Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
JOSIE
R ight. Left. Side. Tuck and-
“Again.” Christopher’s voice ricochets across the ice, as I land, hunching over on my knees. “You’re not getting the height you're supposed to.”
My body rings, every muscle crying out against me, but I hold on, swallowing the tart taste running across my tongue. The cold air of the rink stings my face as I straighten up, my muscles aching, but the nausea churning inside me threatens to bring me to my knees. My breath is shallow, labored, as I press my hand to my stomach, willing the sickness to go away.
Three weeks ago the cold of the rink helped ebb away at my nausea. The rink felt like the only place I could escape, the only place where the world didn't feel so heavy, but now I can’t keep anything down. My body hurts just to twitch, every muscle screaming at me with every turn, every landing, every jump. The constant ache in my bones acts as a constant reminder that something is wrong, and that I can’t keep pushing through it .
I should be six weeks pregnant by now. Six weeks. That means the baby is the size of a pea, and the heart is beginning to beat. He or she has arms, legs and menial brain development, but they are alive, already relying on me, already wanting me to take care of them. That should mean something, other than fear, and all I can think about is my mother.
She cooked Thanksgiving with the help of Christopher and Abby. No one let me in the kitchen in fear I would collapse again and I spent all afternoon dry heaving from the smell in the bedroom I share with Chris. The day after she kissed my forehead and whispered, tell that man the truth, or lose him. And now at six weeks, I can only think about losing him.
I force myself to stand, legs shaky as I brace myself for another attempt. My skates slice into the ice, carving out the motion I’ve done a thousand times, but this time, it feels wrong. Every part of me feels wrong.
I twist, landing awkwardly, and my body crumples to the ice, my knees digging into the cold surface as I hunch forward, trying to breathe through the wave of nausea washing over me. There is a pounding in my ears so loud I don’t hear when Christopher’s skates slice across the ice towards me. His warm fingertips pinch at my chin as he draws my gaze up to his.
“You’re almost there,” he says, his voice low but firm. I want to scream. To throw my skates across the ice and howl at the top of my lungs, but he eases me with a slow drawl. “You’re perfect, Josie.”
I scoff, rising off of my knees, drowning in his mesmerizing cerulean eyes. “But perfect isn’t enough for the Olympic committee. You need to be more than perfect. You need to be... unbreakable.”
His gaze pierces through me, and for a moment, the ice beneath me feels like it’s cracking, like I’m going to fall through it. I’ve never felt more broken than now. I want to tell him that I don’t even know where to begin to gather the broken pieces of me. I want him to hold me as I declare my Olympic career good and dead, but instead I nod.
“More than perfect.” I mutter, my eyes darting to the ice.
His fingers lace in the loose hair at the nape of my neck as he pulls my face toward him and kisses my forehead so tenderly I almost sob. He pulls back, that million dollar, golden boy smile blinding me. “That’s my girl.”
I close my eyes tight as he pulls back from me and I position myself to start the combination again.
Right. Left. Side. Tuck and...
I force myself up again, swallowing the sharp tang of bile rising in my throat. Each movement feels like I’m pulling myself from quicksand. I throw myself into the next spin, ignoring the sharp pang in my stomach and the exhaustion weighing down my limbs. But when I land, it's just as shaky as the last time, and the nausea hits me even harder.
Christopher calls out to me, his voice playful and firm at the same time, making my heart do backflips. “You’re not giving up on me now, are you?”
“Oh, sure she is.” An annoyed, growling voice rings across the rink, and I pause looking up into the bleachers. Dylan stands there in a cream ankle length puffer coat, pale yellow turtleneck, blue jeans and brown snow boots. I freeze, unable to breathe as I take in his appearance: his golden hair is overgrown, and his five o’clock shadow crowds his face. Before I can stop myself, I am skating backwards to put even more space between us, even though there is half of an arena.
“This is a closed practice.” Christopher snaps from only fifteen feet away from me, but it might as well be an ocean.
