Chapter 47
~Riley~
Hudson says all the right things during our call, but when we hang up, a knot of worry lodges itself in my chest. Something’s off, and I don’t think it’s just the competition.
I’ve seen him during competitions before, and he doesn’t let it rattle him.
Not taking it too seriously is kind of his superpower.
This feels like something else.
Chewing on my lip, I scroll down my phone to another contact, one I put into my phone on Christmas Day but haven’t used yet. Before I can second-guess the impulse, I dial the number.
“Hey, Riley!” Sutton’s tone is friendly, and I sigh quietly in relief, glad to know I’m not bothering her. “What’s up?”
“You’re heading to Canadians tomorrow, right?”
“Right. What’s going on?”
I pull my teeth across my lip again, debating how to phrase this.
I don’t want to sound paranoid, but I also need to trust my gut.
I know Hudson well enough to know that he didn’t sound like himself.
“I’m not sure. I just spoke to Hudson and he sounded…
spooked? I don't know how to describe it. He swore everything was fine, but I can’t shake this feeling that there’s something I don’t know. ”
The pause on the other end is just long enough to deepen my concern. “Canadians can be a tricky time for him. They come with some… complicated memories. He hasn’t mentioned anything to you about that?”
What the hell is she talking about? “No, he hasn’t said anything. What kind of memories?”
“It’s not my place to say.” Her tone is apologetic but firm, and I can tell I’m not getting anything out of her on this subject.
“I’ll check in on him when we get there but I’m sure he’s okay.
He knows how to deal with it. I’ll send you a text when I’ve spoken to him and we’ll see you on Saturday. I better go finish packing. Bye!”
She hangs up before I have a chance to ask any of the dozen new questions swirling around inside my head. He knows how to deal with it? Deal with what? What am I missing?
The dull sense of worry stays with me throughout the next day.
Hudson texts me regularly and he seems completely back to himself, joking and sending me funny pictures from the hotel and the arena.
I check my phone every chance I get between sessions, but I don’t ask him about what Sutton said.
This isn’t the time to throw him off his game.
That talk will have to wait until after the competition.
I switch my workout sessions around so that I have my afternoon break during the men’s short program. The live feed is showing on the main TV in the club, and a few other skaters who aren’t competing gather around to watch.
Ryder is the first skater from the club to go, and he falls on his triple Axel, eliciting a loud groan of sympathy from the group in the room.
With that one mistake, his season is pretty much over.
Dylan is next, a few skaters later, and he does great for his first senior national competition.
He won’t be in medal contention but it’s a personal best. None of us can ask for more than that.
In the final group, Keaton skates first, and although he’s his usual charismatic self, he’s not perfect.
He double-foots the landing on the quad flip and there’s a problem on his combination spin.
He loses some technical points but still blows everyone away on presentation.
Only one or two skaters in the competition can come close, and one of those is Hudson, who comes after the next competitor. The door is wide open for him.
My stomach flutters when he appears on screen, and the others in the room all turn to smile at me. Now that our relationship is out in the open, they see me as an extension of him, as I knew they would. Today, it doesn’t bother me.
“Are you nervous?” one of the younger skaters asks me. I think her name is Cheryl.
“Probably more nervous than he is,” I admit. “Look at him!”
Everyone laughs as the screen shows Hudson doing some exaggerated stretches on the ice while the previous skater waits for his marks. He looks loose and relaxed, and I can work out the exact moment he spots his family in the crowd, holding his hands in the shape of a heart in their direction.
I also see the moment his eyes catch on someone else in the crowd and he visibly startles, the smile falling off his face for a moment. What the hell? With the camera focused on him, I have no idea what he saw to cause that reaction.
The camera moves back to the other skater in the kiss ‘n’ cry area as he receives his marks, and by the time it focuses back on Hudson, that moment of hesitation is long gone. No trace of it remains except for in the pit of my stomach.
He takes his starting position, the camera tight on his face, and when the music starts, he lights up, drawing the crowd in immediately.
They’re already on his side as he heads into his first jump, the quad Salchow, and my breath catches as he launches himself into the air.
My brain registers each tiny movement, calculating and assessing in the milliseconds it takes for the jump to occur.
His takeoff position is good, his position in the air perfect as he rapidly spins around four times and lands on a solid, flowing outside edge.
“Woo! Go Hudson!” the others in the room cheer, and my chest expands with relief and pride. Honestly, I’m happier for him than if I were the one on the ice, and just like him, I can’t lose focus. Eyes glued to the screen, I blow out my breath, mentally preparing myself for the next element.
The triple Axel-triple toe combination is equally good and now the crowd is eating out of the palm of his hand.
He launches himself into a flamboyant death drop, hitting the positions perfectly on the entry into the spin combination.
The roar of the crowd grows even louder during his rousing step sequence, and when he nails the final triple Lutz, our small audience at the club goes crazy, everyone rising to their feet and cheering despite being thousands of miles from the competition.
“That was amazing!” Cheryl gushes and I readily agree. Maybe my worrying was for nothing? I’ve never seen Hudson skate better.
The crowd in the arena are on their feet too, and the camera zooms in on the Baker family cheering and high-fiving each other.
When the view returns to Hudson, he almost has tears in his eyes as he takes in the crowd’s response.
My body aches to be close to him, to throw myself into his arms and share in his joy. I hate being so far away.
In the kiss ‘n’ cry area, before the marks come up, Hudson speaks directly to the camera. “Hi to everyone at Riverbend. Wish you were here, Pip. Miss you.”
He blows a kiss directly at the camera while everyone in the room with me turns to me curiously.
“Is that you?” one of the men asks.
I let out something between a laugh and a sob. My emotions are all over the place; I’m so damn happy for him, so frustrated not to be there, and still confused over the things Sutton said yesterday. “Yeah, I’m Pip,” I manage to say.
A second later, someone hands Hudson the huge stuffed dolphin I gave him for Christmas. “This is Pip #2,” he explains to the camera, as if that makes any sense to anyone in the world other than me and him. He tucks the dolphin under his arms as the announcer starts to read off his marks.
The scores are good. Really good, and for a moment, my heart seems to stop. Could he actually be ahead of Keaton? The placement comes up a second later, dashing that hope. He’s in second, and the crowd responds with a mix of cheers and a few boos. Some of them obviously think he should be in first.
However, he’s only a point and a half behind the reigning national and world champion. That’s incredible.
He blows one more kiss at the camera, waving the dolphin’s fin in greeting, before the camera moves on to the next skater and a pang of deep longing fills me.
More than anything, I wish I could head to the airport right now and get on a flight to get to him tonight, but I still have an on-ice practice and another weight training session to get through today.
By the time I finish, it’ll be too late.
My early-morning flight is the best I can do.
Hopefully, I won’t miss anything else important.