CHAPTER 57
Ana
THE ARENA IS packed.
Ten years of gruesome competitions, and leaving the tunnel to reach the ice feels as daunting as ever, having the strong impulse to pant, puke, and pee all at the same time.
The faces painted across the stands could not deviate more from the athletes’—excitement from a seat for every trepid expression on the ice.
Judges are already lining up along the perimeters of the smooth plexiglass, their calm half-smiles creating the paradox of the century.
Meanwhile, the press, sports journalists, and influencers crowd near the green room, resembling hungry lions more and more by the year, waiting to be entertained.
It's called the “kiss and cry” area for crying out loud. This sport is not for the faint of heart.
An oily aroma nauseates my lungs, tilting my head over my shoulder, spotting the group of kids at the bottom of the bleachers giggling and throwing greased popcorn at each other, while their parents are sucked into their phones.
I feel a hand squeeze mine, shaking me back to the entire point of today: winning the trophy, getting the gold.
Troy nudges me toward the gate, removing our blade guards, before we finally step onto the ice.
I’m immediately shoved into a strong back, more like a weight that feels like steel. I look up to find Troy’s perplexed brows at my disoriented form as I glance back at the unexpected surprise before me.
Japanese Olympian, Yukari Sawai skates away so quick, the curved movement of her arms hypnotizing my gaze with bejeweled teal silk, her intense eyes glued to mine for a split second as she builds up speed, alongside her partner and brother Yuri.
Sasha’s smile replaces the moment with comfort as she and Marc glide along the ice, practicing their twizzles. The warmth melts completely as Tatiana’s snicker chills the arena, her hand twined with her partner, Nathan.
It’s not long before the entire ice is streaked with a labyrinth of patterns, crystals shimmering from our costumes. The crowd begins to chant.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
It’s time.
_________
The pale lavender of my long-sleeved dress with sheer edges and dipped in gemstones dazzled during the ABBA medley, the fans pleased by our short program.
Maybe it was the lack of Violet’s presence, but we actually won.
We fucking won.
I’d like to (humbly) credit the victory to our free skate though and our song choice for it—the crowd elated by the familiar melody of “Once Upon a December.” As soon as the song filled the Eissportzentrum Oberstdorf ice rink, anxiety, fear, and expectations withered away until all that was left was our months of hard work and sleepless nights.
And it measured up to be a success this time. Tatiana’s bitter scowl after her and Nathan placed fifth, overall, was just the sweet, satisfying cherry on top.
Troy collides into me as I’m about to unlock the door to my hotel room.
“I told you my hands were fine,” he gloats.
I turn around, fighting the urge to shake my head, because we won, and for tonight, just for the evening, I choose not to argue with this man.
“You did alright,” I surrender.
“Yeah?” Don’t smile at his stupid grin. “You were incredible.” Or at his compliment. “Am I allowed to say that?”
Troy’s gaze simmers over me, and I find myself staring at his face uncomfortably long.
“Our flight’s early,” I reply, neutral.
His forehead twists. I sure know how to ruin a moment.
It wasn’t a moment.
“Okay, Ana,” He takes a small step toward me, and suddenly I’m very aware of the sheer force that tossed me around effortlessly all afternoon. “I’ll be a good boy and go to bed. As long as you do something tonight that makes you feel good. One of us should celebrate at least, don’t you think?”
My back tenses at the wild suggestion in his words, the unabashed glint in his eyes, his gaze burning through my—really warm—cheeks.
The notes of “Hurts So Good” linger in my mind, daydreaming what could happen if I just let him in my room.
He looks down at my dress, the soft glance filling each nerve, melting through every stream of blood, until my whole system drowns in faded resolve.
Slowly withering.
Quickly losing grip.
No—
He drops his fingers to the skirt of my skating costume, gliding up the edges, my heart beating in my ears when he smooths the tiny crease of blue velvet hugging the curve of my waist.
With my self-control tucked deep in his coat pocket, he turns over his shoulder, relaxed, heading toward the room across from mine as my back hits my door, finally releasing the breath I’ve been holding in since we landed here.