Chapter Nineteen

brYAN

O ur practice has ended, but somehow I’ve managed to avoid talking to Katya ever since I ran out of the hotel yesterday.

I sure don’t want to start now. Not when my nerves are already shot to hell. It doesn’t work for long, though—as we get off the ice, she grabs my arm before I can disappear again. “Where have you been? Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you.” Even as I say it, I know she’s right. I am avoiding her. I’m avoiding her like I’ve been trying for five years to avoid what happened yesterday—avoiding myself. Because if I don’t have to talk about it, I don’t have to admit it. Not just that I failed at the one thing I ever wanted, but that I came so close. That my wings melted right as I had it within reach. And, still more , that I could’ve stopped it if I hadn’t been such a coward.

Sure enough, Katya’s not letting me off the hook that easy. “Yes, you are. And you need to stop it. You haven’t even said a word to me.” She pauses, glancing back up at me. I’m bracing myself for having to explain myself, but then she just says, “I’m scared too.”

What?

“You aren’t the only one with something to prove, remember?” She half-laughs. “They think we’re going to destroy each other, and not the competition.” She looks at me intently. “I say we don’t give them the satisfaction.”

Somehow, just like she knows the exact ways to get my blood boiling, she knows just how to talk me down. I exhale deeply, then nod. “Okay.”

Katya almost smiles again. “Good.”

W e're back in our skates, back rinkside, jackets zipped up over our costumes and sitting in sixth after the short program.

That pep talk wore off pretty quickly once we actually got on warmup ice with some of the best pairs in the world, ones who have been skating together for years, who actually know what they’re doing.

I can’t speak for Katya, but I, personally, am about to shit my pants.

“Andreyeva, please tell me you’re freaking out under that icy cold exterior of yours,” I say under my breath, careful to keep my volume and body language in check so none of the press crews catch on.

Katya flicks her thickly-lined grey eyes over at me, the darkness of the makeup making said eyes look almost silver. Naturally, she’s playing Odile, the Black Swan. I’m over here as the prince in a gold-embroidered white jacket and pants that are borderline giving me a wedgie, silently praying that the material’s thicker than it feels, because I’m definitely getting the panic sweats right now.

“For your information, I’m trying not to think,” she hisses back, and I groan.

“ Why would you tell me that?” I instinctively raise a hand to push through my hair, before realizing it’s covered in gel. “Now both of us are going to be shaking in our skates.”

“I’ll get over it,” she says between clenched teeth. Uh oh.

“Uh…” I’m trying to wrack my brain for any clue on how to make her not worried, how she did for me earlier. I mean, that’s what partners are for, right? I can at least show her that I’m here. Is she scared I’m going to drop her?

“Listen, sunshine, you know I’ve got you, right?” I say quietly. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

She sighs. “It’s not that. I’m just—I’m never nervous on competition day, and now I am, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel completely out of control.”

I almost burst out laughing. “Katya, if this is you out of control, I think you’re gonna be fine.”

“I hate it,” she mutters.

I get what she means. When I was younger, even after I got onto my , I was a total wreck before every skate. I’d be vomiting, shaking uncontrollably, to the point that Lee and I went to see this really cool sports psychiatrist she knows, who helped me a lot with it. Don’t get me wrong, right now is proof that I’m far from the most chill competitor out there, but between the breathing exercises and the Adderall, things are much improved. Today’s just different.

I take her hand, squeezing it twice. “Listen, it’s normal to be nervous. This is new for both of us. I’m pretty terrified right now, and I don’t know what’s going to happen out there, but what I do know is that we’ve worked our asses off this year. We can do this. It might not be what we want, but it’ll be something.”

She shakes her head, but I can tell she feels better. “Alright, mudak . Let’s go kill them.”

“Don’t you mean kill it?”

“I know what I said.”

“From the United States of America,” the announcer calls out, “Ekaterina Andreyeva and Bryan Young!”

I turn to her. “Ready?”

She nods once, a glint in her eye.

We skate out.

I’m trying hard to control my breathing, to keep my hand and my smile steady as we raise our arms up to the audience, until we get to center ice and enter our starting positions.

Katya’s on the ground in front of me, her head and arms bowed forward like the swan in the ballet, and I’m turned to face the audience, looking out and above me. The lights are blinding, and I’m trying not to squint. Please. God, don’t let me have pit stains.

The beginnings of Tchaikovsky’s “Swan Lake” sound over the speakers, and Katya lifts her arms gracefully, curving them and getting up so smoothly it’s like she really is a swan. I guess all that ballet training really comes in handy when you’re literally doing a ballet score. Hey, maybe that’s why she wanted this, so she could have yet another advantage over me.

