Epilogue
“That guy has been staring at the back of your head all night,” Marcus warns me.
It’s the first of many parties in our senior year.
I’m overdressed, wearing a vintage band tee, chunky rings, and chipped white nail polish.
Every other guy, including Terrence, Leroy, and Marcus, are wearing some form of shorts.
The party has settled on the lawn of Phi Rho, everyone enjoying the warm evening air before it gives way to fall.
I don’t bother to look the guy’s way. “Is he looking at me with passion?”
“Your ass does look good in those jeans,” Leroy points out.
“Round like gold medals.” Terrence adds, “Hey, when you wear them both, do they clap together?”
Some people consider the skating team even to be little more than a practice run, a chance for their favs to shake off their nerves, but honestly?
I loved the team event. It was the first time I couldn’t rely on myself to get what I wanted.
We supported each other, pushed each other, and in the end—won gold together.
Marcus looks right over my head, observing the freshman. “You are probably the first Olympian he’s seen in person. Can’t blame the guy.”
Terrence puts two fingers in his ear, talking into his red solo cup. “Mr. Steele, with such a daring and brave performance at the Olympics, how are you preparing for this upcoming season?” He shoves the solo cup in my face.
I lean in like it’s a real microphone. “I’ve been getting really into naps.”
So, I won gold. Skipped Worlds. Made bank with promos.
Focused on school and friends. By the time I got my final scores, I already knew that a gold medal around my neck wasn’t going to quell my desire to be the best in skating.
Especially when there was only a two point differential between me and Yessen.
His silver was a well-deserved upset. In four years, I wouldn't be surprised if we swap spots on the next Olympic podium—but I'm not giving in that easily.
Marcus tilts his head. “Are you not competing this season?”
“No… I am…” I swirl my now warm beer. “But because I can, not because I need to.”
There are some desires that don’t make a whole lot of sense when put up to scrutiny. My relationship to skating is one such contradiction.
“I’m going to take advantage of traveling and catching up with other skaters. Plus Alex might come back.”
“She’s not afraid some Russian coach is going to poison her after she gave that tell all interview?” Leroy asks.
Terrence snorts. “She took shots at everyone. Dude, do you really not drink water at practice? I’d literally die. Literally, literally.”
My face scrunches with disgust. “Not me. Coach be damned, my dad would never let that happen.” I stare down the bottom of my solo cup. “But I’ve heard horror stories.” I down the rest of my drink. “Hate to bail on a downer but I’m heading out.”
Leroy boos and Marcus shoots me a raspberry with his forked tongue.
“Classic Rod. One and done!” Terrence wraps an arm around my shoulder, escorting me to the sidewalk. Which, now that I’m the famous friend, is appreciated. He uses our closeness to whisper in my ear, “Will I see you back at the dorm?”
I shake my head.
“Nice. Have fun you absolute mad man.” He slaps me on the ass and sends me on my way.
The slight alcohol buzz and the last tailwind of summer make the bike ride over to Christos’ place all the better.
It’ll be my first time seeing him since I moved back on campus, but we’d seen each other several times over the summer.
Long distance is a breeze compared to our initial arrangement.
Watching him cook dinner on a video call was the highlight of many of my summer days.
I leave my bike on the porch and go to knock then remember I have my own key. I open the door a crack before announcing, “Hi, it’s me.”
The place smells heavily of butter, the sort of scent you only get from the artificial stuff.
The duplex is a lot cozier now. One of Christos’ old hockey jerseys hangs on the wall above the couch, alongside The Dingbat’s team photo. There’s a bookshelf already full of worn paperbacks I’ve leant him, magazines, a good helping of cookbooks, and some Pennsylvania hiking guides.
Christos enters the living room, holding a huge bowl of popcorn. He walks right over to me and kisses me ever so briefly. “You taste like cheap beer.”
“Confession, I kinda love cheap beer.” I grab a piece of popcorn. “Movie night?”
“I got us something special.” He nods to the DVD case on the coffee table.
I can see the DVD from here, but I pick it up to be sure. The title is in Cyrillic, but I’ve seen the poster enough to recognize it immediately.
“Shut up!”
There has only been one attempt to adapt To Frost the Thaw to film. It was in the 90s by a Russian film studio that went bankrupt not long after the film was released. I’ve seen clips online but never the full thing.
He lifts his chin, proud of himself. “I got Jonas to pull a favor with one of his Russian teammates. I’ve already tested the disk to make sure it works. It’s even got poorly translated English subtitles.”
I love this man. I love him so much.
We’ve adjusted our rules. No topic is off-limits at his place.
He knows about my plans to compete this season and I know all about the rookie he scouted last spring, but he also knows what classes I picked for this semester and I know about his summer camping escapades with his old hockey buddies.
We keep our interactions on campus short, but it doesn’t really matter.
There aren’t a whole lot of people who know about us, really it’s just Alex, Terrence, and Bekken.
Maude has sort of figured it out. She agreed not to pry as long as I promise not to make my mysterious paramour the center of my world.
The irony of course is that Christos, more than anyone, wants me to focus on skating and graduating this spring.
Sleepovers are allowed on weekends, unless the Dingbats have an away game. He’s too tired after traveling to keep up with me.
We settle on the couch and as soon as the bowl of popcorn is safely on the coffee table, I sit in his lap, pressing my back against his chest.
The movie starts and he shifts awkwardly. “So, is this movie… bad?”
“It’s hotly debated whether it’s so bad it’s good or if it’s just bad. But pretty much everyone agrees it’s a faithful adaptation. Much to its detriment as a film.”
“If I fall asleep—”
“I’ll forgive you.” I kiss the underside of his chin.
He wraps his arms around my waist. “Do I get a reward if I don’t fall asleep?”
“That can be arranged.” I get comfortable.
“You have a whole two hours to think about what you want once the credit’s roll.
” Two hours is no time at all compared to our future together.
We’ve been careful to not get too ahead of ourselves for fear of getting stuck in each other’s orbit before either of us is ready.
Still, I know that two hours from now I’ll want him. And again in two days, two weeks, two months… Dare I say in two years. Lots of things we want don’t make sense, but not him. Christos makes perfect sense to me.