Chapter Six
A tentative knock tapped on the bathroom door, and I lifted my head. Surrounded by darkness, I couldn’t see my reflection in the mirror but imagined I must’ve been a tear-stained, sniveling mess.
“Em? Are you in there?” Aubrey asked.
On my knees, I slid over to the door and let Aubrey in. She flipped on the light and gaped at me.
“What happened?” She dropped beside me onto the tile floor.
I wiped my face with the back of my trembling hand and gave a hoarse reply, “We kissed.”
“Who kissed?” Her bleary eyes sprang alert. “You and Sergei?”
I responded with a numb nod.
“Where were Chris and Marley?”
“They didn’t go,” I whispered.
We sat in silence as Aubrey’s mouth hung open but no sound came out. Finally, she rubbed my shoulder and said, “Tell me what happened.”
My chest heaved from a weighty breath. “The sunrise was so beautiful. We were talking, and then everything just . . . stopped, and we were kissing, and it felt so right. But then . . .” The lump in my throat strangled me, and I had to swallow before continuing. “Then he pushed me away.”
“What did he say?” There was an edge to the concern in her voice.
“He said he was sorry and we can’t do this. Which I know, but . . .” I squeezed my eyes shut to halt the tears, but they refused to be stopped.
“I’m so sorry, Em.” Aubrey slipped her arm around me. “Sergei shouldn’t have let it get this far. He shouldn’t have gotten this close to you.”
“I’m to blame, too. I just couldn’t stay away from him.” I sniffed. “I knew I was falling deeper and deeper, but I couldn’t help it.”
“He’s the coach, though. He needs to set the example.”
Hugging my knees to my chest, I closed my eyes, their lashes further dampening my face. Aubrey tightened her hold around my shoulders.
“I think it might be good this happened,” she said. “Now, hopefully Sergei’s realized he needs to back off.”
I shook my head. “It’s not good. Before, at least I didn’t know what I was missing. Now that I’ve kissed him, I know how amazing it feels.”
“You’ll get past this, Em. It’s hard right now, but I promise it’ll get better.”
“If I didn’t have to see Sergei every day, I might believe that.”
“Do you think he’s going to try to talk to you about this?”
“I hope not.” I drew my hair back and dried my face again. “I know all the reasons the kiss was a mistake. I really don’t feel like hearing him say it.”
Aubrey understood and helped me avoid Sergei the rest of the morning. I skipped breakfast and merely exchanged glances with him as we left the house. On the ferry, Aubrey and I stayed in my car to nap during the forty-five minute ride, but I couldn’t sleep. I could still taste Sergei’s mouth and feel its gentle pressure on mine. I’d been kissed only a few times in my life and never with the level of emotion I’d felt from Sergei. Our connection hadn’t been just between our lips but somewhere much deeper.
I fidgeted and tried to think of anything except Sergei–the triple loop throw I’d struggled with at practice the past week, the spaghetti dish I needed to make for potluck dinner at church, the pile of laundry waiting at home. But my mind always found its way back to the cliffs. Back to the moment when everything changed.
****
The comforting smell of fresh ice welcomed me to the rink Monday morning. The smooth, clean surface beckoned me, but I had to get loose first. Chris waved as he jogged out of the locker room and around the rink.
After depositing my bag near the bleachers, I followed Chris’s path and set off on an easy run. My eyes zipped around the room, stopping when they fell on the object of my search. Sergei stood at the foot of the stairs, talking to Viktor. An all too familiar tightness wrenched my throat. I jogged back and forth on the far side of the rink, dodging any possible confrontation.
An hour later, Chris and I stood on the ice, warmed up and ready for our lesson. Sergei glided before us, and I fiddled with the cap on my water bottle. Normally, I liked the fact he came out on the ice to teach, but today I wanted the boards and one hundred extra feet between us.
“I want to go step by step through the loop,” he said. “Something was off last week.”
Chris took my hand, and I set my bottle on the boards. Sergei watched as we executed a single rotation of the throw.
“Chris, I think you’re gripping Em’s waist too high.”
He skated over to show us, but instead of taking charge in his standard manner, he hesitated and rubbed the back of his neck before approaching me. Luckily, Chris had bent to tighten his skate lace and missed the awkward moment.
Standing behind me, Sergei put his hands on my hips. All my muscles tensed up, fighting the emotions which needed to be released. Pull yourself together. You have to push through this.
Sergei took in a deep breath as his long fingers flexed against my leotard. I exhaled with him and commanded myself, Focus on the jump, Em. Focus on the jump.
We went through the motion of the takeoff a few times, Sergei assisting me into the air. With each repetition, I did feel more secure. Chris made sure he was comfortable with the change, and he and I performed a couple of doubles before attempting triples. My rotation was exactly vertical, and I landed all our attempts with ease.
For the rest of the session, we worked on sections of our long program. Every time Sergei touched me, I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand and to see him as a faceless being, simply a voice of instruction.
Chris and I took a break after the hour-long lesson, and he observed me with knitted brows.
“You’re quiet today.”
“Huh? Oh . . . I’m just tired.”
“Wild night at the church dinner?”
