Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
JOSIE
T he cold of the rink seeps through my skates, chilling me to the bone, but I barely notice. Everything around me feels unreal, like I’m skating through a dream I’m not sure I’ll wake up from. December 22nd. Three days until Christmas, and here I am, standing on the rink I know like the back of my hand, waiting for a decision that could change the course of my life forever.
The Olympic Committee’s Board of Directors stands at the edge of the ice, their expressions unreadable, even after watching my latest routine. I know it’s perfect. Every jump, every spin, every graceful movement flows with the kind of precision I drill into my body day after day. Still, anxiety gnaws at me. My hands feel cold and clammy, and I struggle to breathe evenly.
Christopher stands beside me, his presence grounding and solid, his hand resting gently on the small of my back. Just feeling him there makes my heart lighter, steadier, even as my thoughts race .
Pregnant. With three babies. The words haven’t stopped echoing in my head since the night at the hospital. How am I going to do this? How will I juggle the most important audition of my life with the growing lives inside me? But every time fear creeps in, Christopher is there to remind me: I can do this.
Now, I need that belief more than ever.
“You think you got it Josie?” Dylan’s voice flows from behind me, but I don’t turn to him.
“Back the fuck away.” Chrsitopher growls.
“Why? I have nothing else to lose.” Dylan sighs, the stench of vodka invades my nostrils but I hold back the tears.
“I don’t care if you're minutes from death,” Christopher turns towards Dylan, arms crossed. “Get the fuck away.”
“Touch me, and lose your job.” Dylan taunts, but Christopher just lets out a cold, cruel laugh.
“You think I give a fuck about this job?” Chris growls, and right when I am going to turn around to lead him back to me, a deep voice calls for me.
“Miss Richards,” one of the Board members says, stepping forward. His voice echoes in the arena, bouncing off the empty stands. He’s a tall man with silver hair and a thick wool coat, and his gaze feels sharp enough to slice me in half. “After reviewing your performance today and considering your record, we have reached a unanimous decision.”
I hold my breath. My whole world balances on a knife's edge, teetering between triumph and disappointment. My hands curl into fists at my sides as I try to brace myself.
The Board member’s mouth curves upward, ever so slightly. “Congratulations, Josie Richards. You are officially on the U.S. Olympic Team.”
My knees nearly buckle, and I clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle the sob of relief that breaks free. Christopher’s arm wraps around my waist, holding me steady as the room spins. I did it. I’m on the team. The Olympic Team. The dream I’ve chased since I was a little girl, watching the greats perform on our old, boxy television, is suddenly mine.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I did it.”
Christopher’s lips brush my ear, his voice thick with pride. “You did it, Josie. You made it.”
The Board members offer polite congratulations before turning to leave, their footsteps echoing through the rink. The moment they’re gone, I collapse against Christopher, letting my emotions pour out in a torrent of relieved laughter and tears.
“I’m on the team,” I repeat, as if saying it out loud will make it more real, and it does. “I’m actually on the team.”
Christopher holds me close, his hands stroking up and down my back, and his smile is so big it makes my heart swell. “I told you. There was never any doubt.”
I pull back to look at him, my face breaking into a grin. “Maybe for you. I was a nervous wreck.”
He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, maybe I was a little nervous too.” He glances around the rink, and then, as if remembering something, he pulls back. “There’s one more thing I need to take care of. ”
I watch, confused, as he crosses the rink and strides toward the group gathered at the other end. Principal Perkins and Dylan stand there whisper-yelling to each other. They keep pointing to me, the red of their anger flushing their necks. My eyes dart back to Chris as his eyes narrow on me.
“Christopher, what are you doing?” I call, but he doesn’t answer.
Dylan slowly claps, his hands coming together with mocking precision. “Well, look who made it,” he sneers, his voice laced with venom. “The talentless little bitch is on the Olympic Team.” His words cut deep, a cruel jab aimed at my every insecurity.
I feel the sting of it, but I bury it deep along with all the other things Dylan has called me. I turn to say something but Christopher is already crossing the floor, his eyes trained on him.
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
Dylan's smirk only grows, and he takes a slow step forward. “What? I think I have a right to comment on the actions of my traitorous whore!”
Christopher doesn’t flinch. Instead, he moves so fast that Dylan doesn’t see it coming. With a swift motion, Christopher punches Dylan square in the face, the sound of contact echoing through the rink. Dylan stumbles back, shocked, clutching his jaw as he glares at Christopher.
A shocked silence blankets the arena for a moment, but it’s quickly broken as Christopher turns toward Principal Perkins. The man looks like he’s about to burst a vein.
Christopher doesn’t bother with small talk. “I quit. Effective immediately.”
A stunned silence falls over the rink. My jaw drops. Perkins blinks, clearly not expecting that, and he splutters. “Now hold on a minute?—”
“No.” Christopher cuts him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m done.”
Perkins looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel, but Christopher doesn’t give him a chance to argue. Instead, he turns on his heel and walks back toward me, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. I can only stare at him, awed and so madly in love.
“You just quit,” I whisper, as he approaches.
Christopher stops in front of me, his eyes shining. “I did. “
I open my mouth to respond, but he responds. “Top paid player in the NHL baby. I don’t need a job. I just wanted to be near you.” He pulls me in close, and right before I open my mouth to respond, he glances upward.
There, hanging from the rafters just above our heads, is a sprig of mistletoe, leftover from a holiday event. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he gestures at it. “Mistletoe,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, teasing rumble. “And I think that means…”
“Well, it is tradition,” I whisper, my voice soft and eyelids hooded.
Christopher doesn’t waste another second. He leans in, his lips finding mine, and the world melts away. The chaos, the worry, the fear—all disappear, leaving only the warmth of his kiss, the strength of his arms around me.
Christopher pulls back with a wide smile on his lips as he looks down at me, his hand brushing my cheek. “This is just the beginning baby: Olympic dreams, three babies, and everything in between.”