Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
Dean
The lobby was an exercise in organized chaos.
Teams were leaving at different times. Some athletes sat on suitcases waiting for transport.
Others wandered in and out carrying coffee and comparing flight schedules.
Every few minutes somebody spotted a friend across the room and abandoned whatever they were supposed to be doing in favor of one last conversation.
Luka walked beside me as we made our way through the crowd, on our way to meet Mila.
“I need coffee,” he muttered.
I knew the feeling. Putting off sleep had seemed like a good idea at the time, but the stark morning light did nothing to hide our tiredness.
“I promise, we’ll go find some once we’ve said goodbye.” The US team wasn’t due to ship out until the following morning, so I knew they’d be around somewhere.
Mila spotted us first. She was sitting with Donna near one of the windows, their heads together. Both looked up as we approached.
“Morning,” I said in a cheerful tone.
Mila narrowed her gaze. “That is debatable.”
Donna laughed into her coffee.
Mila shook her head. “Do all Americans insist on having emotional conversations at ridiculous hours of the night?”
Luka chuckled. “Ah, you too?”
I put my arm around him. “That’s because we care.”
He snorted. “That’s because you don’t sleep.”
“Also true.”
Noah arrived a few minutes later carrying two coffees and looking as though he’d already been awake for hours. Behind him came Ethan, carrying a pastry roughly the size of a steering wheel.
I stared at it. “Where did you even get that?”
He glanced down. “Oh. This? It’s breakfast.”
“For six people, maybe.”
Brooke and Nathan appeared not long after, and within minutes the conversation had drifted toward flight times, post-Olympic plans and the universal problem of returning to normal life after spending almost four weeks inside an Olympic Village.
I found myself watching Mila as she listened to Ethan explain that airport food was inedible and vastly overpriced. Not that she was really paying attention, but then again, neither was Donna. Every so often they gazed at each other.
Luka was watching them too.
The announcement for one of the departing buses echoed through the lobby, and a handful of athletes stood and gathered their bags, a reminder that the departures were beginning.
Mila glanced toward the doors, then at Donna.
They both look as though they’re memorizing each other.
Luka
This wasn’t going to be an easy morning.
Donna studied Mila for a second. “I still think you’re out of your mind.”
Mila laughed. “You think this is breaking news?”
“No, but usually you’re sensible enough to listen when I point it out.”
Mila’s eyes sparkled. “Have we met?”
The smile lingered on Donna’s face for a moment before she reached across and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Mila’s ear. The gesture seemed to catch both of them by surprise.
Mila’s laughter faded, but neither looked away.
A volunteer called out departure information in Italian and English.
Donna’s hand remained where it was. “I hate this.”
My throat tightened when Mila covered Donna’s hand with her own.
“I know.”
“You always do this,” Donna said with a sigh.
“Do what?”
“You decide something impossible and then somehow make it sound reasonable.”
Mila smiled. “That’s because I’m very persuasive. And part of you obviously likes this because it’s been three years and we’re still together.”
“Yeah, and this is the closest we’ve ever been to making it permanent, and yet you’re about to get on a plane.”
Mila winced. “Don’t. Please.”
Then Donna seized her in a tight hug, and I looked away. Everyone did, giving them a little space because some moments belonged to the people living them.
When I glanced back a few seconds later, Donna had reached for Mila’s hand.
Donna’s voice was quiet when she finally spoke.
“You call me the second you land, you hear?”
Mila nodded, her eyes glistening.
Donna straightened. “Okay. You go home, and do what you need to do. Say whatever you need to say. And when you’re ready, Helen will make it happen.”
“Okay.”
Donna stroked Mila’s cheek. “And when you finally get to the US, I’ll be waiting.” Then she wrapped her arms around Mila for the last time.
Nobody spoke.
When they finally pulled apart, Donna pressed a kiss to Mila’s forehead, and then Mila picked up her bag.
The movement seemed to break whatever spell had settled over the group. Goodbyes began all around us. Brooke hugged her, Nathan followed, and Noah squeezed her shoulder and told her she’d better answer her messages.
Even Ethan looked unexpectedly emotional. “I hate this part.”
Eventually she turned toward me, and for a moment we didn’t speak.
We’d spent years standing together, training, competing—surviving—and somewhere along the way she’d become so much a part of my life that I couldn’t remember what it felt like before.
Mila gazed into my eyes. “You know, this would be easier if you were coming with me.”
I swallowed. “I know.”
