CHAPTER 14
Troy
“THAT’S FUCKING IT,” I huff under my breath, charging down the hallway before spotting her near the rink’s entrance.
When the awareness hits, Ana purses her lips to stop from grinning, while lacing the strings of her white cropped-wrap into a bow.
Heat sketches along my chest as the vibrant ink gushes down the sides of my cheeks.
Now, she decides to glance up.
I run my—also stained—fingers through my damp strands as I stride toward her. “Green hair dye? What are you, ten?!”
“At least now it matches your eyes, princess,” Ana snarks.
“Stop calling me that.”
“I will, once you stop acting like one.” Her blasé tone starts to falter when the space between us collapses.
“Remind me to never put shampoo in my bag,” I mutter.
I’m about to revert back to the locker room to change out of my t-shirt and sweatpants, when she resumes, “Maybe you’ll remember this the next time you decide to take my towel, while I’m freezing in the locker room for over an hour.”
Swinging around to face her, I’m greeted with her arms crossed. “Stealing my things and then training your friends to mess with me, wasn’t part of our deal,” I grit out.
“You poor baby,” she pouts. “You didn’t have a shoelace for one day and just couldn’t take it.”
“I didn’t bring my friends into this,” I defend.
“Well, you can. I’m not afraid of you or them. No prank was off-limits, remember?” She lifts a brow, defiant.
Flexing my jaw to the side, I pause, before relaxing my whole posture. “I want you to remember what you just said, Petrov.”
_________
Ana
Note to self: thank Naomi for the green hair dye.
Watching Troy get that riled up by the latest round of our ongoing duel has made my entire morning. It took every ounce of self-control to force down the smile that was trying to escape my lips while he barged toward me like an angry toddler.
When I return from the restroom and back to the rink, he’s still not here. I guess I’ll be starting warmups without him.
I peel my blade guards off and then tighten the corners of my grey sheer skirt when a flurry of ice cubes submerged in water dunks over me.
“Fuuuck!” I spin around to find a sated Troy, holding a Hummingbirds water cooler in his grip.
“Sorry, my hands slipped,” he mocks.
“I’m going to kill you, Larsson!”
“I’d like to see you try.” He drops the now empty plastic cooler by the bleachers, sauntering around me. “First, you’d need to skate fast enough.” He steps onto the ice and glides off.
I’m soaked. My leotard, my wrap, my skirt, my tights. Icy water continues to drip off my chin. It takes me a good second to contain my heavy breaths, eyes closed.
This is extremely illogical, but my legs have a mind of their own right now. I shimmy off the liquid that’s coating my blades before skating faster than any Olympic speed skater probably ever has.
As I race closer to Troy, he glides further away, tauntingly, leaning into the upper hand he’s got with his drier blades.
It’s all in his eyes, the way he’s basking in my torment, watching my breath hitch and balance struggle.
“Dearest, Ana, you tired?” he baits.
My skin blazes with vengeful heat. I pounce toward him, but he manages to duck.
“Enough! That’s enough!”
A chill jolts right down my spine, far colder than the ice water running down my legs, Troy also looking just as stunned. And that’s because it’s Coach Yamamoto breaking our fight this time. She rarely raises her voice, and that’s how we know we’re utterly fucked.
Yamamoto skates over to the corner of the boards, where Troy and I are currently standing, frozen.
“I have seen enough,” she rebukes, her expression filling with frustration.
“This back and forth between the two of you has to stop. Clearly, you both can’t stop behaving like children, so I’m going to treat you as so.
” Her gaze drifts over to Troy, then to me, the weight of her disappointment palpable. “My office. In an hour.”
_________
An hour later, and Troy and I are standing, arms crossed, on opposite ends of the hallway outside of Coach Yamamoto’s office.
Our eyes are purposely shifted away from the other’s until Troy’s voice disrupts the silence. “This is where you quit,” he says bluntly.
“No,” I drawl, “this is where you quit.”
I hate to admit it to him, but I haven’t found anyone better yet.
And he’s still here, so his luck’s probably just as bad.
