Chapter 32 #2
One thought lingered, that somewhere above the judges’ side, Luka was watching me.
I nearly smiled before the first setup even began.
I let the opening edge sequence breathe, knees bending deeply into each curve while the program gathered force beneath me.
The opening quad Lutz…
Mark and I had argued over adding it back into the layout because it was risky as hell as an opener. Big outside edge, huge rotational demand, way too easy to overthink.
Tonight I didn’t think.
I shortened the setup deliberately, cutting out the long preparation I’d used earlier in the week. The takeoff snapped beneath me, and for one suspended moment, the arena disappeared.
Then the landing hit clean, and the audience exploded.
I barely heard them, because I was already moving again, no pause, straight into transitions and footwork, upper body still controlled while the music widened around me.
That was the difference tonight. I wasn’t skating jump-to-jump anymore, but one complete thought.
The quad toe loop landed clean next, faster across the ice than it had in practice, and adrenaline surged hotter through my bloodstream with the impact.
Good. Damn good.
I still wanted more.
The triple Axel came midway down the rink, huge and sharp and effortless in the air before I checked the landing cleanly into the next phrase of choreography. Applause crashed through the arena again, and still I kept moving, pushing aside cautious pacing and focusing on momentum.
The quieter middle section arrived, the dangerous part of the music where programs could suddenly flatten emotionally if the skater lost connection for even a second. In the team event, I’d played it safely here.
Tonight I changed it.
I drove harder into the turns, blades carving deep controlled arcs into the ice as the music thinned near the judges’ side.
Then I stopped for one beat, creating a bubble of stillness. I lifted my head and looked directly outward, not at any specific judge, but at all of it.
The arena went silent for half a heartbeat, then they came with me.
I moved again.
The hardest pass in the program approached fast now, Quad Salchow into triple toe, the element that would decide whether this skate became legendary or merely excellent.
I was aiming for the former.
I accelerated harder into the entry than I had all week, edge deep and aggressive beneath me while the music surged upward.
Takeoff, rotation compressed tight enough to blur the lights overhead, landing, and immediate snap into the triple toe. No stumble, no loss of flow.
The roar hit me physically that time, straight through my ribs, and for one split second, joy surged sharply enough that I nearly lost control of my expression. I swallowed it back and kept skating.
But now the energy in the building had changed completely. I felt it.
The spin sequence centered perfectly beneath me, tighter and faster than during the team event, every revolution locked cleanly into place while the music drove harder toward the final section.
I exited sharply and launched straight into the combination sequence—triple flip, Euler, triple Salchow—my legs burning now but timing still there, my body holding together under pressure exactly the way it had been trained to do for years.
The second triple Axel came late in the program. That was intentional too. Most skaters protected stamina by simplifying late.
I wanted the opposite.
I wanted the judges to feel I was getting stronger.
The Axel soared cleanly, and the crowd reacted before I even finished the landing edge.
And suddenly I stopped holding anything back.
The choreographic sequence exploded outward with the final rise of the music, my speed increasing almost recklessly through the step sequence while the arena blurred around me. This was where exhaustion usually showed.
Not tonight.
Tonight I felt unleashed.
My upper body opened fully for the first time all evening, arms no longer restrained into precision alone but extending naturally with the emotion inside the music itself. What filled me was greater than relief, steadier than joy.
I stopped wondering whether tonight would be enough.
The final jump approached, Triple Lutz, a simple element compared to everything before it, but still dangerous this late.
I landed it clean, and the momentum carried me straight into the closing choreography before I dropped onto one knee at center ice, chest heaving hard, head bowed as the final note cut into silence.
It felt as though the entire arena stopped breathing.
Then the explosion came.
The sound crashed over me from every direction at once, cheering, screaming, flags waving wildly somewhere high above the rink.
The roar of the crowd followed me all the way around the rink, not fading but growing.
I could barely feel my legs anymore as I skated toward the Kiss and Cry, adrenaline still crashing through my bloodstream while people stood everywhere around the arena, flags still waving, cameras flashing, people screaming my name loud enough to cut through everything else.
