Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Luka
I watched the scores flash up for Canada, the third team to skate.
“Vasiliev would tell us we can beat that,” Mila muttered beside me.
Of course he would.
She nudged my arm. “Stop calculating. You know what Sokolov would say.”
I sighed. “Control the variables available to you.”
“Exactly.”
“And if I hear that sentence one more time, I may throw him into traffic.”
She bit her lip. “That would certainly affect the component scores.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
I wasn’t watching Georgia’s pair. I was running through the program in my mind—and trying not to glance toward the USA team’s section.
He might not even be there.
I knew he’d watch on the screens. Dean’s event would take place in two hours’ time. He was probably on the practice rink, focused on his own performance.
Mila followed my line of thought too easily. “He’s here, with his team.”
I stilled. “Yes?”
She bit her lip. “And Donna is with them too.”
“You saw her?”
She rolled her eyes. “Luka, I am many things. Blind is not one of them.”
Whatever I’d been about to say died in my throat when Sokolov approached, his gaze sweeping over both of us.
“You are ready.”
It was not a question.
Mila straightened beside me. “Yes.”
His eyes settled on me. “This is not about placement now,” he said evenly. “This is about clarity. Skate the program you trained.”
I nodded.
Usually expectation sat on my shoulders.
Tonight it felt as though it was behind me.
Applause rolled through the building in waves as Georgia finished their skate.
Mila reached for my hand. “Are you with me?” she asked in a quiet voice.
I looked at her, my partner, my friend, the person who had stood beside me through every version of this life. “Yes.”
I meant it.
Behind me, Sokolov drew in a sharp intake of breath. “135.36. That might remove their chances of a medal. You can beat that.”
The announcer’s voice echoed suddenly through the arena.
“Representing Velkarya… Luka Davorin and Mila Kadanek.”
The roar that followed hit like a sledgehammer.
I inhaled once and stepped onto the ice beside her.
The crowd vanished.
The judges vanished.
Even the standings disappeared.
There was only the program.
Mila squeezed my hand once before we separated into our opening position.
Then the music began.
Dean
Nathan and Brooke stood with me, and I was grateful for that. Neither of them appeared relaxed, which I totally understood.
They know what Luka and Mila are capable of.
“Nate, breathe.” I patted his arm. “You’re in second place.”
He rolled his eyes. “Sure—for now.” He glanced at me. “You must be feeling pretty torn right now. I mean, who do you root for? Your team—or your boyfriend?”
I snorted. “First of all, he’s not my boyfriend.”
Brooke made a noise of profound disbelief beside me.
Nathan didn’t even blink. “Okay, sure. And I’m here for the free snacks.”
I coughed. “Can we maybe focus on the Olympic event happening in front of us?”
“That is the Olympic event happening in front of us,” Brooke informed me dryly. “Trust me, the rest of us are deeply invested now.”
I groaned under my breath while Nathan grinned. Then his expression softened as he glanced back toward the ice. “But seriously, I get it.”
That caught me off guard. “Get what?”
He shrugged. “Wanting your team to win while also wanting someone specific to skate well.” His eyes flicked toward Brooke before returning to the rink. “It’s weird when the lines blur.”
Brooke bumped him with her shoulder. “Aw. Nathan’s having emotions.”
“Don’t spread that around. That’s gonna tank my social capital.”
I laughed.
Then the arena lights shifted, the announcer’s voice echoed through the building again, and my attention locked onto the ice as Luka and Mila stepped onto it.
Nathan exhaled slowly beside me. “Okay,” he muttered. “Now I’m nervous again.”
“They look calm,” Brooke murmured as the camera found them at center ice.
He huffed. “That’s because Davorin’s creepy like that.”
I almost smiled. Nathan was wrong. Luka didn’t look calm. I knew him too well now. I could see it in the way he inhaled before the opening pose, in the tighter line of his shoulders, the way his focus sharpened until the entire arena disappeared around him.
Pressure concentrated him.
The music began, and immediately the arena changed.
That was the thing about Luka and Mila. They didn’t attack a program the way Nathan and Brooke did, with speed and impact and huge emotional projection. Luka and Mila pulled people inward, drawing the entire building into the space between them.
Their opening twist lift soared high and clean, Mila snapping perfectly into position before Luka caught her with the kind of effortless certainty that made difficult things look inevitable.
Nathan let out a low whistle beside me. “Okay. Big start.”
Brooke folded her arms tighter. “Their timing’s unreal tonight.”
