I held the bottle of eye drops aloft, contemplating whether to ignore her. My competitive fire wouldn’t let me.
“We skate like Americans,” I said to her reflection in the mirror.
“American good single skater, not good pair skater. Pair skating more than jump and spin.”
I forced my lips together, clamping in the snarky response I wanted to give. It’d been a long time since someone had tried to intimidate me in the locker room. Not since I was a junior skater and some snotty girls had teased me about choking in competitions.
Squeezing two drops into my eye, I blinked until I had clear vision and then gave Oksana a hard glare. “We’ll see.”
Her criticism bounced through my mind as Chris and I began our program. Extra adrenaline pumped through my veins, and I attacked our opening jumps with a surge of power. Too much power. I over-rotated the jump, throwing myself off balance and stumbling through the landing.
Settle down
.
I fell into step with Chris, and our forward crossovers tracked in unison. When I’d learned the fundamentals of pairs skating, tracking had been one of the first lessons, and my blades had collided with Chris’s quite a few times. Now, our skates moved together like two halves of a whole.
We conquered the next minute of the program and cruised into our side-by-side flying sit spins. I started spinning, and in the blur around me, I saw Chris standing still. He’d missed the whole element. When I straightened up and put my hand in his, he muttered, “Rut.”
After we finished with no other errors, Chris stared at the spot on the ice where his spin should’ve been centered. He pasted a smile on his face as we bowed and waved to the audience.
“Freaking rut in the ice,” he told Sergei when we joined him in the Kiss & Cry.
Sergei patted him on the back and gave me a one-arm hug, the same as he’d given me after the short program. It was so fast our bodies hardly touched. I guess that’s how it’s going to be from now on.
Our scores put us in third place, but the current fourth place team still had to skate. With our mistakes, the Germans could easily bump us off the podium if they skated clean. I paced along the corridor backstage with my hands on hips, shaking my head at the stupid blunder on the Lutz.
Chris sat in front of the TV monitor, watching the German pair, while Sergei came up beside me.
“Em, don’t beat yourself up.”
I stopped and exhaled a long breath. “I had too much energy.”
“I’d rather you have too much energy than not enough.”
A smile played on his lips, and my posture relaxed. Through the babble of skaters, coaches, and volunteers milling backstage, Chris’s excited voice burst forth.
“We got third!”
He picked me up in a bear hug, and I squealed with delight. As soon as he set me down, another pair of hands grabbed my waist from behind. I twirled, and Drew pulled me into an embrace.
“Congratulations!”
“Same to you! I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you after you skated. I had to go back to the hotel to do my makeup and stuff.”
“Yeah, fourth place was better than I expected, so I’m super happy.”
I turned around and Sergei and Chris were shaking hands, but Sergei didn’t make any move to congratulate me. He just gave me a smile and bobbed his head.
“Good fight tonight,” he said to both of us. “Great effort.”
The Germans’ coach tapped Sergei on the shoulder and shook his hand. They started talking, and Drew slid closer to me.
“Celebration dinner later?” He looked back and forth from me to Chris.
I nodded. “Definitely.”
Oksana wove around us and shot me a disdainful look, as if I wasn’t fit to polish her skates. She had no idea she was giving me more motivation. The World Champs had captured another gold medal to add to their stuffed trophy case, but I believed the tide was going to shift soon. It was time for the Russian dominance in pairs to end.
****
As was always the case with Chris and Drew at the dinner table, we spent the meal laughing as much as eating, and by the end of the night my sides ached. We walked back to the hotel from the nearby café, and Drew stopped me before we reached the double glass doors.
“Can we hang here for a minute?”
Chris took the hint and bid us goodnight. A group of Canadian skaters piled out of the entrance and strolled down the sidewalk, their chatter trailing behind them in the frosty air.
I stuck my hands in my coat pockets and gave Drew a tentative smile. We hadn’t been alone since our date. Without Chris around, Drew might act more than just friendly. I chewed on my lip as he stepped closer to me.