I broke into a smile, my first of the day. “You know how rowdy we Catholics can get.”
He laughed and reached for my hand. “Ready for some double run-throughs?”
Throwing my energy into running our programs helped distract my mind, but gloom returned when the time came for Courtney and Mark’s session. In the midst of lacing my skates, I saw a shadow approach from the side of the bleachers. I looked up to find Sergei, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. His darting eyes and the tight set of his mouth told me he’d rather be doing anything other than speaking to me.
He sat next to me and surveyed the smattering of parents at the other end of the bleachers. With his eyes trained on the cement floor, he said in a quiet voice, “I want to apologize again for yesterday.”
I resumed tying my laces, pulling the strings with extra tautness. “You don’t have to.”
“I do. I stepped over the line, and I want you to know it won’t happen again.”
He sounded so composed, so unemotional, so opposite from how he’d been at the cliffs. I had an awful feeling we would never talk that openly and easily again.
“The kids are ready,” I said and walked briskly to the ice.
Since I was working with Courtney on her double axel and Sergei was helping Mark with footwork, we didn’t have to speak much to each other. I left the rink exhausted, worn out from reining in my emotions all day.
As I curved onto the main highway and passed Starbucks, I thought of Sergei and me sipping our coffee and passionately debating one of the novels he’d loaned me. Tears stung my eyes. There would be no more afternoons like those. Not only had my heart been broken, but I’d also lost a friend.
Chapter Seven
The top of the Eiffel Tower appeared in the distance, and I squashed my nose to the taxi window. Chris slid across the narrow backseat and leaned over me to get a look.
“It doesn’t look as big as I expected,” he said.
Sergei twisted around in the passenger seat. “It’s pretty impressive up close.”
I sat back and marveled at the ornate stone buildings flashing
by as we zipped through late afternoon Paris traffic. Each structure looked like it held a captivating story.
The change of scenery was a welcome relief. The past few weeks had been emotionally draining. Every morning I woke up hoping my feelings for Sergei would’ve somehow diminished overnight. But when I walked into the rink and saw his face, I couldn’t escape the tug on my heart.
The taxi dropped us at the Novotel, the official hotel for our second Grand Prix of Figure Skating event. As we checked in, Drew entered the sleek lobby from the elevator and jogged around a pair of white chairs that appeared too pristine to sit on.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Emily,” he said in an exaggerated French accent as he wrapped his wiry arms around me.
I laughed, and over Drew’s shoulder, I noticed Sergei flick his head in our direction. The desk clerk handed me a room key as Drew and Chris slapped hands.
“What are you guys doing later?” Drew asked.
“Crashing,” Chris said. “I couldn’t sleep at all on the plane.”
Sergei gathered his luggage, and I watched him roll his suitcase across the lobby until Drew got my attention. “Butler, you up for some sight-seeing tonight?”
“Yeah, that sounds fun. What’d you have in mind?”
“Why don’t we go see the light show at the Eiffel Tower? We could do dinner and then head over.” He raised his eyebrows. “Meet here about six?”
“Works for me.”
“Awesome.” His smile glowed in his hazel eyes. “See you then.”
****
On the way downstairs to meet Drew, I slipped my coat over my gray sweater dress and used the elevator mirror to position my red knit cap into place, adjusting and readjusting the hair underneath.
Stop fussing. It’s just dinner . . . or is it?
Drew had emailed and called me quite a few times since Skate America, expressing his excitement about hanging out in Paris. After the way we’d danced at the closing party, I wasn’t sure of his expectations. Stop analyzing everything and have fun.
I exited the elevator and scanned the lobby for Drew. He wasn’t there, but Sergei was seated near the entrance, talking to Ron, a grizzly veteran pairs coach. I stood near the large windows facing the street and played with my cell phone. Meanwhile, Sergei wrapped up his conversation and strolled toward me.
“Waiting for someone?”
“Drew.” I dropped the phone into my purse. “We’re going to dinner.”
“Where’s Chris?”
I shrugged. “Probably in his room.”
“He’s not going with you?” Sergei rubbed his chin as he examined me.
“No. Is that a problem?”
He paused and folded his arms, looking unaffected by the chill in my question. “No, just asking.”
Drew walked up and greeted Sergei. “Hey, how’s it going?”
Sergei’s eyes remained on me a moment. “Good.”
“Ready to go?” Drew asked me.
“Yep, I’m starving.” I wound my scarf around my neck and said a quick goodbye to Sergei. Since the morning at the cliffs, many of our conversations followed that pattern–brief exchanges with an undercurrent of tension. Gone were the days of our easy banter.
Drew and I took a taxi to the restaurant he’d recommended, and the eatery looked just as I’d envisioned a Parisian café would–tiny round tables bunched together, wrought iron chandeliers, and wine flowing among all the patrons. The smell of freshly baked bread warmed the entire room.
Drew smiled as I removed my cap and fluffed my hair.
“You look very pretty tonight.” He took off his coat and stammered, “Not that you don’t always look nice.”
My face flushed, so I concentrated on putting the linen napkin in my lap. “Thanks.” I snuck a peek at Drew’s outfit before he sat down. His white oxford shirt hung loosely over his slender physique, and his black pants needed a bit more ironing, but he’d made an admirable effort.