I barely processed any of it.
Mark waited at the boards, and the second I reached him, he grabbed both my shoulders hard. For a moment he just looked at me, and I realized his eyes were suspiciously bright.
“Oh my God,” I gasped. “You’re emotional.”
“Shut up.”
“You are!”
“I said shut up.” But his voice cracked anyway before he pulled me into a brutal one-armed hug. “Dean…” He exhaled hard against my temple. “Jesus Christ.”
Emotion slammed into me all over again.
Mark never lost composure, not at competitions, not at Worlds, not even after my first senior title.
Seeing him like this made everything feel so fucking real.
“You did exactly what we trained for,” he said roughly as we sat down in the Kiss and Cry. “No hesitation. No backing off. You went for the throat tonight.”
I laughed breathlessly, still trying to drag air into my lungs. I managed a glance at the monitor. Victor was looking at a total score of 291.84. Ethan’s was 273.61.
Mark’s hand clutched mine. “You couldn’t have skated any better. That was—” He took a breath. “You were stunning.”
The replay started immediately on the giant screen overhead, but I couldn’t watch it. I searched through the crowd instead, looking for—
There.
Luka stood several sections up beside Mila near the athlete seating, both of them still watching the Kiss and Cry instead of the replay screen.
Mila smiled first when our eyes met, warm and knowing.
But Luka—
God.
The look on his face. Pride. Relief.
Mark followed my line of sight upward. His lips twitched before he looked back toward the monitor without comment, just as the announcer’s voice burst over the sound system.
My pulse jumped. I dragged both hands down my thighs, trying unsuccessfully to breathe like a normal human being while the arena announcer started reading through the marks in Italian and English overhead.
Technical score first. 114.72
Oh my God. That was huge.
Then components.
Dear God. 87.02
The crowd noise started building before the total even appeared.
I stared at the screen. 201.74. In first place for the free skate.
Finally, the totals flashed up.
“Holy fuck, Dean,” Mark croaked.
I stared at the screen.
304.83.
First place.
Olympic gold.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
Mark grabbed the back of my neck hard enough to nearly shake me.
“You did it.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The camera swung toward the crowd and suddenly I saw Mom with both hands clapped over her mouth, crying, Dad beside her, standing and applauding with this expression of stunned pride I knew I would remember for the rest of my life.
Below them, half the US team had completely lost their minds. Noah was literally jumping, Nathan was grinning his head off, and Brooke and Harper waved a US flag above their heads.
Ethan saluted me, his face glowing, and I sent it right back to him.
Then I sought out Luka again. He hadn’t moved. He simply stared at me as if he knew what this moment meant beyond medals and scores and Olympic history.
Through all the noise, the lights, and the overwhelming exhilaration, one thought cut through everything else.
I wanted him beside me when this ended.
Everything after that was a blur of cameras and flags, until we were lined up beneath the lights for the medals ceremony. Volunteers carried the trays forward, the arena still buzzing after hours of competition.
Bronze to France.
Silver to Canada.
Then—
“And Olympic champion…”
The words washed over me as I stepped onto the highest podium.
The gold medal settled around my neck, and I thought about everything that had brought me to this moment. Years of training, of pressure, every four a.m. practice, every injury, every sacrifice.
Every moment wondering if I was enough.
All of it suddenly compressed into one impossible instant beneath bright arena lights while the crowd rose again around me.
I looked toward the stands. Mom had both hands pressed over her mouth now. Dad stood beside her smiling, eyes glistening.
And farther back, there was Luka, his eyes fixed on me as the anthem began.
The world narrowed once more.
I had dreamed about this moment my entire life. The medal, the anthem, the podium… But somehow, it felt fuller because he was here to see it.
My throat seized, and I had to breathe deeply to keep myself together while the anthem played. Below the podium, cameras flashed relentlessly.
Olympic champion, America’s golden boy. The words barely felt real.
When our eyes met again, Luka smiled.
Beneath the lights, with gold against my chest and the anthem still echoing around the arena, I realized I had spent the entire ceremony looking for one person.
And he had been there.