Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Luka
I woke on Dean’s bed feeling as though I’d slept for a week and five minutes at the same time.
The oversized USA hoodie was twisted halfway around my body. Somebody from Dean’s team had handed it to me the night before. Ethan, maybe, or Brooke. The evening had dissolved into a blur somewhere after the medal ceremony.
Well, not everything was a blur.
Water ran behind the bathroom door, and for a moment I frowned. I hadn’t heard Dean come back from seeing his parents. Then I heard him singing. I lay there, trying to catch the words. The shower died, and so did his song.
A knock sounded, and before I could move, the bathroom door opened and Dean emerged barefoot, toweling his hair. He looked over to the bed.
“Hey.” He grinned. “You look marginally less dead.”
I tried to frown and failed. “I choose to take that as affection.”
“You should. It was meant that way.”
The knock came again, and he opened the door to reveal Mila balancing a cardboard tray of drinks. Snow glittered across her coat.
“I brought coffee for you,” she announced to Dean. Her lips twitched. “Those of us who are more civilized have tea.”
“Who cares about being civilized?” Dean claimed one of the cups with enthusiasm. “I knew there was a reason you were my favorite.”
I snorted. “He says that every time someone hands him caffeine.” Then Mila stared at me. I stared back. “What?”
She narrowed her gaze and pointed at the hoodie. “You lasted less than twelve hours.”
I frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means I expected at least one full day before you started stealing his clothes.”
Dean giggle-snorted.
I gaped at her. “I didn’t steal it.”
“Of course not.” Mila took a sip of tea. “It simply migrated.”
I looked down at the hoodie. “It was offered.”
Dean made a choking sound.
Mila nodded, her expression smug. “That’s usually how it starts.” She handed me tea, dropped into the chair by the window, then took out her phone. “Did you know an article described your kiss as a defining cultural moment?”
Dean groaned.
“It gets worse,” she continued. “A journalist wanted my perspective on your ‘developing emotional intimacy’,” she air-quoted.
I scowled. “I hate every word in that sentence.”
“I know.” Then she glanced at Dean. “So… why did you want me here so urgently?”
“I was told to get you here,” Dean informed her. “As for why—” Another knock interrupted him. “I think we’re about to find out.” He went to the door again.
Mark Winton stood outside with a woman I didn’t recognize. She was dressed plainly enough that I wouldn’t have looked twice at her in a crowd. Dean stood aside to let them enter.
“Hey.” Mark greeted me with a wave, then gestured to the woman. “Someone here you need to meet.”
She smiled. “I’m Helen Brooks, in charge of the US Figure Skating team.”
Mila abandoned her chair in a heartbeat, and Helen accepted it. Mila joined me on the bed. Dean remained standing, while Mark leaned against the door, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.
Helen clasped her hands together. “I’ll save everyone some time. Nobody’s in trouble.”
The sentence sounded so absurd that I almost laughed.
Helen focused her gaze on me. “We’ve followed your career for years, Luka. Every major federation has. But that’s not why I’m here.”
The room went quiet.
She cleared her throat. “There are legal pathways available for athletes who decide not to return home. Training visas. Residency sponsorships. Eventually citizenship, if they want it.”
I looked at her, then at Mark, then back to her.
Mila recovered first. “You’ve done this before?”
“Yes.”
“With skaters?”
“With all kinds of athletes.” Helen leaned back. “All came from different circumstances, different countries.”
I wrapped both hands around my tea.
The conversation had suddenly become fascinating.
“If I did that,” I heard myself say, “I would be leaving Velkarya permanently.”
The sentence seemed to hang in the air.
Permanent.
For years, leaving had existed only as a fantasy, something imagined during sleepless nights and immediately dismissed by morning.
Now an actual person was sitting in front of me discussing visas and timelines and government departments as though escape might be a logistical problem rather than an impossible one.
“Most likely.”
“And the federation would never forgive me.”
Helen’s expression was grave. “No, they probably wouldn’t.”
There was something oddly reassuring about how little effort she made to soften any of it.
Mila raised a hand, and Helen blinked. Mila shrugged. “Sorry. Reflex.” That earned a brief laugh around the room. “What happens to partnerships?”
Helen didn’t break eye contact with her. “Nobody separates you unless that’s what the two of you want.”
Mila nodded, her face thoughtful. I could practically see her beginning calculations: training locations, funding, competition schedules, housing…
I could understand that. The practical details seemed easier to think about than the alternative.