The waiter placed menus in front of us, and I stared at the jumble of foreign words. All I recognized were pain for bread and fromage for cheese.
I peered over my menu. “I hope you know French because I took Spanish in high school.”
“Oui, oui. I aced four years of French.”
“Oh, good. I didn’t want to end up eating liver or cow tongue.”
“How do you know I won’t tell you something is chicken when it’s actually cow tongue?” His eyebrows danced as he flashed a mischievous smile.
“You do that, and this night will be over real quick.” I laughed and pointed to the door.
“Then let’s stick to something simple. The crepes here are really good.”
Good didn’t begin to describe the light and flavorful pancake. With asparagus wrapped inside and a creamy cheese sauce ladled on top, the crepe excited all my taste buds.
“I’m lucky I have a fast metabolism.” I licked my fork. “Otherwise, all this cheese probably wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“One crepe can’t hurt. After all, how often do you get to eat real French fromage?” Drew brought out the accent again.
I giggled and took a sip of water. One thing I could count on with Drew was laughter. Every time I talked to him, he made stories that weren’t meant to be funny sound hilarious.
The antique clock on the far wall caught my eye, and I noted the time. “We need to go soon to make the light show.”
When the bill arrived, Drew fought with me to let him pay for my dinner. Before I could protest any longer, he gave the waiter a stack of Euros.
“Thank you.” I buttoned my coat. “This place was amazing.”
He smiled and handed me my hat. “I thought you’d like it.”
We walked a few blocks to the Eiffel Tower to wait for the show at the top of the hour. Our breath formed small white clouds as we talked. I stared up at the landmark, speechless at its size. While standing at the base of the monument, Drew put his arm around me, and I slowly relaxed against him.
“Chris is going to regret he didn’t come, especially when I tell him about the food.”
“I’m kinda glad he didn’t,” Drew said with a shy crook to his grin.
I pretended to be fascinated with the fringe of my scarf until a burst of dazzling light took over the Tower and I gasped. The brilliance of the glow resembled a million fireworks being shot into the sky. The couple next to me shared a kiss, and my heart twitched.
I wanted the arm around me to be Sergei’s.
It can’t happen,
I reminded myself. Move on.
Drew and I lingered near the Tower after the show, taking in the sights and playing a game of guessing where the tourists were from.
“It’s too bad we don’t have more time to see the city,” Drew said. “But I guess we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t have to skate.”
“I wish I could go to Notre Dame Cathedral and light a few candles for a medal. Chris and I have to finish at least third to qualify for the Grand Prix Final.”
“You guys will get it for sure. I’ll be happy if I finish top six.”
“You’ll do great.” I touched his elbow. “You skated really well at Skate America.”
I envied the fact he wasn’t performing with the burden of expectations. Since our silver medal at Skate America, I’d felt growing pressure to stand on the podium in Paris. The federation, the judges, the media–they all had a close eye on us. If Chris and I qualified for the prestigious Final, we’d compete against the top five teams in the world.
Now occupied with thoughts of the competition, I desired the warmth of my hotel room. “I’m starting to lose feeling in my face. Why don’t we find a cab?”
At the hotel, I rocked back and forth on the heels of my boots as we waited for the elevator. I didn’t know what Drew had in mind for a goodnight parting. The doors shut, enclosing us in the confined space, and I decided to take charge.
“Thank you again for dinner.” I hugged him, resting my chin on the shoulder of his wool coat.
“This was a lot of fun.”
He held me close, letting his cheek brush against my hair. “I had an awesome time, too.”
The elevator chimed for my floor, and I extracted myself from Drew’s embrace, scooting into the doorway. He looked disappointed I’d distanced myself so quickly.
“Have a good night,” I said.
He shuffled forward and held the door. “I’ll be around the arena tomorrow after practice, so I’ll probably see you there.”
And I did see him, quite often the next few days. He watched all my practices, cheered Chris and me to a third place finish in the short program, and ate dinner with us at the hotel every night. His sense of humor kept me entertained and took my mind off worrying about the free skate.
The World Champions, Russians Oksana Leonova and Denis Romanov, were the leaders going into the long program. During the six-minute warm-up, I was setting up for the triple Lutz, and the pair barreled through my path, cutting me off. I braked and spun around, shaving a layer off the ice. Chris skated over from the opposite end of the rink, where he’d been practicing his spin.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I smoothed the short skirt of my ivory dress. “That’s the second time they’ve been on my tail. Guess they think we should all clear out of the way for them.”
We finished the warm-up with a couple of clean throw jumps and then followed our competitors backstage. My right eye watered from the dryness of my contact lens, so I hurried to the locker room for some drops. Oksana was standing in front of one of the full-length mirrors, squirting hair spray over her flaming red bun. Her hair was pulled so tight I didn’t think any strands had a chance of escaping.
I stood beside her to use the adjacent mirror, and she tilted her chin upward. Her heavily mascara-ed eyes sized me up as her mouth puckered with distaste.
“You have Russian coach, you think you skate like Russian?” she asked in her thick accent.
Life on the Edge Page 6