Dylan ignores Christopher, his eyes trained on me as he stomps down the bleacher steps. “You are a fucking failure. You are a waste of air, and you think that you can make it without me?”
I can’t speak, but I shake my head sharply, definitely, refusing to give in even as my body screams to push back, to retreat further.
Christopher steps forward, his posture shifting, shoulders squared and jaw clenched with raw intensity. His voice drops, low and lethal. “I said, this is a closed practice.” His gaze burns into me, but I don’t dare take my eyes off of Dylan. “Get the hell out before I make you.”
“Stay out of this. It’s between me and her,” Dylan barks, as he increases his speed down the stairs, closer to me. “Me and the bitch who kicked me out of the line up for tryouts. I fucking made you Josie. Created you with my own two fucking hands and this is how you repay me?”
My body runs a painful level of hot, the closer Dylan gets to me. Memories flood my mind - the last time he was like this, after he carelessly dropped me on the ice and I cracked my skull open, and we lost against the Dakota twins. Everyone thought my career was over. Everyone mourned my time on the ice, and a piece of me died in front of a crowd but that wasn’t enough for him. The pain pulses through my body, a constant reminder of that night. I can still feel the way he berated me, spewing curses and throwing objects at me even as I lay there with stitches in my head. My whole body trembled as I begged him to stop, apologizing over and over again.
“Dylan.” I whisper shakily, my hands gripping at the base of my sweater as if it is suffocating me.
“What? You get all the glory? And I get nothing?” Dylan screams, his eyes trained on me. He stands only a step away from the ice, thirty feet from me and five steps away from Christopher who is coiled so tight the veins along his neck screams.
“You step one foot on this ice, and I am going to beat your face into it.” Chris growls, but Dylan scoffs.
“What are you talking about?” I say, my hand out and heart beating so loud I can feel it in the soles of my feet.
Dylan takes a sheet out his pocket, reading it aloud with narrowed eyes. “ Dear Josie Richards, ” he sneers, voice dripping with mockery. “ You are formally invited to audition for the position of solo figure skater representing Team USA at the upcoming Olympic Games. Your audition is scheduled for December 22nd. ”
My chest tightens, and I feel the air leave my lungs in a rush. December 22nd. My audition. I can’t breathe. I’m not ready. A cold sweat breaks out along my spine. I can’t even think.
Dylan throws the letter onto the ice, his face contorted with rage. “I found this in the mail on your desk,” he spits.
Christopher's eyes narrow. “You were in her dorm room?” His voice is a low, menacing growl.
Dylan doesn’t even flinch. He turns his glare back to me, ignoring the dangerous energy radiating off Christopher. “I’ve been looking for you for weeks,” he says, voice cutting through the air like a blade. “But no one seems to know where you’ve been. Where the hell have you been sleeping, Josie?”
I take a step back, but I force myself to meet his eyes. “That’s none of your business, Dylan.”
He lets out a humorless laugh, the sound bitter and echoing through the rink. “None of my business? Really?” His fist curls at his sides and it takes everything in me not to flinch. “My skating partner has been MIA, probably screwing half the hockey team from what I hear, and now you’re just... dropping me?”
Christopher’s fists clench, his jaw tight. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he snaps, stepping closer.
Dylan’s eyes flick between us, his sneer deepening. “Why?” he taunts. “What, are you screwing her too?” He looks at Christopher with a smirk, his voice dripping with contempt. “Or was this your idea? Cut me out so the big, bad Christopher Jackson could have his perfect little story: hockey star turned Olympic gold medalist coach, now with a pretty new medal-winning partner. Couldn’t pay for that kind of publicity, huh?”
The venom in his words feels like a punch to the gut, but all I can do is stand there, trembling.
Christopher's gaze darkens, and he closes the distance between himself and Dylan, his shoulders tense as he growls. “You want to say that to my face?”