He’s nice, cute, and fun. Give him a chance
.
“It looks a little crowded in there.” Drew jerked his thumb toward the hotel.
The large windows revealed a mixture of skaters and fans jumbled around the art deco furniture. Flashbulbs popped continuously as the athletes posed for photos.
I laughed as a pack of teenage girls swarmed around my partner. “Chris just got mobbed.”
“I bet you guys are going to get that a lot at Nationals with it being in Boston.”
“That week’s going to be nuts. My mom said she’ll try to keep my family under control. I’ve got some crazy distant cousins, and they’re all going to be there.”
Drew shifted his weight on the soles of his sneakers. “I’m glad it’s less than two months away. I’ll need my Emily fix.” I dipped my head, and he inched toward me. “It’s been great hanging out this week.”
I looked up at him, and the brightness in his eyes made me smile. “You’re sweet, you know that?”
“Sweet enough for a goodnight kiss?” His eyebrows lifted as he grinned.
My over-analytical brain was about to take over, but I squashed all thoughts and leaned into Drew, looping my arms around his neck. As I closed my eyes, a flash of Sergei’s face appeared, and I pressed my lips to Drew’s, wanting to feel the fireworks I’d experienced at the cliffs. But they never came. Only a nice comforting sensation settled over me.
Our lips broke apart, and I nestled my face against Drew’s collar. A few yards away, two figures darkened the doorway of the hotel. Ron stepped onto the sidewalk first, lighting a cigarette, and Sergei followed, his eyes trained on Drew and me. From his penetrating gaze, I suspected he’d seen the kiss.
But why should it matter?
Chapter Eight
“I’m dreaming of a dry Christmas,” I said to Chris, mimicking the classic holiday tune playing over the bookstore’s loud speaker. We’d had nothing but rain and sleet for a week, and the gloomy weather wasn’t helping me get into the holiday spirit.
“Maybe it’ll actually snow soon,” Chris said, always the optimist.
“With the luck I’m having this week, there’ll probably be a blizzard right over my house.”
Chris laughed as he picked up a coffee table book about ballparks and flipped through the glossy pages. “Overreacting much?”
“Shall I recap the list of my disasters? Sunday, my oven breaks in the middle of baking fifty cookies for the Christmas party. Monday, I slice both thumbs with my blades, and yesterday, I drop my groceries in a huge puddle.” I ticked off each calamity on my fingers. “Drew asked if I’d walked under a ladder or broken a mirror.”
“You been talking to Drew a lot?”
I ran my fingers along the cover of another baseball-themed book. “Kinda.” I may not have felt sparks with Drew in Paris, but he was so easy to talk to and joke with.
“Hey, guys!”
Marley stood at the end of our aisle. Chris shut the book, putting his full attention on her, and a bright smile burst onto his face. “Hey.”
She beamed back at him, and I suddenly felt like an outsider.
“Are you Christmas shopping?” she asked.
“Yeah, we’re looking for a present for Sergei,” Chris said.
“That’s sweet. Zach and I aren’t getting Viktor anything. I wouldn’t even know what he likes.”
“I don’t think Aubrey and Nick are getting him anything either,” I said.
Marley shifted the stack of three hardbacks in her arms and checked her watch. “Eek! I need to get to ballroom lessons. Have fun shopping!” Her warm brown eyes stayed on Chris as she backed out of the aisle.
When she was gone, I pinched Chris’s arm. “When are you ever going to ask that girl out?”
“When I’m ready,” he mumbled and rubbed the sleeve of his thin sweater. “But I’m not sure if she wants to go out with me.”
“Are you blind?” I waved my hand in front of his eyes. “Don’t you see how smiley she is around you lately? I swear, guys can be so dense sometimes.”
“Why do you want me to ask her out so bad?”
“Because if two people like each other and nothing’s stopping them from being together, then they should go for it.” The insistence in my voice came from a very deep source of frustration, one that had nothing to do with Chris.