Focus, Bryan. Luckily, I remember to switch on the “adoring prince” mode Lian’s been on me about, and I lean down to take her hand and press a kiss to it before dragging her around to my other side as we move into crossovers.

I put my arms around her, and we glide together until we’re ready for the opening element, the quad twist—she’s in front of me, and I secure my arms around her waist. Here goes nothing.

I summon all the strength in my body and launch her up into the air above my head, slamming my hands down to my sides, watching with my heart in my throat as she completes one-two-three-four revolutions, and I raise my arms at the exact last second to catch her, putting her safely back on the ice. The audience cheers in approval.

Holy shit. The relief is so dizzying I almost forget that we’ve still got the entire thing to go.

As if she’s reading my mind, Katya gives me a “down, boy” look in the split second I catch her eye before we go off into the step sequence down the middle, turning and twirling as we prepare for the next element, the side-by-side quad Salchow.

We separate, completing the entry—my stomach’s flipping, I think I might be sick, please let me land this please please please —up, one, two, three, four, down. I can’t even process the rush of relief before I have to slam my toe pick back in and propel myself up in the air again; and somehow I land. It’s definitely shaky, and we’ll definitely get some points off for that, but I did it. I landed it.

I can’t even restrain the shocked laugh of pure glee that escapes me. Even though Katya’s silent, I know she’s happy too.

O nce it's over, we’re sitting in the kiss-and-cry with Lee and Juliet, huddled together, waiting for the scores. Tension’s hanging in the air, all of us hanging on the literal edge of our seats.

I try to remember what everyone’s been telling us. Keep your expectations low. Don’t expect a podium on your first try. But that felt good. We hit all the elements, didn’t fall, didn’t make any real mistakes—sure, it might be a stretch to hope for third, but it feels possible. We skated really well, probably one of the best runs we’ve had. Crazier things have happened, right? I mean, we’re sitting here together.

“Come on,” I say, not even meaning to say it out loud. I sneak a glance at Katya, who’s staring down the Jumbotron and the box where the scores are about to be.

“The scores for Andreyeva and Young.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Katya growls.

“Fifth?” I say, sounding stupid even to myself. “ Fifth ?”

“Smile, you’re on camera,” Lian says, smiling through gritted teeth, and Katya scoffs.

“Fuck this. Fuck all of this.”

She walks out. And, ignoring Lian’s stare pinning me, I follow her.

I have to jog to catch up with her, and I pretend not to see the camera panning to track our departure.

Once we’re safely in the hallway, Katya swings back to face me, fury all over her face. “That is ridiculous. Fifth place? Those French twats didn’t have a quad twist. They don’t have any quads. We landed two . I just want to rip those smug smiles off their faces.”

I shouldn’t be riling her up more, but she’s right. It is bullshit. The frustration stings. “I can see why the Canadians got first, and I hate the French guys too, but they were clean. Those Norwegians were good too. But Nguyen and White shouldn’t have come in before us.”

Katya practically snarls. “It’s because they have more seniority. Even if we’re a thousand times better, they’ve been together since they were pissing the bed.”

I shake my head. “Listen, once we get a couple more comps under our belt, they’ll start taking us more seriously. We have quads. No one else does. They won’t have a choice.”

“We need to put in the throw quad Salchow,” Katya says.

I give her a look. “Come on. The last thing we need right now is to fall. The triple is great. We just have to have some patience.”

“You sound like Lian.”

“I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut up.” The smile fades, and she rubs her temples, sighing. “I can’t believe we’re in fifth. I don’t get fifth. Except for that one time.” A black look flashes across her face, and I bite my lip.

Maybe it isn’t just the seniority thing. They don’t take us seriously, it’s true, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s more because of me than because of Katya. Like, she’s the reigning Worlds silver medalist. I’m…not. Maybe if Lian had hooked her up with someone with more experience and credibility, instead of bending over backwards to save me, Katya wouldn’t be this short of a win.

“I know,” I say, averting my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She squints at me. “Don’t apologize. No point. We just have to make sure we win next time.”

I can’t help but grin at her. Guess she’s still full of surprises. “Sounds like a plan, sunshine.”

“ G oddamnit!”

It’s a little less than an hour since we’ve been done for the day, and I’m walking down the hall after taking a shower when I hear a familiar voice coming from the off-ice room.

“Nyet, ya nye znayu.” Silence. “Yes, I already looked there.” More silence, then a scoff. “I just got it refilled. Ya nye narkoman, Misha.”

I stop halfway through the door, pausing with my hand on the frame. Who is she talking to?

