CHAPTER 115
Ana
A WEEK AND a half since the main Olympic Cauldron was lit, and the top pairs skating team rankings are neck and neck.
Ethan and Violet are at the top for the highest technical element score, Team Canada’s Aaron and Celeste have had the least deductions, and Troy and I—after our short program finale to “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)” that bustled into “The Winner Takes it All”—currently sit at first place in the program component score.
Which means that this next—last—round might make all the difference.
Troy and I quickly returned back to the main Olympic Village to get ready for the Free Skate Final after breakfast with Team USA’s hockey team—Dimitri Larsson part of the coveted roster—at this fancy ski resort by the Games’ ice skating arena.
The temporary residency for the hockey players and two figure skaters on Team USA—Violet and Ethan decided to stay at the same luxe hotel instead of the Olympic Village with the rest of us peasants.
It’s hard to blame them though when the place was kind of a Winter Wonderland.
Snow glistening on the shiny outdoor lobby driveway, a few festive decorations still displayed by the concierge’s desk and wildly large ballrooms.
Traveling through the giant snow-covered Village for the final time before our last routine, I pass through so many new and familiar faces, athletes from all over the world in one building, across a multitude of Winter Sports, coming together to represent their countries.
To represent the sport that they’ve dedicated a good chunk of their lives toward.
And it’s a powerful force.
Powerful, being in a room full of people who want to win just as bad as you do.
And very overwhelming too. I’ve really been leaning into the breathing exercises that Troy taught me as a kid without me even remembering it until recently, finally sharing the detail with him on our flight to Milan, then earning myself the softest grin it felt like a massive reality slap at my love confession gone terribly wrong.
As soon as I said the first part—I love you—a twisting cut of pain hit and that made me quickly blurt out—like a friend.
The fear, seeing his bright green eyes fill with honesty brought back a whole wave of reminders of lies and betrayal and I—panicked.
But we’re not here to untangle the extreme awkwardness that followed from a few nights ago.
We’re here to give the best free skate we’ve ever done, surprising the crowds with the major tweak in our routine.
I reach the dining hall to grab a cup of hot tea before I meet Troy again, before we give the performance that could determine if we earn a medal or—the medal.
While waiting for him, Canadian pairs skater Celeste Walsh sidles up to me, leaning in to give me a hug.
I quickly lift from my seat when I notice her.
“Hey, Ana,” she says, her voice warm. “I loved your dress earlier.”
The dress from our short program, a soft ombré of lavender with transparent and sparkling long sleeves, it’s my second favorite skating costume to date.
“Thanks,” I reply with a smile, “I loved yours too.”
Walsh always dresses to impress on the ice, and the Winter Olympics are no exception, her short program dress this year a flaming orange silk piece with gold bead stitching at the waist and a single sleeve.
“Is Violet still tormenting everyone?” Celeste says jokingly.
“Violet is,” I pause, “still Violet.”
She laughs.
I decide to bite my tongue, knowing if I give a second thought to the situation I might just screw up this whole thing.
My focus needs to be on this free skate and on this free skate only.
Even the sight of Colette, who I spotted in the stands a few days ago during Conrad’s long program, brought a pile of nerves to my shoulders.
Naomi and Troy both filled me in about their entire entourage and how they tried to dig through some unknown documents to figure out if our ice dance instructor might’ve somehow been connected to the dark turn in our long program.
But, like Troy, I reassured myself it didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter that both my mom and dad would also be in the stands together for this final, for the first time ever, my dad with his new family after being separated from us for so many years.
No, this was all in the past, and I could no longer stay in it to move forward.
We have just four minutes left to make it count.
_________
Troy
I love you—like a friend.
I love you.
Like a friend.
Ana loves me. Like a friend.
Since when are we friends?
It’s like the blow stings way harder each time I replay it in my head.
Which I’ve been doing a lot ever since she said that to me the night before our flight.
Right after I went down on her. And she said I love you before she added the second part.
