Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Dean
The roar moving through the arena carried enough force to vibrate through the boards beneath my gloves. Floodlights swept over the ice, catching every blade mark carved into the surface.
The Kiss and Cry sat at the end of a long row divided into ten boxed sections marked by national flags hanging overhead. Each space held coaches, team staff, extra jackets, skate guards—
And nerves.
The tension sat low and constant, threading through every conversation, every warm-up lap, every glance toward the standings monitor already waiting to begin filling with scores.
I folded my arms tighter against the cold and looked across the rink, finding Luka without consciously choosing to.
He stood beside Mila near the gate waiting for their introduction.
From a distance he looked exactly as he always did before a competition, calm, focused, controlled. The difference only became obvious when he smiled at something Mila said.
A week ago that smile wouldn’t have been there.
Then his gaze lifted, scanning the faces in the US section—and finding mine.
The contact lasted maybe two seconds.
It was enough.
Luka’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the smallest shift in his posture, the loosening of his shoulders.
Then the announcer’s voice rolled through the arena.
“Representing Velkarya—Luka Davorin and Mila Kadanek.”
The crowd erupted.
Luka pushed away from the boards beside Mila and skated into the light.
I leaned forward in my seat, elbows braced against my knees, my entire focus narrowed to Luka and Mila as they reached the center of the ice.
They didn’t look at each other before they took their opening position beneath the lights, calm and centered in a way that felt almost unreal after everything Luka had told me in the middle of the night.
None of that showed now.
The music began, a piece I’d heard so many times when I’d watched them practice.
Ludovico Einaudi’s Experience opened with a quiet piano that was a perfect fit to emphasize Luka’s precision and stillness.
They moved together, measured, disciplined, before the swelling orchestration changed everything.
It was like watching emotional pressure building beneath the surface, only to be released as they neared the climax.
“He makes throwing her around look so easy,” Ethan murmured next to me.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
The breath caught in my throat as they executed perfectly timed side-by-side triple Salchows, their landings pristine.
“That is textbook,” Mark commented next to me.
Mila moved with him instead of around him, the connection between them seamless and unforced, as if they had both stepped into the same current and stopped fighting it.
A week ago I would have known where to look for the cracks.
Tonight I couldn’t see any.
Luka had looked happy out there.
And for the first time since I’d met him, I thought maybe he knew it too.
They performed the final lift, Luka catching Mila overhead with impossible steadiness before bringing her down cleanly, their exit edge flowing effortlessly across the ice.
Then came the final pose.
Silence hit first, the entire arena holding one collective breath before the sound crashed down around them. Applause rolled through the building in a wave, loud and immediate, rising fast as people surged to their feet.
I sat back, exhaling for what felt like the first time in almost three minutes.
Luka had looked happy out there.
Ethan let out a low whistle. “Jesus,” he muttered. “They came to play.”
He was right, but I couldn’t get the words out.
Watching him skate, I couldn’t stop thinking about the version of Luka who existed when nobody was looking.
The one who’d fallen asleep with his hand resting against my ribs.
Luka
I could still feel the roar of the crowd vibrating through my chest as Mila and I skated toward the exit, slowing only once we reached the boards. My lungs burned, my heartbeat hard but steady, my entire body humming with adrenaline.
We had done it.
Mila grabbed my forearm the second we reached the gate, her face flushed with exertion and excitement. “Luka—”
Then she laughed, bright and breathless and completely genuine, and the sound of it hit me almost as hard as the applause still echoing through the arena.
“We did that,” she said.
I stared at her for a second before a laugh escaped me too, rougher and quieter but no less real. I was still trying to catch my breath. “Yes, I believe we did.”
Aleksy reached us first, hauling Mila into a fierce hug before gripping the back of my neck hard enough to jolt me.
“That was disgusting,” he declared in heavily accented English.
Irina smacked his shoulder immediately. “He means beautiful.”
“I meant both.”
Mila was still laughing.
Anya appeared next, throwing her arms around both of us at once. “You looked so free out there,” she whispered into my ear before stepping back.
Sokolov stood several feet away from the chaos, arms folded as always, expression unreadable. However, the rigid line of his mouth had softened, and his shoulders no longer carried that relentless tension that usually followed every performance. My gaze met his, and he gave a sharp nod of approval.
For a moment I was twelve years old again.
Beside him, Marek remained apart from the others, his expression impossible to read, but its weight felt like assessment.
That unsettled me more than overt criticism might have.
“Come.” Mila grabbed my wrist. “Scores.”
We made our way toward the Kiss and Cry, the Velkaran flag hanging above it. Aleksy squeezed my shoulder as we passed, and Irina kissed Mila’s cheek before everyone stepped back to let us sit.
Mila’s hand found mine the second we sat down, and I knew that had nothing to do with optics. I held on tightly, the arena noise blurring around me as the replay started on the giant screen overhead. I barely looked at it.
Mila squeezed my fingers. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“No, you are vibrating.”
That almost pulled another laugh from me.
Then the scores appeared.
77.54
For one suspended second, I simply stared.
Then the ranking flashed beneath it.
Georgia
Velkarya
United States
The arena reacted instantly, applause swelling again as Mila sucked in a sharp breath beside me.
“Second,” she whispered.
I simply stared.
I had prepared myself for many outcomes.
