with yours? Alex said you were injured."
The question is gentle but direct. I appreciate that she doesn't dance around it. I take a breath.
I’ve kept most of my medical details to myself. I guess I never felt like public scrutiny of such private information could possibly help. But telling it to Anna doesn’t feel the same as telling people in my life.
"Trimalleolar fracture," I say. "Three bones. It happened during Nationals, two years ago. I fell on a jump I'd landed a thousand times." I keep my voice steady. "The doctors said I was lucky to walk without a limp."
"But you're skating right now," she points out.
"Slowly." I look down at my feet. "Carefully. Nothing like before."
"That's not what I see," Anna says simply. "What I see is someone who got back on the ice after a fracture that ends most careers. That's not nothing, Mollie."
My throat tightens. "It doesn't feel like enough."
"It never does, at first." She's quiet for a moment. "Can I ask you something personal?"
"Sure."
"Was there something else? Something beyond the injury that made you stop?"
The ice hums under my skates. I think about saying no, about giving her the clean version, the one where it's just about the ankle and the recovery timeline and the doctor's assessment.
But she flew here for me, on my birthday, because my boyfriend noticed things about me that nobody else bothers to notice.
And she's asking me a real question.
"My coach," I say carefully. "Things got complicated with my coach before the fall.
He was..." I search for the right word and land on the honest one.
"Inappropriate? I guess? I was so used to it that I almost didn't notice it was happening.
" I swallow. "The fall happened right after a fight with him.
I've always wondered if I was distracted. If I wasn't being punished, somehow."
Anna stops skating. She puts her hand on my arm and waits until I meet her eyes.
"It was not your fault," she says. "Not any part of it."
"Sure. I mean, I know that intellectually."
"You'll know it the rest of the way eventually.
" She squeezes my arm once and lets go. "I had a coach like that when I was fourteen.
Different specifics, same dynamic. He made me feel like skating was his vision and I was just the vehicle.
He even… made some advances toward me. My mom found out and fired him.
" She starts moving again, slow and deliberate.
"It took me years to understand that he was wrong.
Skating was always mine. Nobody can take that.
Not a coach, not an injury, not a fall at Nationals. "
I blink hard. "How did you find your way back to it?"
"Teaching," she says immediately, no hesitation.
"The first time I put a scared little kid on the ice and watched her face when she glided for the first time, something clicked back into place.
" She looks at me sideways. "You loved it before anyone told you that you should.
That love doesn't go away. It just gets buried sometimes. "
We skate in silence for a minute. My ankle feels solid under me, steady, not the traitor it's been since the fall.
“Have you ever thought about coaching?” Anna asks.
Startled, I glance up. “Uh, me?”
“Yes.” She laughs. “Do you like kids?”
“I… do…” I’m trying to picture myself coaching. Is that a role I would even like? Maybe. I picture myself sitting on the boards, watching a girl skate. Calling out the occasional praise or correction.
“Yeah, I can see that,” I finally answer.
“Excellent.” Anna looks like I just told her that I won the freaking lottery. “You should check out a couple of classes. While you’re trying to decide if you can skate competitively again, it’ll keep you active. And it’s a fun way to earn money.”
“Wow. Coaching. Thanks for the idea.”
“It’s my pleasure.” She comes to a stop, glancing at her watch. “I’m afraid I have to go. Do you mind if I hug you?”
“No.” I open my arms and embrace Anna. My eyes mist over. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would be hugging Anna Harstroke. “Thank you so much. You were such a huge impact on me. This visit was like… everything.”
“Aww.” She hugs me harder. “You’re so sweet! Maybe when I come through Seattle next time, we can grab coffee or sometghing.”
“Omigod.” I fan myself. “Anna Harstroke just asked me for coffee. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
As if on cue, Alex skates onto the ice, waving to Anna. "Thank you so much for coming out."
"Any time." She skates off, doing a jump casually as she goes, moving off the ice and into the tunnel. "Call me if you need help, Mollie!"
I turn to Alex, jumping on him and kissing him. He catches me and smiles.
"So did I nail your birthday present or what?"
"You so did." I squeeze his hand. "That was really inspirational."