Everything looked locked in, connected. The transitions flowed seamlessly into the first throw jump, Mila landing clean with enough speed coming out of it that the audience reacted immediately.
Luka’s solo jump followed without hesitation, every movement precise and economical, no wasted energy, no visible strain.
Brooke elbowed me. “You okay over there?”
“I’m fine.”
She smirked. “Sure you are. Then tell yourself to breathe.”
My attention snapped back to the ice as Luka lifted Mila overhead again, rotating smoothly through the second lift sequence while the music built beneath them.
Oh my God.
Luka had always been extraordinary, but this was something else.
Nathan saw it too. “He’s letting himself perform more.”
The observation startled me because it was exactly right.
Before Milan, Luka had always skated as though perfection was something to survive.
Now he skated like he wanted to be seen.
The death spiral drew a collective inhale from the crowd, Mila’s body dropping impossibly close to the ice while Luka anchored the movement with terrifying control.
Then came the jump sequence, clean and sharp.
Brooke groaned. “Damn it.”
Nathan laughed under his breath. “Yeah, they’re not missing tonight.”
By the time they got to the choreographic sequence near the end, the audience was rooting for them, the emotional energy in the building shifting palpably as the music climbed toward its finish.
And through all of it, I couldn’t stop watching Luka, the concentration in him, the moments where his attention flickered instinctively toward Mila, the instinctive trust that came from years of doing this together.
The final pair spin accelerated sharply before slowing into their closing movement, both of them hitting the ending pose together with breathtaking precision.
Then stillness before the crowd erupted.
Nathan exhaled hard beside me. “Well,” he muttered. “That’s annoying.”
Brooke smacked his arm without taking her eyes off the ice. “And there go those lines, blurring again. Annoying for us, but awesome for Luka and Mila.”
I barely heard either of them, because Luka had lifted his head at center ice, his chest rising and falling hard, and even from across the arena his gaze found mine.
For a second, the noise in the arena disappeared. I’d expected relief or triumph. What I saw was something deeper, as though somewhere during those four minutes, he’d stopped skating for Velkarya alone.
And started skating for himself too.
Luka
Applause still rolled around the arena in waves as Mila grabbed my hand and pulled me off the ice beside her, both of us breathing hard, adrenaline still flooding through every part of me. My legs felt strangely light, almost disconnected from the rest of my body.
The moment we reached the Kiss and Cry, Aleksy was there first, catching Mila in a fierce hug before pulling me into one just as abruptly.
“You did it,” he said into my ear, his voice a little raw.
Irina kissed Mila’s cheek repeatedly while Anya bounced beside the barrier, clapping hard enough to injure herself. And as for Sokolov….
Bo?e. He was smiling.
I stared at him in disbelief. Mila noticed too because her eyes widened before she leaned toward me. “We should document this moment for history. Twice in three days?”
Sokolov’s mouth twitched in response before he folded his arms again, his composure sliding back into place.
The screen overhead replayed elements from the program while the arena announcers talked rapidly in Italian and English.
My pulse began climbing all over again.
Mila reached for my hand, our gloved fingers locking together.
“Will it be enough?” she murmured.
I knew exactly what she meant. This wasn’t about first place. The Canadians had been extraordinary tonight.
No, this was about the podium.
The arena dimmed slightly as the score graphic prepared to load.
My heartbeat slammed hard enough that I felt it in my throat. Beside me, Mila squeezed my hand.
Then the numbers appeared.
140.13
The crowd went wild.
For one heart stopping second, I genuinely did not understand what I was seeing.
Second place.
The realization crashed through me so hard my breath left my lungs.
Mila made a strangled sound beside me before throwing both arms around my neck hard enough to nearly knock me sideways. I caught her automatically, laughing in shock while the crowd roared and cameras flashed from every direction.
Second place.
Ahead of the Americans.
More importantly, ahead of the line we’d needed to cross.
Aleksy shouted something incoherent behind us while Irina covered her mouth with both hands, crying. Even Sokolov looked momentarily stunned before pride settled across his face.
Then the team points flashed up, and suddenly the scale of it hit me.
Even if Marek placed fifth in the singles, Velkarya would win its first Olympic team event medal.
And Mila and I—we had put them there.
I had put them there.
The boy who stepped onto the ice at four years old because everyone told him he was good enough to matter there.
The boy who learned very quickly that success made people proud.
That medals created approval and excellence made him visible.