Chapter Sixteen
Our gym at the rink wasn’t ready for prime time. Unlike the state-of-the-art gym at Ben’s home rink in Utah, our humble Woodspring
vinyl, and an incomplete barbell set that stopped at thirty pounds. Not that I was lifting super heavy, but still. My training
facility and Ben’s were worlds apart.
It didn’t matter to me, because I could easily work up a sweat off-ice with nothing but my sneakers. I did wonder if the optics
of the gym would make me look like some poor, scrappy little underdog from a backwoods training center when that wasn’t the
case at all. Woodspring consistently turned out incredible athletes, so the powers that be subscribed to the “if it ain’t
broke” theory of managing the facility.
“I can’t believe you get up this early every day.” Hailey rubbed her eyes and yawned.
“Because she’s got a winner’s mindset,” Ben said. He clapped his hands like he was trying to get everyone amped. “Let’s do
this, team.”
“Where do you want me to set up?” Neil asked Ben.
It was a tiny but important power shift that meant that Ben’s little speech the day before had landed.
“Let’s talk to the woman of the hour,” Ben replied as he turned to me. “Can you walk me through your routine and we’ll figure
out how to shoot it without getting in your way?”
My heart expanded a little at the question.
I scanned the empty room. “First I warm up, then I do some jumps in front of the mirror, then resistance band stuff, wall
ball, box jumps, balance stuff on the Bosu ball, then hurdles. I stay in this area, mainly.” I gestured to the open space
in front of the mirrors.
“Okay,” Ben nodded. “We can definitely work with that.”
“I’m going to start warming up,” I said.
“Do what you gotta do, don’t worry about us. I just want to get some workout footage for b-roll, and I might ask you a few
questions.” Ben paused. “But only if it won’t mess you up.”
“It’s fine, no problem.”
I headed for my usual spot to start waking up my body with ankle and shoulder rolls. I skipped my earbuds because I wanted
to eavesdrop on them as they set up, to see if there was any residual tension from the day before, but they seemed to be business
as usual.
It took a few minutes for me to settle into a headspace that was okay with an audience during what was usually my private
time. Admittedly, some of what I did off-ice looked pretty darn goofy, like power skips across the room and butterflies. But
every athlete had their weird foundation exercises that support their real skills. I’d seen speed skaters doing “belt crossovers,”
which look like a slow-motion one-man tug of war.
Ben and Co. didn’t move from their spot as I went through my workout, which helped me to lean into the exercises and even push myself a little harder. This interview was a chance for me to send subliminal messages about how much stronger I was now, so yeah, I showboated a little.
I pulled the Bosu ball into position in front of the mirror and started my balance exercises.
“I hated that damn thing,” Ben laughed. “It looks like a toy but it feels like torture.”
He was right, because the wheel-size blue half ball with the rigid platform on one side and a soft dome on the other looked
like it belonged in kindergarten class. The way it trembled under my foot as I stretched my leg behind me in a Biellmann suggested
that it was more deadly than it appeared. I was already feeling fatigued, so when I went into a pistol squat the thing really
started wobbling.
“Did you ever try anything like this?” I asked Ben, holding position even though my thigh was screaming.
He stopped taking notes to watch me. “No, but it doesn’t look too bad. I bet I could do it.”
“Oh yeah?” I stood up, grateful for an excuse to stop. “Then get over here and prove it.”
“Uh oh, let the games begin,” Hailey said as Ben walked over.
Ben was wearing yet another navy checkered business-casual button-down and jeans, which would make getting into position even
more challenging.
“Can we bet on this?” Neil asked. “Is that against company policy?”
“It’s not a sanctioned competition, so the gambling rules don’t apply,” Hailey replied. “Yeah, let’s make this interesting.”
“What’s your usual hold time?” Ben asked me as he shook out his legs and stretched his quads.
“Well, I just did a minute, so aim for that,” I said, neglecting to mention that I’d doubled my usual time because of the camera.
“Ten bucks says he beats it,” Neil said.
“Eh, I’m not so sure,” Hailey replied. “I’m betting that he can’t make it past thirty seconds.”
“Ouch, Hailey, thanks for believing in me,” Ben joked. “This is gonna be easy. Someone time me.”
He was so cocky that I couldn’t tell if it was blind confidence or if he actually knew that he could do it. I wasn’t sure what types of workouts he did in his heyday, but I couldn’t imagine that the figure skating–specific
position was one he could nail. I knew his quads used to be strong, and even though he still looked as fit as he did in his
glory days, time was a thief. If he wasn’t consistently putting in the hours at the gym, achieving the awkward squat with
one leg held out straight on a shaky surface wasn’t going to be easy.
Ben got into position on the flat side of the ball without so much as a wobble. “Ready?”
“Three, two, one, go,” Neil said.
I saw the switch flip in him again as he descended into position. The happy, good-time guy disappeared, and his expression
went into Magic Martino mode. Dead eyes fixed on the distance, with nothing in his field of vision but winning.
“Lower,” I coached. “You need to be in a full squat on one leg with the other out straight in front of you. Like this.” I
demonstrated the position again on the floor across from him.
“Yup,” he replied, watching himself in the mirror across from us. He went into a deeper squat and I was happy to see the ball
start vibrating beneath his foot, because it meant that he was already starting to feel weak.
No surprise, it was a passable version of a sit-spin position because Ben could do everything, but passable wouldn’t do when there was money and ego on the line.
