Chapter 34 #2
I rolled my eyes and pushed off again, letting the music restart through the empty-ish practice rink.
The atmosphere after competition always changed. It got lighter, messier. People laughed more. Coaches stopped looking like they had a pole stuck up their asses.
But through all my preparations for the exhibition gala that would happen in a week’s time, my thoughts kept circling back to Luka.
Tomorrow night the cameras would focus on him again, and his federation would be watching every movement he made. And after everything he’d told me, after the frank conversations in my room, I knew the pressure sitting on his shoulders now had become something entirely different.
A pressure that had nothing to do with his skating.
He wasn’t just afraid anymore. He was awake, and that sounded more dangerous.
My phone buzzed as I stepped off the ice.
Luka: About this secret plan of yours for this afternoon… are you going to share it? Or do I need a crash course in mind-reading?
I laughed, my thumbs sliding over the screen: Yeah, *definitely* sounding more American.
Ethan coughed loudly. “Excuse me? I’m the funny one here.”
I ignored him and typed back: How’s the hip?
Better, thanks to you.
I smiled.
Your plan?
I grinned. You said you trusted me.
The answer came back almost at once.
I was emotionally compromised at the time. [grin]
God.
Even now, after everything, the ease between us still felt miraculous.
I typed: Mark got me access to Agorà this afternoon for gala rehearsal. Private ice. No media. Just you and me. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but it was space we didn’t have to share with anyone.
Space where we could just be ourselves.
There was a pause before his reply pinged back.
What time? How will we get there?
I smiled as I typed. Mark has organized a car.
Another grin emoji appeared. Really?
Mark had turned out to be a real-life Gay Fairy Godmother, and not a magic wand in sight.
I pocketed my phone, and started removing my skates.
“Are we done?” Ethan asked, his eyes wide.
“I don’t know about you, but I sure am.” I peered at him. “Do yourself a favor. Grab whatever condoms you still have left, and—”
Laughter exploded from him. “Are you kidding me? I finished those about three days after we talked about it.”
I reached into my jacket pocket, removed two packets, and tossed them to him. “Here. It’s Valentine’s. Go find yourself a hot guy.”
Ethan slipped them into his jeans back pocket. “Not gonna ask why you happen to have these on you.”
“Good idea. I did notice you didn’t put up much of a fight about accepting them.”
“Hey, never look a gift horse—never mind.” He pouted.
“What—no lube?” I glared at him, and he got up quickly.
“Uh-oh. Time to go. See you later.” He paused before heading toward the door.
“Hey, Dean… Have a good day with Luka. At least, I’m assuming you’re going to him.
I know I would be. Grab every moment you can.
” He gave me a wistful smile. “I was never interested in having a boyfriend. It was way more fun playing the field, one-night-stands, hot hookups… But when I see you two? You make it seem awful tempting.” His eyes gleamed.
“And if you breathe a word of what I just said to a living soul, I’ll deny it, okay?
Don’t want people thinking I’ve gone soft or something. ”
I tilted my head. “You think I’ve gone soft?”
He shook his head. “I like the man you become when he’s around you. There’s this whole ‘Touch him and die’ energy going on whenever you look at his federation. And if that’s how he looks at you in public? Jesus…” He held out the two condom packets. “I think you might need these more than I do.”
I laughed. “Keep ’em. Your need is greater.”
Ethan pretended to think about it. “You know what? You’re right.” And with that, he walked off with a confident swagger.
Someone needs to tell all the hot men in Milan that Hurricane Ethan is about to tear a path through them.
By two that afternoon, we were in the back of a car heading away from the Olympic Village and into the city.
No team jackets, no credentials hanging around our necks, just bags containing our skates, winter coats and jeans, and hats pulled low enough that nobody looked twice at us, Luka’s unruly blond hair hidden under a layer of thick wool.
Milan slid past outside the windows in muted February color while Luka sat beside me close enough that our knees touched every time the car turned.
Neither of us made any attempt to correct that.
“Where is this place?” he asked.
“It’s another rink. Mark says a lot of skaters practice there when they want to get away from the main arena.” I chuckled. “Although how he managed to secure it for three whole hours, I have no idea. All he’d say was he pulled some strings.”
Luka gazed at the passing scenery.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.
It still hadn’t sunk in. This beautiful human being loved me.
“You are staring,” Luka murmured eventually, eyes still on the passing streets.
“You’re very stare-able.”