“Alright, alright, chill out.” He rested one arm on the shelf and stared at the display of sports books. “Maybe I’ll ask her to a movie this weekend.”
“Yes!” I clapped my hands.
The shoppers near us gave me curious looks, and Chris covered my hands with his, snuffing my applause. “Let’s look for Sergei’s gift.” He led me toward the fiction aisles. “Doesn’t he read old books?”
“You mean classics?” I asked with a dry laugh. “Yes, he does.”
Problem was, I didn’t know which particular books he’d read lately. He used to share all his literary finds with me, but that was when our conversations consisted of more than five sentences. Oh, well. It’s not my problem if we buy him something he already has.
We passed the entertainment section, and I noticed a gold-colored book jacket with Sting’s picture and the title Lyrics. I picked up the book and thumbed through its pages. Chris discovered I’d stopped, and he backtracked to me.
“What’s that?”
“It looks like it has the lyrics to all of Sting’s and The Police’s songs plus the stories behind them.”
I couldn’t deny my rush of excitement from finding this perfect gift. Sergei would love it. And he might think of me whenever he read it. Ugh, every time I try to make myself not care, I get sucked back in.
Chris got distracted by a book on grunge rock, so I read the page in front of me with the song “Fragile.” I remembered when Sting had sung the ballad at the concert. It was after the rain began. The scene played like a movie in my head–Sting’s rich voice carrying through the humid air, while Sergei sat so close to me I could smell his cologne and see the raindrops tracing a path down his cheekbone and along his strong jaw.
My breath stuck in my throat and I closed the book.
“You wanna get that for Sergei?” Chris asked.
“Huh?” I blinked at him. “Oh. Yeah, let’s get it.”
****
The next day, I hounded Chris before and after practice about asking Marley out. “One more day until the weekend. Better get a move on.”
He gave me a look that said “Back off.”
After finishing my weight training, I went out to the rink and sat on the bleachers to watch one of Sergei’s junior teams practice. They were working on speed and power, and Sergei was racing around the ice, making the pair keep pace with him. His long, lean body moved with superb ease over his blades.
Courtney climbed up to my row with her skates in hand, and I gave my young student a smile.
“What’s up, chickadee?”
“I’m ready to do two clean run-throughs today,” she said with determination.
“Now, that’s the kind of attitude I love.”
She took off her sneakers and set her eyes on the ice. “Sergei is such an awesome skater. I wonder why he quit so young.”
“I don’t know. He never talks about it. He and Elena had just won Junior Worlds when they retired. No one seems to know why.”
“You’ve never asked him?”
“No, I figured it must be a sore subject because he never mentions it.”
Since I’d met Sergei, I’d been curious about his skating career and why he’d quit when he was eighteen. But the few times Chris or I had brought up his partnership with Elena, Sergei had quickly diverted the conversation. I assumed the split hadn’t been amicable.
Through the blue double doors from the lobby, Aubrey waltzed in, carrying a large crystal vase of flowers. She approached us with a big smile.
“Em, these were delivered to the office for you.”
“They’re so pretty!” Courtney cried.
I hopped down and took the card from the bouquet as Aubrey set the vase on the bleachers. Bending over, I sniffed the sunflowers, and the scent of summer filled my nose, taking me away from the dreary winter and into my mom’s garden.
I slipped the tiny card out of its envelope and read the note to myself.
Thought you might need some sunshine–Drew.
Aubrey read over my shoulder and said, “He’s a doll.”
“Who’s a doll?” Courtney asked as she pulled on her skates.
“Drew Henry,” Aubrey said.
“Ooh, he’s cute.”
I fingered one of the smooth sunflower petals, and my heart warmed at Drew’s thoughtfulness. The only flowers I’d ever received were from my family at competitions.
“I need to call him,” I said and brought the vase into the locker room.
Drew didn’t answer, so I left a message. “Hey, I got your flowers, and they’re so beautiful. They’ve definitely brightened my day . . . my whole week. Thank you so much. I’ll talk to you soon.”