That was not one of them.
Aleksy shouted something in Velkaran behind us that absolutely would not have passed Olympic broadcast standards. Irina burst out laughing. Anya clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes shining.
And Sokolov smiled. It didn’t last long, but it had been there.
Mila turned toward me so fast her hair whipped across her shoulder. “Did you see that?”
“I think we may need medical assistance,” I muttered. “Coach appears to be experiencing emotion.”
That did it.
She doubled over laughing, half from exhaustion and half disbelief, her hand still locked tightly around mine while flashes exploded around us from every direction.
Beyond the lights and noise, I found Dean in the US section.
He stood straight, his eyes locked on me, his smile so wide and bright it could have powered the arena.
He is proud of me.
I wasn’t sure I would ever get used to that.
The press conference room was colder than the arena.
The lights overhead were hot enough to sting my eyes after the ice, and the crush of bodies, cameras, and equipment filled the air with warmth and movement.
This was a different kind of pressure, sharper and more controlled.
Mila and I sat next to one another behind the long table reserved for medal contenders, microphones positioned neatly in front of us, tiny national flags lined up along the edge.
Behind us, the Velkaran flag hung against the backdrop alongside Olympic branding and sponsor logos, every surface designed for visibility.
For narrative.
Sokolov sat several feet away with the federation representatives, unreadable as ever. Marek stood near the wall, arms folded, his attention fixed on the room rather than on us.
I kept my posture loose, composed, the same expression I had worn through hundreds of media appearances.
The cameras flashed constantly.
Mila handled the first questions, answering smoothly, calm and articulate as always, giving them enough warmth to keep the room engaged while revealing nothing real.
I listened, adding comments where necessary, aware of every angle in the room, every lens trained on us.
Years of practice had made this automatic.
Then the moderator pointed toward the second row, and a journalist smiled politely as she stood, tablet balanced in one hand.
“This question is for Luka and Mila. There’s been growing discussion in Velkaran media about your partnership extending beyond the ice. Many fans are inspired by what they perceive as a romantic bond between you. Would either of you like to clarify the nature of your relationship?”
Several cameras adjusted position almost simultaneously, and I heard the soft mechanical hum of lenses zooming in.
Beside me, Mila remained perfectly still. She did not look at me.
I inhaled slowly through my nose, forcing my pulse to settle. “Our relationship is built on years of trust and discipline,” I replied in an even tone, a safe neutral answer.
A ripple of approving applause moved through part of the room.
The journalist smiled again, polite and relentless. “So you’re not confirming that you are a couple?”
I felt Mila shift beside me before she spoke. “We are partners,” she said calmly. “On and off the ice.”
The journalist opened her mouth again, but the moderator stepped in immediately.
“Next question.”
Another reporter asked about scoring trends and the room moved on.
I didn’t.
I kept my eyes on the moderator and resisted the urge to look at Mila. By the time the press conference ended, my shoulders ached from holding tension in place.
The hallway outside the media room felt strangely quiet after the barrage of lights and voices. The door swung shut behind us with a soft thud, muting the chaos instantly.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke, then Mila exhaled long and slow.
“Well, that was inevitable.”
I walked several steps ahead before stopping. “You didn’t have to say it like that.”
Her footsteps slowed behind me. “Like what?”
“On and off the ice.”
She studied me calmly, unruffled. “It’s true.”
I turned toward her. “They’re building something. You see that.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re helping them.”
Her expression sharpened. “I’m protecting you.”
“By letting them think—”
“By giving them exactly enough,” she interjected.
Farther down the corridor, volunteers moved equipment past another media room, their footsteps echoing across the polished floor.
“You could have denied it,” I said.
“And forced them to look harder?” She arched her eyebrows. “Forced them to ask why?”
I had no answer for that.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
“If I say we’re only professional partners, they start searching for what’s missing. If I laugh it off, they become suspicious. If I hesitate, they speculate even more.” Her gaze held mine. “This way, they feel satisfied.”
The word sat badly inside me.
Mila tilted her head to one side. “You’re not angry. You’re afraid.”
I let out a breath. “Yes.”
“Of what?”
The answer came too quickly to stop. “Losing control of the story.”
Her expression was almost sad. “You never had control of it.”
My stomach clenched, and it ached to breath.
My phone vibrated suddenly in my hand.
You were amazing. Both of you.
Dean’s words were exactly what I needed. A rush of warmth spread through me as I reread them.
Mila didn’t even need to see the screen. “That’s him, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“The media can write whatever they want,” she said in a low voice. “It will not change what is true.”
I held her gaze. “And what is that?”
Her expression gentled. “That you’re not theirs.”
Somewhere farther down the corridor, a volunteer called our names for doping control.
Reality resumed in a heartbeat.
Mila released my hand and straightened. “Come on. Let us go maintain the illusion.”
A laugh almost escaped me.
Almost.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Dean: Later?
I smiled and sent back a thumbs up.
Three dots appeared almost at once.
Dean: After watching you skate like that, I’m officially rejecting the no-sex-before-competition rule.
My breath caught so abruptly that Mila glanced sideways at me. “What?”
I locked my phone before she could see the screen, but it was too late to stop the heat crawling over my face.
Mila’s eyes narrowed. Then she smiled. “You two are becoming impossible.”
For once, I couldn’t argue.