Kiss and Cry

Wiping sweat from my face, I chugged water before gathering my plushies. There would be a huge bag of them backstage collected from the ice. I always donated the toys to the local children’s hospital.

Early in my career, Mom had insisted on keeping every toy and gift, filling the corners of our house until my sisters revolted, and even Dad put his foot down.

I truly appreciated every gift from fans, but there were only so many stuffed animals one person could own. Aside from keeping the odd one, I figured they’d live their best plushy lives being played with by kids.

As we left the Kiss and Cry, I looked back at Henry taking his position at center ice, a hush falling over the arena. I could have sat and watched him for a few minutes, but I didn’t want to throw him off or anything.

Obviously he’d heard my marks and the crowd reaction, so the pressure was now on him to hold his lead. It was only a few points, so this was going to be a close result.

And obviously I wanted to win—duh, winning was the most fun—but I weirdly found myself…kind of rooting for him? Not that I’d ever wished harm to a competitor, but… As much as I disliked Mom’s killer instinct bullshit, I didn’t become world champion by rooting for the other guys.

Backstage, “Moonlight Sonata” more distant now, I handed off the toys and went to take my seat with Kuznetzov and Nakamura, who were currently in second and third. But instead of the expected high fives, they watched me approach with tight, weird expressions.

Huh. Were they pissed I’d taken first place? I mean, yeah, obviously they were on one level, but it wasn’t unexpected, and we’d all learned as kids to paint smiles on our faces and hide our real feelings in skating. At least until you were alone.

Bill was saying, “What are you talking about?” to someone.

It all happened in slow motion.

Everyone was watching me—skaters, coaches, federation officials, event coordinators, camera operators. I was used to having eyes on me, especially after a skate like that. New world record score! Yay!

But something was wrong.

I turned to Bill as he gripped my arm. Tears shone in his eyes, and my stomach dropped like a rock, icy dread washing through me.

Bill said, “Theo. There’s bad news.” His voice got hoarse, and he cleared his throat. But I didn’t need him to say it.

Mr. Webber was gone. I knew it. Not in a woo-woo I can feel his cosmic absence from the universe way, but because it was the only thing that made the unbearable weight in the air make sense. Unless it was my family or something—fuck, was it?

I went rigid, croaking, “What?” I was ready to shake it out of Bill, my mom and dad and sisters’ faces wheeling through my mind.

He’d gotten his shit together and said, “I’m afraid Mr. Webber passed away a few hours ago. His children and grandchildren were at his side. It was peaceful.”

For a terrible moment, I was relieved. My family was okay. But Mr. Webber was gone, and even though he hadn’t been my family, he had been actually, even if I paid him to coach me, and we’d had contracts and a business relationship. I’d loved him, and I think he’d loved me.

And he was gone. It wasn’t fair even if he was old, and I’d known deep down the cancer was bad and that he probably wouldn’t make it, but it wasn’t fair.

“I just talked to him yesterday,” I said stupidly.

“I know.” Bill squeezed my arm. “He stopped treatment last week, and it was quick. He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want to distract you.”

Did I make him proud?

I wanted to scream it and shake the answer out of Bill, but I could only nod, the hot needles of eyes on me prickling my skin. I stood there nodding as Bill hugged me.

Bill and other people were talking at me, platitudes all over the place, and I didn’t want any of them. I wanted them to shut up, shut up, shut up.

For once, I didn’t want to talk. I nodded and nodded, and an official told me I could talk to the press tomorrow, and they were delaying the medal ceremony too, that we’d have it before the gala. I was grateful, but couldn’t they just be quiet?

Apparently I won, beating Henry by less than a point. I didn’t care, though I’m sure Henry did—it was brutal to lose by fractions. I was probably the last person he wanted to see.

After practically ripping off my costume and shoving my bag at Bill, I made my escape, insisting on walking the short distance through Torino to the hotel where we were all staying.

Cool, steady rain soon soaked me. The mountains were shrouded in thick clouds as night set in. It felt later than it was, the rain apparently keeping people away from the restaurants and bars.