"Good. I'm glad. Did you get any ideas from Anna?"
I give him a secretive smile. "Maybe. Anna has a lot of love left to give younger skaters. Maybe I could do that too?"
"An excellent idea. I think you'd be a great coach."
I swallow, trying not to flinch. "Yeah. It gives me a lot of thinking to do."
We unlace our skates side by side on the bench. I keep sneaking looks at him, this ridiculous man who flew in my skating idol because he knew it was exactly what I needed. He catches me looking and raises an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Nothing." I bump his shoulder with mine. "So what are we doing for the rest of my birthday?"
"Well." He straightens up, stretching his arms over his head, supremely casual. "I was thinking I could call Beck, get a reservation somewhere nice, make a whole night of it."
“Are you serious?” I stare at him. "Please don't."
He loses the battle with his smile immediately. "Of course not. I knew you'd say that."
I shake my head, grabbing his hand.
"I just want it to be us." I pull at a loose thread on my lace. "Is that terrible? I love my brother. I just don't want to spend my birthday watching him figure out that we're together in real time. That sounds exhausting."
"It would be exhausting," he agrees. "Okay. New plan." He holds up a finger. "Takeout from that Thai place you like, the one on Eastlake that you make me drive past every time we're in the neighborhood."
"You noticed that?"
"I notice everything about you." He holds up a second finger.
"A walk with Gordie, who has been insufferably sulky all day because I didn't take him this morning.
And third." He holds up a third finger. "Whatever movie you want.
No negotiation, no commentary from me about your taste in cinema, full remote-control privileges. "
"That last one might be the most romantic thing you've ever said to me." I lean up and kiss him, soft and slow. When I pull back, his eyes are still closed for a second. "Alex."
"Mm."
"Nobody has ever made me feel this seen. Not once in my whole life. My parents, not Beck, nobody I’ve ever known has ever seen me like you do. You notice things that I don't even notice about myself." I shake my head. "It's the most extraordinary thing."
He opens his eyes and looks at me and his gaze is so intense it makes me suck in a breath. His hand comes up and tucks a piece of hair back from my face.
"I notice everything," he says. "The Thai place on Eastlake.
The Thursday bakery. The way your ankle bothers you more on cold mornings and you never say anything about it.
The fact that you always pause on the same page of whatever book you're reading before you put it down, like you're trying to memorize the last line.
" His thumb traces my cheekbone. "I've never cared about anybody the way I care about you.
I didn't think I was capable of it, honestly. "
Warmth blooms in my chest. I search his face. "What do you mean?"
He's quiet for a second, looking out at the empty ice.
"My dad is a selfish man. He takes what he wants and moves on and never loses a night of sleep over it.
And I spent most of my adult life assuming I was the same.
That it was just in me somewhere, waiting.
" He’s quiet for a beat. "I used that as a reason to keep everyone at arm's length.
Can't become a monster if you don't let anyone close enough to hurt. "
"Alex." I cup his face in both hands. "You are the least selfish person I know.
" He starts to shake his head and I hold on.
"I mean it. You make me coffee every morning before I ask.
You reinforced my aerial silks anchor without being asked and never mentioned it once.
You got Anna Harstroke on a plane because you were paying attention to something I said six weeks ago that I'd already half forgotten.
" My thumbs brush his cheekbones. "You check on the rookies. You ask questions. Even the new guy, Konstantin? You don’t hate him like other players in your position would.
" I hold his gaze. "Your father takes. You give. Those are not the same man."
His jaw works. "Mollie."
"It's my birthday," I say. "And my birthday wish is that you accept that and believe it. Just try. You don't have to have it all figured out today. Just… try."
He looks at me for a long moment. Something settles in his expression, slow and careful, like a decision being made.
"Okay," he says. "I'll try."
I kiss him again, longer this time, my hands still on his face. He pulls me closer and kisses me back like he means it. When we finally break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
"So Thai food," he says. "Gordie. Your terrible movie. In that order."
"Perfect," I tell him.
He takes my hand and we head for the exit. I look back at the ice over my shoulder. It gleams under the arena lights, empty and patient and waiting.
It'll still be there. When I’m ready, it’ll be waiting.