Kiss and Cry

I had a late off-ice strengthening session with the trainer in the windowless dungeon gym, so I texted Henry that I’d get a Lyft. I could have just told him, but I figured he didn’t want to talk to me after what a dick I’d been. It was only fair to let him off the hook.

I worked with the trainer on strengthening my non-dominant leg and the whole left side of my body as well so I wasn’t off-balance. I did a hundred jumps a day landing on my right leg, so the left couldn’t be left out.

“You coming to the extra session tomorrow morning?” the trainer, Maggie, asked as she sat on a weight bench and watched my one-legged squats. I was barefoot, my toes spread wide.

I opened my mouth to say hell no, Saturday was for sleeping in, but hesitated. “What’s the focus again?”

“Natalia Platova is teaching a masterclass in edges.”

“Oh, right.” She was a legend, and it was amazing she was still traveling around giving seminars in her eighties. “Yeah, for sure.”

Mr. Webber would love the idea since he’d always been a Natalia fanboy. My theory was that they’d had a torrid, forbidden affair a million years ago when they were both competing while she was trapped in communist Russia.

Yes, he’d like me taking her class, even if it was a group thing. The last few times I’d called, he’d sounded really tired and hadn’t been able to talk long.

I kept thinking about what Henry said after Skate Canada. I really did want to make Mr. Webber proud. I was determined to crush it at the Grand Prix Final in December.

My quad burned as I lowered into another squat and then pushed up to a calf raise, core tight for balance with my hands held out in front of me. “It would be stupid to miss it.”

“It would,” Maggie agreed with a shrewd look. “So I’d skip the partying tonight.” She made a circular motion with her hand, and I performed a series of quick twitch jumps on one foot—backward, then forward.

“I haven’t even had a glass of wine since Skate Canada!” I swiped at the sweat on my forehead, indignant. “Just because I like to relax and have a good time once in a while doesn’t mean I do it all the time.”

She held up her hands. “I believe you.”

But I could tell she didn’t. Not really. I mean, yes, had I gotten wasted in the past? Sure. Especially when I was a teenager and living in the prison of my parents’ house under the watchful eye of Warden Mom.

When I’d had the chance to go to a competition without her because she couldn’t take the time away from my sisters to go to Asia or Europe, I’d let loose.

But I’d moved to LA to train with Mr. Webber when I was twenty-one. Yeah, I’d had some fun there, but I’d calmed down a lot compared to when I was a teenager.

In skating, reputations were hard to shake, and I was the party boy to some people no matter what. I’d been training in Toronto more than a month now, and I’d gone nowhere and hooked up with no one.

“I’ll be there!” I told Maggie.

“Do you want a lift? I’m sleeping at my girlfriend’s tonight, and she’s in the condo next to yours. I assume you won’t want to ride with Henry.”

Oh.

Obviously word had spread about what a jackass I’d been, because of course it had. There were zero secrets at a training rink. “Sure. You’re going? I didn’t think you skated.”

“I barely do, but I’m trying to learn. It helps me help you if I can understand the sport better. Now let’s do some burpees.”

Groaning, I did as I was told even though burpees were created by the devil.

Obviously Henry was going tomorrow since an edge class by Natalia Platova was probably his wet dream. Not that I was still thinking about what turned him on. I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking at all about Henry and how much he did or didn’t hate me.

Everyone came for the class even though it was meant for kids. This was Natalia Platova, so you showed up no matter how good you were.

The arena pulsed with skaters, parents, and coaches, the row of bleachers full. In his usual all black, Henry watched Natalia intently, carving out beautiful edges and following her instructions perfectly.

“Hey!” A sharp finger jabbed my hip, and I tore my gaze from Henry. A little girl grumbled, “Watch where you’re going.” Then she looked up and apparently realized who I was, her freckled face paling. “Oh my God. Theo Sullivan.”

I grinned. “Good morning. What’s your name? Sorry I was in your way.”

She forgave me. During the break, she produced a Sharpie, and I signed her skating club jacket. Her parents were thrilled, and I chatted with them and a bunch of the other parents who gathered. The elite skaters didn’t usually share the ice with the club kids, but it was fun to answer their questions.