Chapter 15

Everything slowed down.

One moment, I'd been in my seat, excited and nervous as Kenji glided onto the ice. His movements were a little jerky and strained, and at first, I wondered if something wasn't right, but then, it was probably just nerves. When the music started, Kenji was a beat behind, and I'd seen him practice this—even on his worst days, he was never a beat behind.

"Something's wrong," I blurted, but no one was listening as the music swelled. My chest tightened with worry, breath catching in my throat. I couldn"t shake the feeling of impending doom, a sense that something was about to go bad.

And then, Kenji's steps stuttered, he managed to collect himself for a jump, out of synch with the music, and then, he fell, and the crowd gasped.

Before Kenji hit the ice, I was on my feet, adrenaline propelling me forward. I scrambled over Soren and Felix, their hands reaching out to catch me as I caught myself in them in my haste.

People were talking, shouting.

Is he moving? Is he dead?

Everyone was talking at me, over me. I think I heard Soren call my name, but they were a distant hum as my focus narrowed on Kenji. I jumped the last few steps, vaulting the boards, close to ending up on my ass, and I went into a crouch to stop myself sliding. Paramedics were already skating out to Kenji, crumpled like a ragdoll in the center of the rink, his arms splayed, his cheek flat to the ice, his eyes closed. I slid my way over, and by the time I was there, he was blocked from me by paramedics as they assessed his condition checking his pulse and vitals.

The crowd was silent, and I realized that the music had stopped.

"Blunt trauma to left temporal region. I have a pulse," one of them said, his tone clipped and professional, and it nearly cut me off at the knees.

There was blood. He'd fallen hard, skidding as his head bounced off the ice, his face scraped raw.

"Get back!" one of the paramedics snapped at me.

I stared at him, not realizing he was talking to me or how close I'd moved. I was getting in the way, and horrified, I stumbled back.

"Kenji…"

Someone took my arm, tugged me further back., Ilya was there, someone shoving at him—Soren? Felix?—so who had my arm? I glanced up. Dieter, the former Railers winger, gripped me tight, and it was his husband, Trent, the figure skater, shoving Ilya, pushing him back from Kenji.

"He'll be okay," Dieter reassured me as I tried to get free. "Let them work. They have him."

There was a backboard, the paramedics working, other officials forming a circle around Kenji, blocking people from seeing him.

Blocking me.

"I need to…"

"I know, kid, I know," Dieter murmured, and tugged me a little further back as there was a flurry of motion. My stomach churned with fear as I watched everyone work on my boyfriend. Finally, they had Kenji on a backboard, his neck supported—he wasn't moving—then onto the stretcher. I wanted to reach out to Kenji, to reassure him that everything would be okay, but I was rooted to the spot, unable to move. All I could do was stand there, my eyes locked on him, willing him to wake up.

"Kenji!" I called, trying to wriggle free, but Dieter was strong, and I was useless to do anything but stand in place. We followed the stretcher in a line, Trent pushing Ilya to one side as we entered the kiss and cry area where Kenji's mom and dad were waiting. His mom was crying, his dad as white as a sheet, his brother Jun grief-stricken. Then, the entire group of us stopped as the ambulance pulled away.

"Our car is in VIP parking," Dieter said. "We'll take you to the hospital." He was talking to Kenji's parents, but Mrs. Kelly took my hand.

"Please. The four of us." She glanced up at me and nodded, asking me if that was what I wanted.

"Thank you," I said.

More tears coursed down her cheeks. "He will want his boyfriend with him," she said.

Dieter's car screeched to a halt in front of us.

Soren's grandpa hovered with the rest of our group. "We'll follow," he said.

A surge of panic washed over me as Kenji's parents and I clambered into the back of Dieter and Trent's car. This wasn"t how today was supposed to end. Kenji was supposed to fly, and win battles, and go home, just like any other time on the ice.

He had to be okay.

We headed to the hospital, but there was no sign of the ambulance as we hurried down busy streets.

"I'll kill Ilya," Trent said under his breath, but I could hear because I was in the middle leaning forward, watching for any sign we'd catch up to Kenji. Even though Dieter was driving, he was reassuring his husband, either that or he was calming him down.

"You can't kill him, babe."

"I swear, if that kid…"

"I know," Dieter replied, although Trent hadn't finished the sentence.

If that kid… what? I went blank. Dies? No, he hit his head. Panic gripped me, my chest tight.

"No!" I snapped.

Trent wriggled in his seat to stare at me. "It will be okay. He'll likely have a concussion, but it was a clean fall." He squeezed my hand because it was the only one he could reach, but he was talking to all of us.

"What about the blood. There was blood," Kenji's mom said.

"Head wounds bleed, so it makes it look worse, Mrs. Kelly. He'll be okay."

As soon as the car stopped, we all piled out, but then, it was standing and waiting and sitting on hard chairs, and more waiting, until a doctor finally came out for Kenji's parents. That left Trent and Dieter down one end of the seats, and Jun slumped in a chair staring into a cup of cold coffee way down at the other end, with my friends and I in the middle of them. Ilya was on his phone, talking loudly in fast Russian.

"What if it's serious?" I asked no one, but Soren nudged my elbow. He'd been quiet, texting his dads and holding up his phone every so often, for what reason I didn't know. Maybe to get a signal. I couldn't look at my phone, not when the screen would open to the photo of me and Kenji.

The door opened and Kenji's parents walked out, and I was up and at their side in an instant. "Is he okay? Can I see him?" I asked in a tumble of words, as everyone else crowded behind me.

"He's dehydrated, his sugar levels are…" Mrs. Kelly placed a hand over her mouth, "he hasn't been eating, or drinking, he's… he has stitches, and a concussion, they have him on a drip to…" She sobbed then, and Mr. Kelly took her into his arms.

