Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Dean
“You sure about this?” Mark asked as we waited outside the media room. “We can postpone it. No reason to rush this. You’ve already faced the press once.”
Luka adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, a habit I’d started recognizing whenever he forced himself under control. He looked exhausted, as though he’d been holding tension inside him for way too long.
That’s because he has.
“We need to get ahead of the curve,” he said. Then he let out a short breath. “Bo?e. Listen to me. I sound like a federation statement.”
Mark snorted. “That alone tells me you’re concussed.”
Luka rolled his eyes. “I blame your skater. When he is near, I cannot think clearly.”
I buffed my nails on my jacket. “Damn, I’m good.” They both laughed. “Thanks for organizing this, Mark.” Then I remembered. “And in case I didn’t mention it, thanks for the Valentine’s Day gift. It was awesome.”
Luka’s eyes widened. “Yes. I must thank you too.”
I swear Mark flushed. “Okay, you can stop right there. You’ll give me a swelled head. Now let’s go give those reporters something to really write about.” He opened the door and guided us inside.
The room carried none of the charged chaos of the mixed zone. The atmosphere had a quieter kind of intensity. Journalists filled the rows of chairs facing the platform, cameras already recording while reporters murmured to each other and checked notes on glowing screens.
Waiting.
I smiled to myself. Looks as if they’re trying to decide whether they’re about to witness damage control, scandal, or history.
Luka walked beside me, and I could feel the strain running through him, every line of his posture held too carefully in place, his breathing measured.
He sat first, and I took the chair beside him, angled toward the room while the moderator thanked everyone for coming. Luka kept his gaze forward, expression composed enough that most people there would probably mistake it for calm.
I knew better.
Mark stood at the side, arms folded, his gaze protective.
The moderator glanced at the audience, and the murmurs died away. He turned to Luka. “Would you like to begin?”
Luka nodded, taking a breath, and I mentally sent him all the positive vibes I could muster.
“What happened after the medal ceremony was not planned for public attention,” he said, his voice even. “That moment belonged to us. The Games are over now—for Dean and I at least—and we felt it was important to acknowledge what people saw without turning our private lives into speculation.”
The room got very quiet.
He rested both hands on the table before continuing.
“I am proud of my skating career. I am proud of Dean. Beyond that, I am not interested in dissecting our relationship for public consumption.”
No one made a sound for a second after he finished. Then pens started moving again and phones were raised higher, reporters exchanging glances across the rows.
The moderator cleared his throat. “We’ll open the floor for questions now.”
A journalist near the front raised her hand. “Luka, how long have you and Dean been together?”
Luka didn’t rush his answer. “Long enough that this matters deeply to both of us.”
We’d agreed on the best way to handle this. The last thing we wanted was to give anyone an invitation to pry further.
Another reporter jumped in before the first had lowered her microphone.
“Dean, were you concerned about the consequences of making such a personal moment public?”
I waited for the room to settle before answering.
“We knew people would react,” I said at last. “At some point it felt weirder to keep hiding it than to be honest.”
I got the feeling I’d said something interesting. Several reporters started speaking at once before the moderator restored order.
“So, the kiss wasn’t spontaneous?” somebody called out from the middle row.
Luka answered before I could. “No, it wasn’t impulsive. We’d both spent a long time deciding what we were no longer willing to hide.”
A few people stopped typing after that, and I felt the mood in the room change.
They just realized this isn’t recklessness unfolding in front of them.
I knew Luka had thought about every word before walking through that door. He sounded controlled, but underneath it sat years of restraint finally cracking open.
The next question was more cautious.
“Does this affect your future professionally? Are you reconsidering where or how you train?”
Luka’s shoulders tightened, and I reached across the narrow space between our chairs to rest my fingers against his wrist. He breathed deeply, then gave me a warm smile before facing the audience.
“I’m not making major decisions today. But I am done making choices based around fear.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Mark’s expression. For a second there he looked proud enough to break my heart.
Luka wasn’t done.
“For a long time, I let other people tell me what parts of myself were acceptable. I’m not interested in doing that anymore.”
A murmur rippled through the room at that.
I leaned forward. “We’re handling things the same way anyone else would.” Then I smiled. “We just happen to be doing it in full view of Olympic cameras.”