“That is not a word.”
I chuckled. “It absolutely is. And if I’m wrong, it should be.”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
God, I love making him smile.
The rink sat in a spot quieter than the Olympic venues, tucked away from the constant chaos surrounding the Games. There were no crowds gathered outside, no camera crews waiting near the entrance. Inside, the stillness hit me immediately, and relief washed over me.
This was a good idea. God bless Mark Winton.
Luka exhaled beside me when he saw the rink, the area empty except for one maintenance worker near the far Zamboni entrance.
“No one is here,” he said in a tone of awe.
“Yeah.” I grinned. “I really owe Mark, big time.”
The tension in Luka’s shoulders eased, and in that moment I got it.
He’s spent so many years under scrutiny that privacy has become a form of safety.
“Will we have music?”
I pointed to the far end. “That looks fairly technical. Let’s try over there.” I had my music for the gala piece on my phone.
Sure enough, I was able to connect with the sound system.
We spent almost an hour doing absolutely nothing important. I worked through fragments of gala choreography while Luka sat on the boards watching me with his chin propped on one hand, occasionally offering critiques.
“That spin looked… emotionally constipated.”
I froze. “Wow. Seriously?”
He opened his eyes wide. “You asked for honesty.”
“I really didn’t.” I narrowed my gaze. “And I take it back. Your command of English is getting way too good.”
“And there is no one to blame but you.” He grinned. “Now I truly understand why Mila’s English is so much better than mine.”
Later, Luka skated alone while I leaned against the barrier watching him move through the empty rink.
Jesus…
Even now, after all the emotional revelations and confessions and life-altering conversations, watching him skate still felt dangerous.
Yes, he was technically brilliant, but when nobody was judging him, Luka moved differently, all rigidity gone, with a freedom that took my breath away.
The invisible restraint he carried during competition had loosened, and the result was stunning.
At one point he launched into a jump without warning, landed cleanly, then laughed under his breath. The sound echoed through the near-empty arena, and my chest felt constricted.
I had never heard him laugh on the ice before.
Eventually he drifted back to me, his cheeks flushed, strands of blond hair curled damply against his forehead.
He fixed me with a look. “You are staring again.”
“That’s because you are still very stare-able.”
“You say ridiculous things.”
“Yeah, but you don’t mind them so much now, because you love me.”
His face glowed at that. “This is true.” He cocked his head. “You are smiling at me strangely.”
“I won Olympic gold yesterday. I’m allowed to smile strangely.”
He pretended to peer closely at my chest. “You did not wear it today?”
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Yeah, well, I thought about it.”
He chuckled. “I was surprised you did not sleep with it under your pillow.”
“Yeah, I thought about that too. And you have no idea what a wrench it was not to wear it in the shower this morning.”
Luka’s cheeks flushed. “I am glad you didn’t. It would have smacked into me every time you—” He clammed up, eyes bright.
I pulled him to me. “You told me shower sex was ‘not optimal’, if I recall. What changed your mind?”
He laughed. “You. Always you. Being near you overrides my common sense.”
I brushed my lips over his ear. “Does this mean we get to do it again?”
He let out a whimper that went straight to my dick. “Yes—after the free skate.” Then he pulled away dramatically and crossed his fingers, holding them at arms’ length. “Back, back, you…. sex demon.”
I burst out laughing. “Wow. Now that’s what I call a compliment.”
We sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the rink boards after that, sharing terrible vending-machine coffee while silence settled comfortably between us.
The atmosphere felt warm. Normal.
Until Luka looked down at the paper coffee cup in his hands, his brow furrowed.
“What’s wrong?”
He let out a sigh. “I understand now why people give all of this up.”
My heart thumped. “All of what?”
He glanced out across the empty rink. “The medals, the pressure, the constant performance.” He swallowed. “I used to think people retired because they were tired.”
“And now?”
His voice lowered almost to a whisper. “Now I think perhaps they simply want to live.”
God.
I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. Luka held on, and we stayed like that for a while, talking occasionally, sitting in silence more often.
At one point he stretched out beside me on the boards, his shoulder pressed against mine, his fingers wrapped loosely around my hand.
The simplicity of it hurt.
This was the thing I suddenly wanted most. Not medals or headlines, but a quiet afternoon, coffee, Luka laughing…
A life ordinary enough that nobody cared who we were holding hands with.
The thought arrived so naturally it scared me.