"Can I see him?" I asked again, but no one was listening.

My stomach twisted as I heard about Kenji"s lack of eating and drinking. It felt like a punch to the gut, a heavy weight settling on my chest. Worry, guilt, and frustration swirled inside me. Worry for Kenji"s health and well-being, guilt for not realizing the extent of his struggles sooner, and frustration at the situation we found ourselves in. It was a horrific reminder of how fragile and vulnerable Kenji was, and I couldn"t help but feel overwhelmed by the enormity of it all.

"He will be okay," Ilya patted her arm, "sacrifice leads to reward."

Mr. Kelly held his wife tight as she lurched at Ilya. "What did you do!" she shouted at him.

He stepped back, held up his hand. "Nothing that any other coach wouldn't do," he said, as if he was shocked she'd asked.

Then Soren was there, holding out his phone. "I recorded what Ilya was saying, and… okay, Stan, tell them what he said."

Stan? A familiar voice filled the room with heavily accented Russian—Stan, the Railers' goalie, who'd once played with Soren's dad.

"Hello is all," he began. "Ilya asshole explain to friend he not playing at making champion, and people to… what is word… listen hard and do what he says. Too heavy skater means no flying. Say Kenji too heavy, tell him limit eating, thinking to add drug to drink like others. Says Kenji is waste of space, and Ilya might give up and going back to Mother Russia before big people in charge catch him up. He is bad man," Stan paused. "To fix this, I know people," he added ominously.

Ilya went pale and took a step away from us. Trent evaded Dieter and shoved Ilya back against the wall, but Dieter levered his tiny whirlwind of a husband off, just to replace him, pinning Kenji's coach flat.

"Shoving people around was my job, and I remember how to do it, babe," Dieter deadpanned. "Thanks, Stan," he called to his former teammate.

"I know people," Stan repeated, and then, Soren held the phone to his ear and backed away. Security headed over to us—there was shouting, there was cursing, and Ilya was escorted from the premises—as was Dieter, who laughed the entire time.

I slumped to the chair, Trent next to me, his hand on my knee, and we waited, until people went home, and it left only me, Kenji's parents, Jun, and Trent.

"He's asking to see you," Mrs. Kelly said to me after they and his brother were allowed in and had spent an hour in with him.

I walked into the hospital room, my heart heavy with worry and guilt. Kenji lay there, pale, hooked up to a drip, a bandage on his temple over the stitches. He started apologizing, his voice weak and filled with regret.

"I promised I was okay, and I wasn"t. I know you"ll hate me, but I wanted to say, I want to do better, but I can"t do it on my own, but it"s all too much, and…"

His words trailed off, and my heart ached at the sight of him, so helpless and defeated. I wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was okay, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I pressed a kiss to his forehead, smoothing back his hair, then reached out and took his free hand in mine, offering what little comfort I could.

"It"s okay, Kenji," I whispered, my voice barely above a murmur. "You"re not alone. You have me."

But even as I spoke the words, doubt gnawed at me. Could I help him? Would he be okay with only me and his family in his corner? Was Trent being here something that would help Kenji or hinder him—did Kenji want the former Olympic skater anywhere near him?

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… please don't hate me," Kenji kept repeating, and I reassured him that everything was going to be okay.

"I could never hate you."

"You came out for me, and I ruined everything."

"I came out for me," I told him for the third time in a row. "You'll be okay."

Only, I didn't know that at all.

Kenji was allowed to go home after two nights in the hospital, with strict care instructions, and I was still in town, with Trent having paid for my hotel room, clearing everything with my mom so I could stay. I was determined to be in the car with Kenji going back home.

The last person who visited Kenji was a man called Lukash, a friend of Trent's, former figure skater, and now, a Clinical Psychologist specializing in eating disorders. When he knocked on the door to visit with Kenji, despite Kenji pleading with me to stay, I had to leave.

Kenji needed help from an expert.

He didn't need me.

Trent droveme home the morning that Kenji was released, and we talked about hockey, about the Railers, about his husband, about the weather, but nothing about Kenji, which made for a long road trip. I had my earphones in pretending to listen to music but was actually tracking down every podcast I could find on figure skating and eating disorders, and every scrap of information I could find on Ilya. When we were an hour from home, I realized that this might be the only time that I could ask Trent questions.

"What can I do?" I asked.

Trent threw me a glance. "Be a friend," Trent said.

"What will happen to Ilya?"

Trent glanced in the mirror and indicated, pulling into a McDonalds, and encouraging me inside.

"Talking needs food and coffee," he said, but he wasn't angry, he smiled at me and seemed thoughtful. I was hungry—ravenous—and Trent piled a ton of food on me and joined in with some of it.

"As to Ilya," he began. "I've made an official complaint. It's up to Kenji whether he wants to support that complaint, although a couple of the other students he taught are willing to go on record." He sipped his coffee, thoughtful, staring out of the window, his jaw tense. "Ilya gave one of his girls slimming pills, encouraged her to vomit to stay at weight, and she's been interviewed with her parents."

"So even if Kenji isn't well enough to go on record, there's someone else…"

"Yes. We have enough for revocation of his coaching credentials, possibly a criminal case." Trent was frustrated, and his lips thinned, so different from the endless smiles he typically gave to the world. "I'll fight this the whole way. I'll make things different."

I nodded along as Trent detailed plans about cleaning house and making things safe for young figure skaters.

I listened and hoped what hurt Kenji wouldn't happen to anyone else.

And I worried again that I would never be enough to help Kenji.

That maybe I'd lose him.

And that hurt.