Kiss and Cry

“Houlihan’s moniker.”

I tore my eyes from Henry’s mouth. “Huh?”

“Eight down. ‘Houlihan’s moniker.’ Seven letters.” Pencil in hand, he tapped the paper of the crossword book.

“Oh, right.” It was my turn to blush, my cheeks burning as I jumped up and returned to the cutting board. “I have no idea. I mean, ‘moniker’ means name. But what’s a Houlihan?” I grabbed the remaining shoots of green onion and massacred them.

“Most likely a person. This is an older puzzle book, so it might be from the nineties. Or the eighties, even.”

Spilling more slivered almonds into the pan, I frowned. “Why are you doing such old ones? Isn’t it way easier to do new crosswords?” I laughed as soon as I said it. “Of course that’s exactly why you do the old ones.”

“Mm.”

With a rush of fondness, I toasted the nuts, forcing myself to watch them the whole time aside from little glances at Henry I couldn’t resist.

Chapter Ten

Henry

Teeth clenched, trying to hide my grimace, I hit my short program final pose. In the hush after the music ended, the sounds of the rink came back to me. The murmur of conversation—Bill correcting Ivan on his spin position, the assistant coaches working with younger students, a few parents on the bleachers watching.

“That’s enough for today,” Manon said. “You need to rest—no arguments.”

My pulse was elevated, and with each rapid breath I took, my ribs ached. I wanted to argue for one more run-through—especially since I’d put a hand down on my triple Axel. My skin prickled with the surreptitious stares around the rink.

Everyone had heard I’d strained the intercostal muscles between my ribs on my left back. Everyone was watching and listening even though they were pretending not to, an unnatural hush descending. Mitigating injury was part of the sport, but this close to the Olympics, it was fodder for gossip even more than usual.

“It’s already much better,” I told Manon. This was true—I’d rested for a whole day, and it was only a strain. I’d gotten twisted up on an awkward landing. I knew my body, and it wasn’t serious. It was annoying.

“Good!” She gave me a smile with steel in her eyes. “And now you’re going to rest. You have an appointment with Dr. Shankar soon anyway. Bye!”

There was no sense in arguing, even though I detested finishing without a completely clean run-through. At the edge of the ice, I bent to slip on my skate guards, careful to keep my face neutral even though my back twinged.

“Hey! That was a great Lutz. How are your ribs feeling?”

Muscles protesting, I straightened to face Theodore. “Perfect.” My ribs weren’t injured.

He raised an eyebrow dubiously. “Yeah? You know, I was thinking of a better way to do the hot-cold therapy.” He bent to take off his guards, tossing them onto the closest bench, one teetering on the edge before falling to the concrete with a dull clatter. “My plan is—”

“Theo!” Manon called, tapping her wrist even though she wore no watch.

If anyone hadn’t been looking at me before, assessing the state of my injury, they were certainly watching Theodore and me now. He gave Manon a wide smile and yelled, “One second!”

After the first week when we’d skated on the same sessions before Manon and Bill had had time to adjust the schedule, Theodore and I didn’t train at the same time. Though I was still driving him most days since he’d been getting up early more often. The rides were naturally the subject of arena gossip, but no one knew about our dinners and cooking. At least not to my knowledge.

But the more we interacted at the rink, the more gossip would spread. I hated the hot prickle of stares and whispers, and I snapped, “It wasn’t a great Lutz. It was acceptable.” And considering he had the best quad Lutz in the world, I didn’t need Theodore’s encouragement.

He’d been about to say something, but frowned. “No, it was good. You’ve been holding back, but that one was perfect. I know what it’s like when you have an injury. Anyway, I just… Hey, Ivan.”

Ivan stepped off the ice and put on his guards, giving Theodore a nod.

“Theo, let’s go!” Manon approached, frowning. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, totally!” Theodore said.

She nodded decisively. “Warm-up laps. Crack that walnut between your shoulder blades. Core on and get into your knees. Firm and stiff are two different things.”

He did as he was told for once, though his posture still needed work. I crouched to pick up his errant skate guard, placing it on the bench beside the other.

“What was he saying?” Ivan asked, dropping to the bench and pulling a banana from his bag.

I shrugged. “He was just talking.”

Ivan grunted and bit off half the banana. “Don’t let him get in your head.”

“I’m not.” I sipped from my water bottle, tearing my gaze from Theodore.