The excruciatingly painful part.
But like great, we’re friends apparently—stupidly.
The words shut off for our performances though. The one time they do. Then the music cuts and…
I love you like a friend.
It burns through my veins, adding acid over each wound just because.
The pain goes on a gigantic pause with a little less than half an hour until our free skate.
Our last performance that my dad is finally in the stands for.
That fucking surreal bit of news sends a burst of nerves down my whole body, hoping I make him proud.
Make them both proud.
I groan when I spot my loud—and extremely disruptive—brothers and group of friends approaching Ana and me just outside the main ice skating arena.
“Quit stealing,” I hear Louis say, batting Xavier’s hand away. “Those are my chips.”
Xavier takes the bag in one quick swoop. “You took my sandwich.”
“Shit.” Mason turns to Andre, patting his sides like he forgot something. “I think I dropped my wallet back there.”
Dimitri moves up to me, dropping a hand to my shoulder. “If we get kicked out of the arena,” he says, “you’ll know why.”
I snort. “Thanks for coming.”
He nods, giving me a wide grin that only my older brother could somehow remove a bit of my anxiety with.
“Yeah,” Karl adds, “go kick their asses, Troy!”
And then Kyle looks at Ana.
Stares at her, my brows raising in suspicion when he drops his gaze over to her costume.
“Ana,” he says, holding a hand over his heart, “that dress is wowzers, you already have the gold medal in my eyes.”
I roll my eyes, nudging him away with my shoulders.
“Kyle, stop flirting with Troy’s girlfriend,” Brennan says.
“She’s not his girlfriend,” Louis says, punching Brennan’s arm.
And at the mention of the word—girlfriend—it stings all over again, but then I catch a glimpse of Ana standing beside me, her clenched hands, her visible nerves, my ridiculous and loyal as hell team of support to the side of us, I lace my hands with my friend—fuck—as we get ready to reach the ice.
_________
“We got this,” I say because I know we do.
We’re ready for this.
Ana nods as our hands are reached out to the other’s, facing each other for one last time before the music plays.
“I know we do,” she says, sucking in a breath to dust away the pressure when I notice the sheen of gold reflecting from her neck.
“You’re wearing it,” I point out, my voice shy all of a sudden, unsure how seeing her in a necklace—my necklace—has spiked my adrenaline to levels no competition has even managed to touch.
She nudges my shoulder with a hand—so not helping—and replies, “I guess it’s my good luck charm now.”
So not fucking helping.
“Can I fill you in on a little secret?” I say since I was a second away from ruining everything—again—just to have her lips on mine.
“Yeah?” Her blue eyes twinkle in anticipation.
“Skating with you has been the best time of my life.”
Every strain of frustration and pain melts when Ana breaks into a wide smile. “Are you getting sappy on me, Larsson?” She bites the corner of her shiny lips.
“Yes. A hundred percent.” I stare at her, the strong, remarkable girl who I know has inspired millions.
Cutting off my emotion from her, from us, everything the two of us have been through together, I tilt to face the ice, spotting the pairs team who just glided off it, and for this one second, I return to her rival.
“You’re Ana fucking Petrov,” I say, squeezing her hand like we’re not fucking friends. “Go remind them that.”
_________
Moving through the tunnel, the belting sound of skating fans chanting and whistling, the smell of cold air and expectations, I turn toward the stands, looking for that one person.
Mom, I know you’re here with us right now,
Maybe sitting alongside the rest of Team USA with a cinnamon pretzel in one hand to calm your nerves when you realize it’s our turn next.
Or right behind the judges panel to give them a piece of your mind for underscoring one of your favorites.
Or maybe even on the ice, skating alongside us.
Dad and I are talking again.
I know, I know, sorry it took so long.
But we miss you, all of us do, I know you already know that.
Ana also says hi.
She didn’t give up, just like you said she’d never.
You were always right.
She helped me move on.
We’re moving on.
I never thought it would happen.
And Mom, I love you. This one’s for you.