Dylan's lips curl into a taunting smirk.“Yeah, I’ll say it again,” he sneers, leaning in closer. “See, I thought this was PR, but from the way you’re acting, you’re fucking her. I bet her pussy is still sweet, it was way sweeter the first time, trust me I know.”
That’s all it takes. Christopher lunges, his fist connecting with Dylan's jaw with a sickening crack. Dylan staggers back but doesn’t have time to react before Christopher grabs his collar and slams him against the boards. The rink echoes with the sound of fists meeting flesh, and Dylan’s head snaps back, blood trickling from his nose.
“Chris, stop!” I cry, my voice breaking as I skate across the ice. “Please, stop!”
But Christopher is relentless, his hand wraps around Dylan’s throat and lifts him off the ice. “You think you can talk about her like that?” he snarls, his knuckles split and bleeding. “You think you can disrespect her and I won’t break you until you’re eating out of a straw?”
Dylan groans, his hands weakly trying to push Christopher off. His face is already a bruised, bloody mess, but he smiles bloodily at him. “Pussy still that good, huh? Maybe I should spin the block.”
Before I can blink, his fist drives into Dylan's face again, this time with bone-crunching force. Dylan's nose shatters, blood spraying across the ice as he gasps in pain, the arrogant smirk wiped clean off his face. The sound of the impact echoes through the rink, and I slide up next to Chris placing a hand in the center of his back.
“Chris!” I whisper, tears streaming down my face. “Faculty. You’re faculty and he is a s-student. Stop.”
Blood streams from Dylan’s broken nose, staining his teeth and dripping down his chin. Christopher’s jaw clenches, his fingers flexing against Dylan’s throat. He takes one more breath, his hand shaking, then finally loosens his grip. Dylan crumples to the ice, coughing and clutching his throat, his body heaving from the beating .
Christopher takes a step back, his voice harsh and commanding. “Get the fuck out,” he spits, pointing toward the exit. “And if I ever see you near Josie again, I will paralyze you.”
Dylan wipes the blood from his lip, his eyes glassy. “You’re done, Jackson,” he rasps, his voice slurred. “Your days at Northbrook are over. Mark my words.”
“Your life will be numbered if you don’t get the fuck out of my sight.” Christopher snarls but I fist his jacket making him stay near me.
Dylan stumbles to his feet, his legs wobbling as he makes his way off the ice, leaving a trail of red in his wake. I’m left shaking, my breath ragged, and Christopher turns to me, his expression softening.
“Why are you afraid of him?” Christopher whispers trying to sound empathetic but the adrenaline running through him makes his voice come out as a low growl and that makes my toes curl.
“I’m not.” I whisper, looking down at the red stain on the ice. “Not with you here.”
“Did he-”
“He did a lot.” I cut him off, hoping that answer is enough.
Christopher’s jaw clenches, but he reigns in his rage, as he turns toward me with his steel-blue eyes. His touch is gentle as he cups my face in his rough, bruised hands. The warmth of his palms contrasts with the cold press of the ice, and I shiver, pulling myself in closer.
“Just say the word, Josie,” he breathes, his voice hoarse but fierce. “Say the word, and I’ll handle him. I’ll make sure he never comes near you again.”
My heart hammers against my ribs, and for a moment, I’m suspended in the space between his anger and my own fear. But when I look into his eyes, I see the man who has fought for me, protected me, and cherished me even when I am so undeserving as I am now.
I reach up, my fingers barely brushing his knuckles, and I shake my head. “No, Chris. I just… I just need you.”
Christopher’s eyes soften, the tension melting from his shoulders. He lets out a shaky breath, and then he leans in, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that’s fierce and tender all at once. I press closer, my hands fisting in his jacket as I try to convey everything I feel in that kiss. Happiness. Safety. Love. Fear. Shame. But most of all I want my lips to say I am sorry for keeping your baby away from you. His arms wrap around me, pulling me tight against him, and despite the chaos, despite the blood and the bruises, I have never felt more love. I’ve never felt more protected than I am right now.