Chapter Six
I still had one more question for Ben before we started our weeklong game of make-believe. I waited for the waitress to finish
refilling his coffee before asking.
“Why me?”
Ben froze, and his face tightened as if I’d slapped him. But his serial dating wasn’t exactly a secret.
“You knew all of Team USA was chasing you,” I continued. “Hell, every athlete that was there wanted you. So why did you pick the one person who was crashing out? You could’ve had a shit ton more
fun with someone like Nari Choi or Deanna Wilcox instead of wiping my tears all night.”
I hadn’t even wanted to turn up at the impromptu gathering of athletes—we weren’t allowed to call it a party—after what I’d
been through on the ice. I felt so ashamed, like I’d let down the entire country, let alone all my teammates. Our plans to
dominate the figure-skating podium were crushed, all thanks to me. I wasn’t exactly in a great headspace for having fun, but
my teammates Alyssa and Charlotte convinced me that being around other humans might take my mind off my many failures.
I wanted to forget about everything I’d done wrong for the night.
My falls during my long program, the many close-up photos of my tearstained face afterward, Carol’s obvious disappointment that she didn’t even try to hide from me.
I didn’t need anyone else to make me feel bad for my shitty performance, I was doing an amazing job of it all on my own.
Still, both Coach Carol and my mom were more than happy to point out in excruciating detail where things had gone sideways.
It felt impossible to get away from my sadness.
My grief. I’d been training for the moment for my entire life, and I’d blown it.
One of the headlines actually said the swan gets plucked.
That night, I tried to fake being okay with the rest of the gathered athletes.
I wasn’t the only one with a black mark next
to my name after competing, but it felt like the spotlight was harshest on me.
We’d been outside under the stars, gathered around a firepit in a common area, hiding our beers in the sleeves of our official
country parkas like high schoolers. At just nineteen, I was happy that I was legal in Switzerland. I didn’t want to get drunk, but it felt good knowing the option was available to me.
The night wore on and everyone started scream-singing the goofy Olympic theme song “Striving,” which had lyrics in our host
country’s languages, including German, French, Italian, and English. I retreated into the background, clutching my still-full
beer as tears slid down my cheeks.
And that’s when Ben finally walked over to me.
At first I thought he was just passing by on the way to get more alcohol, but he wound up in front of me, clutching my elbows
as I quickly swiped away my tears. But his nearness—the Magic Martino was asking me how he could help me—only made me cry harder.
I was mortified, but I just couldn’t stop.
The mix of embarrassment that he was witnessing my breakdown combined with my bottomless grief meant that I couldn’t morph into a cool girl. I was fully inhabiting my mess.
I wound up nearly hyperventilating with snot running down my face, until he offered me a crumpled napkin from a kebab house
and pulled me into a tight hug.
I finally managed to calm down thanks to a breathing exercise he suggested, until the two of us inhaling and exhaling in tandem,
staring into each other’s eyes, started to feel a little tantric. That’s why it made total sense when he reached out to cup
my cheek and gently draw me to him.
“Why you?” Ben repeated. He stared at the table for a long time, which made me worried about what he was going to reveal.
“I can’t explain it. It just . . . I don’t know. In that moment it made sense.”
“What did?” I pushed.
Ben finally raised his eyes to meet mine and it hit me like a jolt of static electricity. I forced myself not to look away.
“You and me.”
Something tightened in my stomach. This confessional stuff was derailing my plan. I was supposed to be in charge of the inquisition,
not fighting for air.
“I don’t believe you,” I shot back, trying to douse the pilot light that flickered on in my heart.
“I figured you wouldn’t, which is partly why I didn’t mention it.”
“And what about the next day?” I demanded.
Ben looked incredulous. “Hold on, you don’t want to talk about that night?”
It sounded like the hum of conversation in the diner dipped at the mention of our night together, but I knew it was just my
imagination. I leaned closer to him, just in case.
“What’s there to say?” I hissed.
I wasn’t about to be forced into admitting that I still conjured up memories of our night together in my fantasies. That every
spot he’d touched on my body had left a brand on my skin.
Ben fidgeted. “I just thought if we’re taking time to hash everything out, that should be part of the conversation?” He leaned
closer. “We didn’t sleep together—”
“Yeah, I know, I was there.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
I remembered everything that had happened on his cardboard bed, including the way I’d begged him not to stop. When he’d claimed
there wasn’t a single condom in his room, I volunteered to get dressed and track down one of the free condom vending machines
spread throughout the village. I was still mortified at how obvious my need for him was, but it made sense, because Ben’s
hands on me erased everything else. Nothing mattered as his kisses found new ways to shift my focus from my body’s failures
to the delights it was capable of.
And holy shit was it delightful. I didn’t have a ton of experience at that point, just a couple of flings with male skaters,
one of whom turned out to be gay, but I could tell even in the moment that what happened between us wasn’t normal in the best
way possible.
Ben had worshipped me. No part of my body had escaped his attention, so that night I’d learned that a kiss behind the ear meant goose bumps
down my arms, and a kiss between my legs meant fireworks. I’d wanted to return the favor but it was like my orgasm was a sedative.
I’d woken up the next morning still nestled in his arms.
“If you’re okay with everything that happened that night then I am too,” he said. “We can move on.”
I wasn’t okay with it, because no one I’d been with since had come close to making me feel the way that Ben had. But I wasn’t
about to give him the satisfaction of letting him know.
“And as for the next day, it just made sense to hang out, you know?” Ben continued. “I was worried about you.”
For a second I thought he was going to reach out to take my hand, but he diverted to his coffee cup instead.
“I thought it was important for us to have fun,” he added.
It was another truth about our time together that I wasn’t going to admit to him. Somehow Ben had pulled off a miracle and
managed to keep me laughing for the day despite, well, everything. I’d ignored my mom’s and Carol’s frantic calls and boarded a train to Lugano with him, and because it felt far away in the
Italian part of the country I’d pretended that I was just a normal person enjoying a Tuscan getaway. Ben and I had braved
the winds at Lake Lugano and filled up on piadinas and amaretti in a cozy grotto in town.
That day he’d more than lived up to his nickname, because for nine hours he’d magically made me forget that I was a loser.
I realized that I’d been staring at him and now he was waiting for some sort of confirmation that I was still listening.
“It was a long time ago,” I finally said. “And it’s about to be forgotten history. Yes?”
His mouth went tight as he nodded. “Agreed.”
Even though I’d spent the last few days steeling myself for the showdown and visualizing all the ways it could play out, I’d
never given him the grace of thinking that he could topple a few bricks from the walls I’d built. But his willingness to abide
by my rules meant something to me.
The week with Ben wasn’t going to be pleasant, but at the very least I could now trust that I was in control.