Her eyes searched mine. “Still sure about this?” I nodded, and her expression relaxed a little. “Good.”
My throat tightened again. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Neither do I.”
I pulled her into a hug, overwhelmed by memories of early morning training sessions, arguments, victories, defeats…
A lifetime compressed into a few seconds.
When I finally spoke, my voice sounded rough. “Thank you.”
Mila pulled back enough to look at me. “For what?”
“For staying.” Every time the world had demanded more than either of us wanted to give, she’d been there.
Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I’ll see you soon.”
That was better than goodbye.
I nodded. “Soon.”
She glanced at Dean. “Look after him, or you’ll have me to answer to.”
Dean smiled. “You had to make my last memory of you a scary one, didn’t you?”
She wiped her eyes and grinned. “But of course.”
A few minutes later, she’d disappeared through the doors, Donna staring at the space she’d occupied before announcing she needed more caffeine and hurrying away.
Dean rested a hand against my back. Then he muttered, “Well, there goes any chance of a quiet morning.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?” I turned around—
Vasiliev had entered the lobby, accompanied by three federation officials, Sokolov a few steps behind them. One of the men pushed a luggage cart piled high with suitcases and bags.
For a second nobody around me moved.
Vasiliev’s gaze alighted on me, and I swore I saw relief in his expression.
Does he really believe he’s won?
I almost smiled.
By the time they reached us, everyone around was paying attention.
Vasiliev stopped in front of me. “Davorin.” His tone suggested we were continuing a discussion rather than beginning one. “The bus is boarding.”
I glanced toward the entrance. “I know.”
His smile looked practiced. “We should go, then.”
I could feel several pairs of eyes on me.
“Thank you, Director, but I will not be joining the team.”
The words came out more calmly than I’d expected.
Vasiliev stared at me. “I’m sorry?”
I smiled politely. “I will not be joining the team.”
Sokolov stared at me. “Luka.”
I recognized that warning note. I’d heard it countless times over the years, usually before an argument, or before I did something he considered foolish.
I returned his stare.
“We supported you,” he said. “We gave you opportunities most skaters never receive.”
Every word of it was true. Sokolov had been there for almost half my life. He’d pushed me harder than anyone, taught me things I still carried onto the ice every day. There had been times when I’d wanted his approval so badly that a single compliment from him could improve an entire week.
I squared my shoulders. “I know what you have done for me. I have never forgotten it.”
Sokolov’s shoulders eased a fraction.
“But that does not mean you get to decide the rest of my life.”
His relief vanished almost immediately, and he scowled. “This isn’t about your life. It’s about one decision.”
I surprised myself by smiling. “I think that is where we have been disagreeing for years.”
His eyes narrowed.
I continued before he could interrupt. “The kiss was not one decision. The gala was not one decision. Staying is not one decision.” I glanced toward the doors Mila had disappeared through less than five minutes earlier. “This started a long time ago.”
Sokolov followed my gaze, then stilled. “You are making a mistake.”
I’d expected anger. What I heard was disappointment.
That hurt more. It would have been easier if he’d shouted, if Vasiliev had threatened me.
Instead, I was standing opposite a man who genuinely believed he was trying to save me from myself. For years that would have been enough to make me doubt my own judgment. But after the conversation with my parents, after everything that had happened in Milan, I found I couldn’t do it anymore.
I shrugged. “Maybe I am making a mistake.”
Vasiliev seemed startled by the answer, as did Sokolov. Then I reasoned that most people expect an argument when they call your future a mistake.
“I’d still rather make it myself.”
Vasiliev recovered first. “This is not the time for theatrics.”
From somewhere behind me, I heard Ethan’s gasp.
“Ethan, can it.” The fierce whisper came from Noah.
Vasiliev ignored both of them. “You are under contract with the federation.”
“I am aware of that.”
“Then perhaps you have forgotten your obligations.”
“No, I haven’t.” I met his gaze. “I’ve spent most of my life being reminded of them.”
The silence surrounding us told me one thing. People were listening now.
Vasiliev knew it too. His eyes flicked briefly around the lobby, taking in athletes, coaches…
The conversation he’d intended to have privately now had an audience.
A volunteer near the entrance had stopped sorting luggage carts. Two athletes from another delegation were openly watching from beside the coffee stand. Several phones had appeared, their owners making a token effort to look interested in something else.
His expression hardened. “This conversation should happen elsewhere.”
“Why?” The question escaped before I could stop it.