Yamamoto opens the door to her office and gestures for us to come in. When we enter, Coach Sokolov’s already inside, her sharp glare locked on Troy and me as we take our seats in front of Yamamoto’s desk. Then Elena Sokolov sighs deep enough that my knees start to shake.
We may have taken things a smidge too far this time…
I notice Troy’s eyes drift down to my fragmenting state. I press my palms over my knees to stop the trembling, watching his face quickly lift back up to the woman who looks like she’s one second away from banning us from the rink altogether.
“Two Olympic gold medalists behaving like this?!” Sokolov screams. “In front of everyone else who wishes they could be in your shoes? This is a disgrace! You,” she snaps at Troy, “why is your hair the color of the cartoon Grinch?” A laugh slips from my throat before her eyes bulge wide at me.
“And you, skating after you look like you just got back from the pool? Do you know what a hazard that is, and the danger you could have caused to the other skaters?!” Guilt tickles my throat.
“Dean is currently still drying the ice,” she continues, “and you cost two pairs to miss their practice today.” She takes a moment to catch her breath, the anger in her voice settling into a softer tone, though, still brimmed with frustration.
“Troy, I have never been this disappointed in you, and we both know that’s no easy feat.
Petrov, Mariam wouldn’t even believe this is her daughter. ”
Of course she’s bringing my mother into this, who wouldn’t be proud of me, I know. But she’s also no stranger to my countless rants about the now green-haired menace sitting beside me.
“I didn’t—” I try to explain.
Sokolov interjects, “There will be no more explanations. From either of you. We have already decided on a solution.” Troy raises his hand. “And there’s no negotiating,” she sharpens, lifting an angry brow in his direction. “You will not learn your Olympic routines until two months from now.”
“What?!” Troy steals the words from my lips, distressed.
“Instead,” Sokolov raises her voice at the interruption, “you will be learning an ice dance routine. This will teach you to be patient with one another, learn how to build an emotional connection, and then build the trust to do your lifts and jumps.”
Troy scoffs loudly. “No, I’m not doing that. That’s a waste of time.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I echo, “but, I agree with Troy.”
“Look, it’s already working,” she mocks, gesturing a hand between us. “Of course, we cannot force you two to do this, but if you decide not to, Yamamoto and I feel it’s best we step aside as your coaches.”
“You know we won’t find a coach like you two,” I argue, feeling the desperation kick in.
“Well then, you’ll think hard about this decision.”
“Be at the recreation center tomorrow at 6 am for lessons,” Yamamoto adds. “Your instructor will be in studio 2.”
“Lessons for what?” Troy says with a confused shrug. “We know how to skate.”
Yamamoto smiles softly. “You don’t see it now, but this will be good for you.”
Our coaches exit the office together, leaving us in a state of shock.
Ice dance?
We’re supposed to learn an ice dance routine.
Together.
I barely have a second to process the strange punishment we were just slapped with when Troy turns toward me, pissed. “This is all your fault,” he grumbles.
“My fault?!”
“Yes, that’s what I just said.” I roll my eyes as he springs out of his chair. “What does ice dance have to do with this?”
I snicker, rising from my own seat. “Ah, is Troy scared of ice dancing?”
“Please.” He steps toward me, his eyes narrowing with distaste. “More like annoyed that now I have to learn three routines with you.”
I lean in another step. “If you manage to learn one on your own.” He scoffs, running his fingers through his hair, then groans at the dye lingering on his hands.
“It’s okay, princess. The hair dye is just temporary,” I comfort with an artificial smile.
“I know how many hours you spend on your hair every morning. I’m not that evil. ”
Troy sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. He brings a hand to the side of my flowy damp hair, and my pulse quickens in confusion. Before I can question the move, his eyes lock on mine. The thumping glimmers faster as he flicks my waves away to expose my neck, resting his palm along my collarbone.
“And yet,” he says coldly, “it’s still not enough time for you to land a triple axel.” My lips part. “Seems like we both have things to work on.”
Dropping his hand, he brushes past my shoulder and toward the exit, while I remind myself: no, you cannot strangle your skating partner no matter how badly you want to.