Chapter One

brYAN

THREE WEEKS LATER

U.S. NATIONALS—SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK

A nyone who knows anything about figure skating knows who Ekaterina Andreyeva is. The Russian ice queen and reigning Worlds silver medalist, with the bright red hair and the death stare that could make even the stoniest guys in the business break a sweat.

After that last skate, though, when her life basically derailed on live television, even people who know nothing about the sport can’t avoid the endless replays of that fall. It’s, like, a meme now. I keep telling people she should be getting royalties.

You see, the main difference between me and someone like Katya Andreyeva is that people don’t expect me to land big jumps like quads, which is fair considering every time I’ve attempted one in competition in the last few seasons I’ve eaten shit. Also that I haven’t been expected to get a silver medal since before my balls dropped.

This girl was a lock for next year’s Olympic podium until now. Me? I’ve been skating by—literally—since the start of my senior career. Always a couple spots shy of the podium; just enough to qualify for everything. Never to really…what? Win?

And judging by the performance I just gave out there, it doesn’t look like that’ll be changing today, either.

I skid to a stop at the boards, ice screeching under my blades. I step off and grab my guards from Juliet, putting them on before shrugging on my jacket—the navy blue one with Team USA in big letters on the back, from when I used to compete internationally. For a second I can’t help but feel like those dads who wear their letterman jackets from a million years ago, still reliving the glory days long gone.

Juliet hands me a bottle of water, biting her lip. I unscrew it, swallowing a couple huge gulps. “Don’t bother. I know.”

She leads me farther from the ice so the hot mics can’t pick up our conversation. “Look, Bry, it’s just that—”

“I know.” My tone comes off a little harsher than I’d meant, and the irritation deflates. “Sorry. I just…”

She nods, offering a sympathetic smile and putting an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go find the others, okay?”

Do I have a choice? I sigh. “Sure.”

Y ou know when you're at the top of the rollercoaster, just before you tip over into the drop?

That’s what it it’s like waiting for scores. And let me tell you, your stomach flies up your throat the same way when you get confirmation of just how shit-tastic you just did. Somehow, no matter how many times it happens, I still manage to want to throw myself off a cliff after seeing the results. Somehow, there’s always that tiny glimmer of hope, that, maybe, this time might be different. That maybe, just maybe, this time I won’t fail.

I can practically feel my nerves vibrating. I dig my fingers into my palms to force myself not to bounce my leg five hundred miles an hour.

Please, please, please—

The scoreboard lights up. And just like that, the glimmer disintegrates.

“Shit.” I say it quietly, because I’m hyper-aware of all the hot mics and the cameras beaming my face up to the Jumbotron, and the last thing I need right now is for the American Figure Skating Committee to think I’m a poor sport on top of everything else.

I’m not even surprised, which is probably the biggest problem.

I brace my hands against my knees, trying to glance over at Lian, who’s sitting next to me with an impassive look on her face. My coach is impossible to read, but I can imagine what I’m in for once we get out of range of the audience and the reporters.

It's not like the score is horrible, alright? Depressingly enough, it’s probably one of my best this season—but at this level, it’s just a step up from elimination.

Because this isn’t even me going up against skaters from Japan and South Korea. This is me going up against high schoolers who barely screeched past qualifiers, and I’m twelve full points behind the guy who placed fourth before me—this in a sport where people can beat each other by a tenth, a hundredth of a point. I don’t want to think about the forty-point difference between me and first place. I don’t want to think about the guy from AFSC that’s been watching all my practice sessions for the last month and a half, having conversations with Lian in corners and walking off with a tight smile every time I go up to them.

I can’t think about it. Otherwise, I’m never going to stop.

“Bryan. Bryan .”

“Huh? Oh.” I grab the bottle of water and the stuffed animal someone handed me, getting up to follow her away from the kiss-and-cry.

Lian doesn’t ask me why I’m so zoned out. I’m pretty sure she wants me to be scared right now.

I’m fucking scared. The thought spikes through me, and I swallow the nausea that sweeps my stomach as we trudge through the crush of people and out of the arena.

“Lee, I—” I start, trying to not puke everywhere, but she stops walking, turning to face me and putting a hand up.

“No. Stop . I know you don’t need me to tell you, which is good, because you really should be losing your shit right now.” Her lips are drawn in a thin line as she rubs her forehead. “You have no idea how many people I have breathing down my neck right now, Bryan.”

“I know.”

Lian scoffs and keeps walking, her long black ponytail bouncing aggressively against her puffer coat. “No, actually, I don’t think you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t be skating like this. God, kid, what even was that?”

“I know,” I say again, louder, and it doesn’t escape me that I seem to be having the same fucking conversation over and over again. I clench my fists tight, and the water bottle crunches.

“You gave up! You could’ve bounced back, but you gave up. Come on , Bryan! You’re better than this, and you know it.”

“Except I’m not!” I can’t keep it in. The anger’s burning, and a harsh laugh escapes me. “Lee, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been slipping lower and lower every year. So I don’t know why you and Juliet and everyone keep saying that. I’m not just going to magically skyrocket back to the top of the podium.”

