Kiss and Cry

But I didn’t want anyone else. Where could I even go at this point? My old coach in Vancouver would probably take me back, but… I quickly shut down thoughts of returning to that particular arena.

What if I ran into him in the locker room? My stomach lurched. It was bad enough to be dealing with Theodore Sullivan—I didn’t need to think about my humiliation in Vancouver too.

I nodded, and they exhaled in a rush.

“You won’t regret this.” Manon’s grin gleamed.

“But he’s not disciplined.”

They shared another glance before Manon said, “It’s true that Theo is blessed with an abundance of natural talent and perhaps not such a strong work ethic. You’ll be an excellent influence in that regard. And he’ll get under your skin with his ability to toss off quads at the drop of a hat.”

That I could certainly agree with.

“It’s going to be great,” Bill said. “This is the Olympic season, and we’re turning it up to eleven!”

That was one of Bill’s favorite references, from an old movie I’d never seen. I nodded miserably.

Manon frowned. “There’s no issue with Theo we should know about, is there? Aside from beating you sometimes. He hasn’t been unkind, has he?”

I shook my head. Though we’d never been friends, he was unfailingly friendly, which was honestly infuriating because it made it more difficult to resent him. I still managed.

We were rivals, and I’d prefer it greatly if he’d ignore me the way I tried to ignore him. Win or lose, he was the same, smiling and cracking jokes. All the way back to our junior days, I couldn’t recall him ever being upset about anything.

I said, “It’s time for cardio.”

“So it is.” Bill patted his stomach under his worn T-shirt. “I should race you and burn off those Timbits.”

He said that often but never did. I was relieved as I escaped upstairs and laced my running shoes so tightly I had to redo them or risk the blood flow to my toes. I jumped over a pothole in the Ice Chalet’s parking lot as I jogged out.

The arena’s brick had been decorated with mountains in the eighties, and I could still make out the edges of a snowy peak in the corner where it hadn’t been painted over properly.

Cars whizzed by on the road, some turning into the plaza across the street. The Shoppers pharmacy drew most people, though I heard from other skaters the tiny roti restaurant had excellent food. I’d try it if I ever allowed a cheat day.

A few of the storefronts were up for rent, and the wholesale flooring warehouse was going out of business. The grassy field next to the plaza had a big sign saying another subdivision of identical houses was coming.

Past the field was a trail that led down into a woodland valley I hoped would never be sold for tract housing. I counted my inhalations and exhalations as I descended, leaping over roots, a few dry leaves crunching beneath my feet.

It was still mostly green, and birds chirped in the mid-morning sunlight. I usually only listened to music while running when there were other people around who might want to talk to me.

Today, Theodore Sullivan barged into my meditative focus of breath and footsteps and forest sounds.

“There’s no issue with Theo we should know about, is there?”

I could have told them he was a distraction. It was the truth—I stumbled as the path twisted toward the tall maples crowding the valley floor and wanted to shout, “See?!” as I caught my balance and increased my stride, my footsteps thudding on the earth.

But I couldn’t tell them all the reasons Theodore was an issue. I couldn’t confess that on the eve of the free skate at the junior world championships when I was fourteen, I’d seen Theodore Sullivan and his new body hair naked in the communal shower room in a concrete Croatian arena.

I’d still been small for my age, but he was sixteen and had had a growth spurt in…every way imaginable. Our eyes had met after he caught me gaping. After he’d spotted my erection.

And he’d smirked.

He’d laughed. Carelessly. Light and airy as though nothing mattered. When everything mattered.

I’d run, shampoo still lathered in my hair, and yanked on a winter hat and sweats over my wet body. I’d always been focused on skating and school, and I was so confused by the new desires that were inconvenient at best.

I’d had an extremely explicit and detailed dream that night of Theodore. The next day, I’d blown my lead from the short program and missed both my triple Axels. I’d ended up with bronze—barely—while he took gold, and the worst part was that I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him. Doing…more. I wasn’t even sure what, but doing everything with him. I’d been reluctantly attracted to boys before that moment in the shower room, but actors on TV weren’t real.