“Now let go of your calf,” I said. “I did thirty seconds holding on and thirty seconds with a free arm.”
He shot me a look before letting go. The ball jiggled dramatically at the weight shift.
“Okay, ouch,” he groaned. “How much time left?”
“Fifteen seconds,” Neil replied. “You got this.”
The ball went into full earthquake mode beneath Ben’s foot. I wasn’t sure if the muscle fatigue or diminishing balance would
get him first. His face was red from the strain.
“Yeah, uh . . . I’m not sure . . .” Ben grimaced and started to straighten up.
“Eleven, ten, nine,” Neil counted down. “Don’t move, brother!”
Ben let out a pained sigh and dipped back into position, the ball tipping back and forth like a rowboat in choppy water.
I knew exactly what was going through his mind. Forget about the pain, focus on the goal. People are counting on you. Only losers quit.
Pain is weakness leaving the body. Get it done by any means necessary.
“Four, three . . .” Neil counted down.
“Fuck,” Ben exclaimed as the wobbling finally pitched him off the ball and onto the ground.
“Aw man, you were right there,” Neil scolded.
“Don’t get old,” Ben replied, and even though he said it in a jokey way I could tell he was actually pissed at himself for
failing so close to the finish line. It was drive that united us; every competition needed to be won, even if it was a round of pool at a bar or a three-legged race at a family reunion.
“A little help, please?” Ben reached up to me.
As much as I wanted to make a crack about him being a senior citizen I refrained. I offered him my hand and pulled him to
his feet. He held on for a few seconds longer than necessary before letting go, and gave me a final squeeze that felt like
a thank you.
Which left me feeling like I was trying to find my own balance even though I was on solid ground. Was the blush that fired
up my cheeks visible to everyone?
“Respect,” Ben bobbed his head at me. “All I used to have to do was skate fast and turn left. You’re a friggin’ acrobat.”
“Hey, you came close,” I admitted.
I was happy he didn’t make it. The guy already had three gold medals, let me have the Bosu ball moment.
“Horseshoes and hand grenades,” he shot back.
I flinched. Carol used to fling the saying at me when I’d try a move and almost nail it. It took a real effort for me to stop
uttering “Ugh, so close” whenever I fell, because I didn’t want to hear her scolding me with the phrase.
I spotted Zoey, dressed for practice and hovering outside the door. I waved her in.
“Hi, guys,” she whispered as she tiptoed in. “Am I interrupting?”
“I’m basically done,” I answered.
“Yeah, she just humbled me on that thing.” Ben pointed at the ball. “I need to leave and lick my wounds. But before we go
I was hoping to ask a couple of questions, Quinn.”
He gave me a hopeful look and I nodded.
“You two still good for dinner tonight?” Zoey asked, glancing between us. “Ben, my dad is super excited to meet you. He has
a list of topics he wants to discuss with you. A literal list on an index card.”
“Dinner?” I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I texted you but you didn’t respond,” Zoey replied. “And when Ben and I were working out the details he said he was pretty sure that your schedule was open for tonight, so . . . yay! It’s a party!”
“I didn’t see that text. And Ben doesn’t keep my calendar, I do,” I insisted.
I might’ve been a little too insistent, because everyone turned to look at me.
“Oh,” Zoey pouted. “So you can’t make it?”
I could feel Ben’s eyes on me. I knew exactly how the meal would play out if I joined them; he’d charm every last one of them
and Mrs. Chen would corner me in the kitchen to tell me how wonderful he was, and how handsome we look together.
As if I needed more people on Team Martino.
Still, if they were planning on me being there it would be rude if I didn’t show up. And I hadn’t spent time with the Chens
in ages.
“Come on.” Ben pushed me. “You have to eat.”
He’d promised to leave my schedule unchanged, but little speed bumps kept popping up.
“And my mom is already making all your favorites,” Zoey added. “Just in case you can make it.”
I sighed. This was yet another Ben-induced deviation to my schedule, with a side of Zoey.
He stalked closer to me, like I wouldn’t be able to say no if I was in his force field.
Which was half true.
“Listen, I get the need to stick to your routines,” he began. “Discipline is everything.”
“Which means that I can’t—”
He put his hand up to stop me. “Which means that your discipline also allows you to shake things up now and then. If you’re good ninety-five percent of the time, you can cut loose on that remaining five percent. Listen to your elder. I know things.”
“And it’s not like dinner with Mom and Pop Chen is equivalent to a night on the town,” Zoey added. “They’ll feed you and get
you out the door in an hour and a half if you want.”
They were double-teaming me into a dinner that I actually sort of wanted to attend.
“Fine,” I finally replied.
Zoey yipped and Ben gave me a satisfied nod.
“Wait, if Quinn’s going do I have to be there to shoot it?” Neil asked, looking panicked.
“Definitely not,” Zoe grimaced. “My parents hate being on camera.”
“Okay, good, because we’ve got tickets to a ScreenX show tonight,” he said. “That new Marvel movie.”
“‘We’ who?” Ben asked, clearly stirring the pot.
“No, I meant to say I have tickets. I do, not we,” Neil sputtered.
I glanced at Hailey and she seemed very focused on unspooling mic wires.
Zoey chattered away as Ben helped break down the equipment, as cheerful as a puppy.
I sighed, because it was suddenly clear to me that the two were on the verge of forming an unholy alliance.