Chapter 20
Iliked to think of myself as a consummate professional when it came to figure skating.
I never showed up unprepared, whether it be a competition or training.
My coaches, choreographers, and even my physical therapist knew that I would have done all the work they’d told me to do at the end of our last meeting.
Even when it was something I hated or felt pointless, I would do everything to prepare.
Knowing everything backwards and forwards gave me the confidence I needed for performances.
It wasn’t enough to exude confidence; I had to be supremely confident.
And for several years I’d achieved just that.
The Grand Prix Finals was the first time in ages I felt none of that.
My friends always asked me to apply their false lashes before we went out, because I’d had so much practice.
Even after a few drinks, I could get them on with a steady hand on the first try.
But sitting in that Swedish dressing room, stone cold sober, I couldn’t get my hand to stop shaking.
Instead of projecting confidence, I was cursing under my breath as I tried to remove excess lash glue from my eyelids without taking off all the eyeshadow I’d worked so hard on.
Dom and I had been doing our best to put up a good front in front of people, but there were too many problems between us.
Neither of us had apologized to the other for the words we had exchanged that Monday afternoon.
In fact, we hadn’t brought the argument up at all.
Somehow I had defaulted to doing what he suggested, and we pretended that the fight hadn’t happened.
I felt some vindication in the fact that neither of us was getting exactly what we wanted, but a sense of dread overpowered it.
He had hoped that we would go back to being like we always were if we didn’t have the discussion.
That couldn’t be farther from the truth.
I'd started having as many issues with eye contact as he did.
My mind bounced between our night together and the fight.
Both situations made me uncomfortable, albeit for different reasons.
Every morning, I’d hoped it would be the day he would come around, but it had never happened.
We had spent the last couple of weeks putting on our best faces for people, only to drop the act when we were alone.
Silence between us had never been an issue before.
If there was a conversational lull, I had always known we could pick back up when we had something to say without skipping a beat.
That was yet another thing that had slipped away.
The silences between us now felt like they were aching to be filled, but neither of us knew how to do it.
Hell, maybe he didn’t even want to fill them.
It had made for a very long, uncomfortable trip overseas.
When you were stuck in a cramped airplane seat next to somebody who was doing their best not to talk to you, a trans-Atlantic flight might as well take an eternity.
Now that we were so close to the short program, I was regretting our standoff.
It was like a game of chicken, where we were both convinced that the other would be the one to give before we crashed.
With every passing day, I had been certain that he was going to crack under the pressure and try to mend fences.
By the time I wondered if maybe he wouldn’t, I was uncomfortable bringing it up.
After more than a week, it seemed smarter to let go of my frustration than to talk about it again.
I doubted that a conversation would do more than reignite the hurt feelings, and that was probably worse than the status quo.
Getting ready for the short program, I questioned that decision.
We weren’t screwing up constantly in training, but that was the only positive thing I could say.
I would never admit out loud that I wasn’t hoping for a personal best this time around.
Not when I’d spent two weeks being told that we weren’t doing as well at everything from our side-by-side spins to our footwork.
Olga had given us variations of the same critique repeatedly.
We needed to look effortless. Judges do not want to see you working to match your partner.
Don’t let people see you struggle. Different words, but the same sentiment over and over.
Unfortunately, it was hard to make things seem easy when you were struggling to skate as one with your partner for the first time in years.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my headphones.
I needed to distract myself from my racing thoughts.
I usually saved the music for later, but I thought it was best that I drown out the voice in my head telling me that I was in trouble.
If I didn’t get my act together soon, I wasn’t going to have time to perfect my makeup.
I didn’t need to look like a hot mess, even though I felt like one.
A few minutes later, I found Dom standing near the tunnel we would take to walk out onto the ice.
His shoulders sagged and he was staring ahead, though it looked like he wasn’t registering anything.
He was attempting to crack his knuckles while he stared, while also shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Damn, he was nervous. And not just the typical pre-skate nerves, this was more than that. He was overflowing with nervous energy that his body just didn’t know how to get out, judging by the rocking. I clearly wasn’t the only one who felt like we were in trouble.
I swallowed hard and tugged at the zipper of my jacket.
But no matter how hard I pulled, it wouldn’t budge.
I looked down, worried that it had broken and that I would be stuck in this stupid jacket when they called my name.
Thankfully, it seemed fine. I’d been tugging at it to go up, even though it was already at the top.
Clearly it wasn’t warm enough, because I had a chill.
I walked over to stand beside Dom. I swallowed hard. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said. He didn’t take his eyes off the spot in the distance. “It’s almost time.”
“Yeah,” I said, before we lapsed into silence again. I wanted to grab his hand and pull him close. I wanted him to say that everything was fine, that we were going to be fine. I needed to hear that everything wasn’t about to come crumbling down. But he said nothing, so I didn’t either.
While he seemed to notice nothing surrounding us, my eyes darted between all the other pairs.
Hannah Williams and Benji Coleman were chatting near the men’s dressing room.
Julie Mercier was talking animatedly with her hands while her partner, Adam St. Pierre, laughed.
Meanwhile, Daria Petrova was standing in silence, leaning against a wall, looking at the ground and bobbing her head ever so slightly.
I wondered where her partner was, but a moment later Feodor Rybakov was back with a water bottle in his hand.
I swallowed hard, acutely aware of the fact that they all seemed relaxed as they waited next to their partners.
Dom was only a few feet away, but it felt like an insurmountable gap.
He might as well have been in his own little world, oblivious to me or the stress I was feeling.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the others had picked up on it.
We would normally talk now, with Dom telling me some ridiculous tale that was probably based in truth but exaggerated for the sake of a good story.
His dumb stories always made me laugh and helped me take my mind off what we were about to do.
I hadn’t realized how much I relied on them to keep my stress at bay until I didn’t have them.
A woman with a clipboard was out a couple of minutes later.
“Okay, I need all twelve of my pairs skaters to get ready to go on the ice in two minutes. Two minutes until the warmup begins.” Her voice was clear and booming, easy to hear despite all the inevitable noise of so many people crowded in such a small area.
One by one, the other pairs started making their way to where we would head to the ice.
I bit my lip as I watched them. We should join them, but I couldn’t go by myself.
Now more than ever, I had to be with Dom.
I straightened my shoulders. There was no time like the present to break the silence. “Are you ready to go?”
“As ready as I will be,” Dom said. It didn’t sound like a joke. He gestured for me to go in front of him with an open hand. “After you.”
The warmups passed in a blur. The noise increased exponentially as soon as we were out near the ice, with the giant open space above us letting the sound travel unimpeded.
People filled the seats, many of them holding flags or colourful poster board signs announcing their love of a country, skater, or team.
I gave myself a few seconds to look around and take it all in while I took off my skate guards.
After that, I had to focus. This was going to be hard enough, even with all of my attention.
There are only a few minutes of ice time dedicated to warming up before a skate, and you have to share it with everyone else in your flight.
With six pairs, it feels a lot more crowded than usual.
By the time I finished my individual laps around the rink, getting stretched out and practicing a couple of simplified versions of elements, I had to scan the brightly coloured costumes and jackets for Dom.