After Courtney and Mark’s session, I stored my skates in the locker room, put on my down jacket, and picked up the flowers to bring home. Sergei was walking out of the rink ahead of me, and he held the door. I thanked him as we strode out into the frigid evening.
He glanced up at the sky. “Looks like the rain has finally stopped.”
“It’s about time,” I said. Was he intentionally not commenting on the huge floral arrangement in my hands?
Sergei walked toward his car, and I took a step toward mine, gazing at the bouquet. My feet flew out from under me, and I landed hard on my bottom while the vase crashed to the ground, spraying glass and flowers across the slush-covered pavement.
“Em!” Sergei cried, hurrying over and crouching next to me. “Are you okay?”
My tailbone throbbed, similar to when I’d first practiced triple jumps and spent more time on my butt than in the air.
“Yeah, I’ll just be a little sore tomorrow.”
“Let me help you up.” Sergei held my arm, and I stood gingerly. As soon as I was upright, he released me from his grasp.
I stared at the broken vase and scattered flowers lying in half-frozen puddles. My little bit of sunshine was now a wet, dirty mess.
“They’re all ruined,” I lamented.
“Don’t worry about the stupid flowers.” His voice rose with intensity. “You could’ve really been hurt.”
“They’re not stupid!”
I bent down to try to salvage the bouquet. When I reached for one of the stems, Sergei squatted next to me and touched my hand.
“Em, there’s glass everywhere,” he said softly. “Let me pick them up.”
He pulled his hand away, and I stood back as he retrieved every single flower, deftly avoiding the shards of glass. Meanwhile, the rink manager came out, saw the potential hazard, and went to get a broom.
“We can wrap them in some paper towels,” I said.
Sergei followed me inside and through the swinging door to the snack bar. The café was full of noisy teenagers sipping on sodas and sharing baskets of french fries.
I grabbed a handful of napkins from the counter as Sergei laid the flowers on an empty table. Bundling the stems together, I folded three layers
of paper around them.
“What’s the occasion . . . for the flowers?” he asked.
“I’ve just had a bad week.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
We looked up from the table at the same time. Sergei’s eyes showed genuine concern, and I lost myself in their sea of blue.
You can take me in your arms and never let go.
I lowered my eyes and tightened the napkins around the flowers. “It’s just been one of those weeks when everything goes wrong. Drew thought I needed a little pick-me-up.”
Sergei’s jaw clenched and he didn’t say anything further as we made our second attempt to leave for the day.
“Thanks for helping with the flowers,” I said.
“Sure. Watch your step from now on, okay?” He gave me the same concerned look as earlier.
I walked head-down to my car, watching for any slick patches. As I placed the flowers on the floor mat of my backseat, I thought how fitting it was I’d turned Drew’s gift into yet another disaster. But there’d been one thin silver lining–seeing how worried Sergei was when I fell.
Of course he cares. You’re his student.
And nothing more
.
Chapter Nine
“I still can’t believe you have to skate on Christmas. Today is the Lord’s birthday,” Mom said as she loaded dirty plates into the dishwasher.
“Nationals is only a few weeks away.” I handed her the grill pan from the stove. “And I got to spend Christmas Eve and this morning with you and Dad. Sergei made sure we had time with our families.”
I wiped the tile-covered island with a dishrag and watched Mom scrub the pan in the sink. We’d just finished our customary Christmas breakfast of pancakes and baked pancetta. Being home in Brookline and partaking in my family’s holiday traditions was exactly what I needed before the Nationals frenzy began.
“When are Chris’s parents going back to Baltimore?” Mom asked.
“Tonight. Dr. Grayden’s on duty at the hospital tomorrow.”
Dad came down the stairs, pulling an old knit cap over his thinning gray hair. Slipping into the mud room off the kitchen, he grabbed his jacket and gloves.
Life on the Edge Page 7