Dean crossed the room and sat down beside me while Helen continued outlining things I’d never expected to be discussing in a bedroom. The more she talked, the stranger the conversation became.
A month ago my biggest concern had been preparing for the Olympics.
Now an American federation official was calmly explaining immigration processes while my skating partner drank tea beside me and Dean sat close enough that our shoulders brushed whenever either of us moved.
At one point Helen mentioned attorneys. At another she mentioned housing assistance.
I found myself staring at her. The words sounded absurdly ordinary. Then it hit me.
Nobody was talking about rescue.
They were talking about a future.
Mila asked three questions about training arrangements.
Mark simply listened.
Eventually Helen rose from her chair. “We’ll leave information with Mark.”
I nodded. The movement felt automatic.
She paused at the door. “One more thing. Time is not on our side right now, so I’m going to be blunt.”
My pulse quickened.
“You leave Milan on the twenty-third, after the closing ceremony. That’s in a little over six days’ time.
If there is the slightest chance you might decide not to return to your own country, I need to put the wheels in motion.
” She held her hands up. “You don’t have to make any kind of decision now, Luka.
I mean that. You could turn around on the twenty-third and tell me you’re going back to Velkarya.
That would be fine.” Her eyes sparkled. “But if there’s any possibility that you decide not to get on that flight home, I need to start preparing now, especially if I want the State department to let you enter the US. ”
Dean stilled beside me.
Helen nodded. “That isn’t pressure, by the way—it’s paperwork.”
Nobody laughed, and I realized she had probably delivered variations of that sentence before.
A few minutes later she and Mark were gone and the room fell quiet.
Except the silence felt different now. Wider, as though someone had opened a door in a wall I had spent years assuming was solid.
Mila stared into her tea. Dean sat with his elbows on his knees. Nobody seemed eager to speak first.
I looked down at the oversized USA hoodie twisted around my torso.
Mila frowned. “What?”
I shook my head. “Yesterday I thought a press conference was the worst thing that could happen to me.”
Dean snorted.
“Today I woke up wearing an American hoodie.”
Mila’s lips twitched.
I held up my tea. “And now I’ve spent half an hour discussing immigration law with the head of US Figure Skating.”
Dean made a strangled sound.
“In a bedroom.”
Mila lost the battle first. The tea nearly came out of her nose.
Dean folded forward, laughing into both hands. “Okay,” he managed. “When you say it like that…”
Mila lost whatever composure she had left. Dean folded forward again.
And suddenly I was laughing too, helpless and breathless and unable to stop. The sound filled the room until my ribs hurt.
Somehow the reality sitting in front of us looked less like tragedy and more like the kind of story nobody would believe if we told it.
When the laughter finally eased, Dean nudged my shoulder. I looked at him, and his eyes twinkled. “Worst-case scenario is getting weirder by the hour.”
Another laugh escaped me. “Yes.”
I still had no idea what came next.
Somehow that no longer felt like a disaster.
Dean
By the second block, Luka had adjusted the cuffs of his coat often enough that I was beginning to suspect he regretted wearing sleeves.
“Relax.”
He blinked. “I am relaxed.”
I bit back a smile. “You just checked your cuffs twice while waiting for a traffic light.”
“They are uneven.”
I took a good look. “They’re identical.”
“That is your opinion.”
I laughed. Luka did not.
The restaurant was busy, but finding my parents took no effort at all. Mom spotted us immediately and stood so fast she nearly knocked her chair over.
Despite my warning him, Luka still looked caught off guard when Mom wrapped him in a hug. When she stepped back, he opened his mouth, closed it again, and glanced at me for assistance.
Mom got in first.
“You’re real.”
“Mom,” I said with a groan.
She waved me off. “What? Until last week he was basically a myth.”
Dad chuckled. “She’s not wrong. Every time she asked about you, Dean acted like he’d been subpoenaed.”
“I did not.”
“You most certainly did.”
Mom nodded. “Then you kissed him in front of half the planet and saved me weeks of guessing.”
“Sit down before she starts presenting evidence,” Dad said.
Luka frowned. “Evidence?”
“Baby photographs.”
Mom appeared offended. “I wasn’t going to show baby photographs.”
“You brought your tablet.”
Luka seemed far too interested.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
His lips twitched. “I am merely gathering information.”
We sat, and a server appeared with two more menus.
“How did it go tonight?” Dad asked.
I beamed. “Harper is in the lead, and Ava is fourth.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “You think they might both medal?”