That earned a few laughs, enough to break the tension. A reporter near the aisle spoke next.
“Will you continue publicly as a couple moving forward?”
We’d expected this one.
“Yes,” Luka said, his chin held high. “In the sense that we’re no longer pretending otherwise.”
I picked up the thread before anyone could twist it and make it uglier. “But we’re not turning our relationship into a performance either.”
Several reporters exchanged more looks after that, and I saw curiosity, as if they were trying to recalibrate the story they’d expected to tell.
The moderator checked the clock. “We have time for one final question.”
A journalist on the back row raised her hand.
“What happens now?”
Luka rubbed a hand across his mouth. I could see how exhaustion was catching up with him, visible in the slower movements he’d stopped bothering to hide.
“I rest,” he said with a shrug. “I spend time away from cameras. Then I decide what I want my future to look like without other people making those choices for me.”
The honesty in that answer silenced the room more effectively than any rehearsed response could have.
I looked toward the room. “And whatever comes next, we’ll deal with it privately.”
Then we stood. Neither of us reached for the other. We weren’t about to hold hands for photographs. We walked out together while reporters kept shouting questions after us, cameras still flashing.
For us, the Olympics had ended hours ago.
Now we had to figure out what came after truth.
Luka
The door closed behind us with a click, and the sound settled deep in my chest like the end of a long-held breath.
Mark had followed us out.
“Okay, boys… breathe.” He patted our backs. “You are both brave men.”
“We told the truth,” I said simply. “Is that brave?”
“It is when most people never make it that far.” Then he straightened.
“Now, I hate to burst your bubble, but you’ve both got the gala to prepare for on Saturday.
Don’t forget to give yourselves some breathing space.
” He looked me in the eye. “While you can. Because you know the story isn’t going to end here, right?
” Then he pulled out his phone. “And now there’s somewhere I have to be.
” He smiled. “The Olympics have finished for you guys, but not for Harper and Ava.” He gave Dean’s shoulder a squeeze.
“You gonna be there tonight to cheer them on?”
Before Dean could reply, I got in first. “We both will.”
Mark smiled, then headed off.
I watched him disappear down the hallway. “I like your coach. He’s nothing like Sokolov.”
Dean laughed under his breath. “That’s a very low bar.”
“True.”
The corridor had finally emptied, and the sudden absence of people felt almost as strange as the press conference itself. I leaned against the wall and shut my eyes for a second. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving exhaustion in its place. My legs felt heavy, my head heavier.
When I opened my eyes again, Dean was studying me. “You okay?”
I was too tired to lie. “I think I could sleep for three days.”
“That bad?”
I smiled. “That good.” I glanced back to the media room. “Half the time I was waiting for somebody to accuse me of something.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s usually how these conversations go.”
Dean pushed one shoulder against the wall beside me. “Nobody seemed interested in accusing you of anything.”
“No, they weren’t.”
I’d spent years building those moments into monsters in my head. Then I’d walked into a room, answered questions, and walked back out again.
Dean brushed his fingers across the back of my neck. “Come here.”
The second I stepped into his arms, the noise still rattling around in my head eased a little, as if it had moved further away. People passed occasionally at the far end of the corridor, dragging suitcases or carrying accreditation lanyards. Nobody paid us much attention.
“This still feels weird,” I said eventually.
“What does?”
I tilted my head back enough to look at him. “Having a terrible day and then... not having it become worse.”
That earned me a laugh. “Your standards are tragic.”
I stared at him. “You have met my federation.”
“Fair point.”
I rested my forehead against his shoulder again.
A week ago, I would have spent the entire walk back from that press conference replaying every answer, looking for mistakes. Now, all I wanted was a shower and about twelve hours of sleep.
Maybe that is growth.
By the time we reached the exit, I couldn’t summon the energy to replay a single answer.
Dean moved his hand lazily across my back. “Anything you wish you’d said differently?”
I thought about it. The questions blurred together already. Headlines would come and go. Commentators would dissect every answer until the next story pushed this one aside.
“No. I think I am done explaining myself for one day.”
“Excellent.”
I blinked. “That is all you have?”
“Yep.”