“Except you have to. You don’t have a choice.”

I roll my eyes, itching with desperation to move on. Please, anything else, I’ll talk about anything else. “I’m fifth, Lian, I’ll make it to the second half. It’s fine. It’s one bad skate, and I always do better in the free anyway. Can’t we just—”

“It’s not fine, Bryan. And it wasn’t just one skate.” She pauses. “Chris Heffner called me after you tripped getting out of that triple Axel. He told me they’re not putting you down for the pool.”

And right then, my brain stops working. “What?”

There’s no way I just heard that right. There’s no way.

Lian sighs. “He says…the committee’s been looking at your scores, and they don’t think it’s a good idea to keep you in the running this year. There’s a lot of new material for them to work with now that some of the junior level kids are old enough. Apparently Gordon what’s-his-face has been sticking some more huge quads, so they’re itching to get him out there while he’s still hot.”

I can’t help but flinch at the mention of Gordon Brewer, whose scrawny, baby-faced ass has been haunting my nightmares since I made the mistake of watching his phenomenal performance at Junior Worlds back in spring. I couldn’t help but think about how I’d have to compete against him, too, next year, once he moves up. For now he’s safely in the junior men’s department, so I don’t have to worry yet.

At least that’s what I thought. “ What? What are you saying? How is that possible?”

“Bryan, come on, you know that you haven’t been on top of your game—”

“No, no, but I qualified. I just qualified, and I’ll move up to fourth after the free, there’s no way they can keep me off that list.” A nervous laugh jumps out of me, and my voice cracks. “Lian, please tell me you’re joking. Please tell me they didn’t take me off.”

My coach is looking at me with something close to pity on her face for the first time, and my head starts swimming.

If they remove me from the selection pool, that means I won’t be able to go to any international competition, even if I do qualify after the second half of Nationals in two days. It’s not like I’ve been selected recently, but if they do this, I won’t even have a chance to try. I won’t be allowed to represent my country.

The letters on my back are starting to dig into my skin.

This isn’t happening. Not after all these years of sacrificing everything—school, family, friends, girlfriends; every chance I got outside of the ice. Not now . It’s too late to turn back now. I barely graduated high school. No college would ever take me; no real job. I know it might not look like it from my scores, but I’ve given all I have to this sport, to this team, and now they’re kicking me out? I’ve been half-joking about it for months, but this is different. This is happening.

This is real.

The realization makes me so dizzy I can’t breathe, and I stumble and catch the wall with my hand.

“Hey, hey, you good?” Lian grabs my arm, and I bat it away, shaking my head.

“I’ll call Chris. I’ll tell him…I can make the jump to fourth again, maybe even third, and then I’ll train my ass off from now until Worlds. I can place, I’m sure of it, I just need the quads—” I’m rambling, getting a little lightheaded, and Lian starts shaking her head slowly, but I barrel on before she can open her mouth.

“Gordon’ll choke if they try to send him to the Olympics, Lee, you know it.” I literally don’t even know what I’m saying at this point. “You know it, Chris knows it, everyone knows it. He can’t even drive. He doesn’t drive,” I repeat, louder, as if it’ll make more sense that way.

“Bryan—”

“No, no, it’ll be fine. I can do the quads. It’s gonna be fine.” I hastily unzip my jacket pocket and fumble for my phone, unlocking it and racing through my contacts. Damn it, where the hell is his number?

I frantically swipe through the list again. “I’ll call Chris right now, see? I’ll call him, and—and—oh, God,” I blurt out, voice strangling, and my chest starts pounding, I’m losing air and my knees are threatening to give way just like they did on that fucking triple Axel, the one big element I can always count on. Except for today, when everyone was apparently looking. At a skate I didn’t even know would determine the rest of my career. The rest of my life .

I’m going to throw up I’m going to throw up—

“Bryan, breathe, kiddo,” Lian warns, securing an arm under my shoulders to keep me upright, and I gasp for air, my eyes stinging.

“What the hell is wrong with me this year?” I choke. “What the hell is wrong with me? I’m only twenty, this isn’t supposed to happen for--”

“You’re just a different kind of skater,” Lian says softly, and that’s how I know this is really bad, because she’s never this nice to me. “The others have a lot of quads. You’re just different.”

“No, I’m done.” I straighten up, wiping my face roughly. “I’ve been done. They’re all right. It’s over.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Negative Nancy. What, have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”

I let out a shaky hiccupping laugh, despite the tears blurring my vision. “Um, Lian Chen, Olympic medalist, star coach and insane killjoy?”

“More like Lian Chen, never caught dead without a plan of attack.”

I pause, exhaling slowly to try and get my breathing back to normal, giving her a wary look. “What are you saying?”

Lian raises an eyebrow. “I’m saying never doubt my capability to bring a skater back from the dead.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Something suspiciously like a grin spreads across her face.

“I wasn’t just talking about you.”