“Fine! You’re no use anyway. Bye.” An aggressive click-off, then a mumbling string of angry Russian that gradually grows louder. “ Idiotskiy, proklyatiy sukin syn— ugh!” The sound of something thumping against the wall thuds around the corner, and I walk in just in time to see Katya with her hands to her head, pacing back and forth.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she snaps, before turning her back to me and bending over to pick up a toiletries pouch and all the stuff in it that’s now scattered all over the floor.

I edge closer, crouching down to her level as she’s on her hands and knees, frantically searching the collection of strewn wipes, Q-tips, and foil packets of Advil for something.

“What are you looking for?”

“None of your business,” she bites, and I scoff.

“I’m trying to help.”

Katya deflates, shoulders slumping as she wipes her hair out of her face. “It’s…a little plastic container. It’s yellow, looks kind of like an egg—”

I lower myself, scan the floor, and spot it rolled all the way behind the couch. I scooch myself like a worm until I’m close as I can get, flailing my arm out until I finally get ahold of it. “Got it!”

I grasp it, then stand on my knees and hold it up in triumph, shaking it like a pair of maracas. “What’s in this thing, anyway?”

She tries to grab it, but I grin, holding it just out of reach. One of the only things I’ve got over her is our height difference. Maybe I’m just tall, but next to me she’s tiny, considering she barely comes to my shoulder.

“Give it back,” she hisses, and I smirk.

“What, this thing?”

“I’m not kidding, give it to me.”

I raise my eyebrows, pretending to think about it. “What are you gonna give me if I do?”

Katya doesn’t smile. “Now.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’ll just—” I start opening it, and Katya’s face erupts in panic as she tries to pry my hands away, but the halves pop apart, spilling little blue capsules over my palm.

We both stand there, staring at them.

“What are these?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual and non-accusatory and completely failing at it.

“Nothing,” she mutters, trying to grab them from me, but I close my hand around her wrist.

“Katya. What are they?”

She tries to pull her hand away, but I don’t let her. “Let go of me.”

“Not until you tell me.”

“It’s none of your—”

“So help me God, Ekaterina, if you say it’s none of my business I might actually slap you.”

“It’s nothing.”

I scoff. “Yeah, totally, because you just ripped your bag apart trying to find them.”

“What do you think they are?” she fires back. “You think I’m doping?”

“What the hell am I supposed to think?”

“You are unbelievable. You seriously think I’d do that? Is that what you think of me?”

I shouldn’t have said that. Why did I say that? I shake my thoughts away. “Of course not. Not unless someone told you to, at least, and let’s be real, your team doesn’t have the greatest track record.”

“That’s not true!” she bursts out, and I shake my head again. Why am I even letting her deflect?

“Katya—”

“I said let go!” she yells, ripping her hand away, and the pills go flying, scattering across the room and rolling along the floor.

She blanches. “Oh, no no no—” She drops to the floor, trying desperately to get them before they all roll away, and I grab her by the shoulder.

“Listen to me! What are they for?”

“Let go!”

“I’m calling Lee!”

“You wouldn’t dare ,” she seethes, and we both startle at a voice that comes from behind.

“No need,” Lian says coolly, standing in the doorway. “I’m already here.”

I immediately release her. We both go dead silent.

Lian’s gaze travels from Katya to me. “Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?”

Shit.

I do my best not to look at either of them. If Lian pegs me with the x-ray look, I’m going to be spilling my guts.

I glance at my partner, who’s looking deceptively collected for someone who was just having a meltdown a second ago.

This is the last thing either of us need right now. God, why does she have to be so complicated? The Prix Series starts in two weeks. We need to be training; we don’t have time for whatever this is.

As soon as I think it, though, guilt twists through me. I mean, it’s totally rational for me to think about competition, considering that’s the whole reason we’re even here, but…no, it is selfish. Clearly there’s something going on that needs to be dealt with, one that ignoring won’t fix. And, for better or worse, Katya’s my partner now. I have to look out for her. Especially since, between her coming hours early to practice, the weird eating habits and—well, whatever the hell this is, it doesn’t seem like she’s looking out for herself.

“Katya. I don’t know what the policy was back home, but in my rink, on this team, there is zero tolerance for this kind of behavior.”

“Lee, I can—”

Our coach holds a hand up, and I fall silent. “No, Bryan. You can’t handle this on your own. This is my job.” She motions to the pills all over the floor. “Clean those up, please.”

I do. And I try not to look up at Katya, who looks about two seconds away from bursting into angry tears.

Once I’ve got them all in my hand, she points down the hall. “Flush them down the toilet.”

With that, Katya finally starts talking. “No!”

“Lee, come on, is this really—”

“No, please, I can’t sleep without them. I’ve tried, Bryan, tell her I’m fine!” The terror on her face is enough for my stomach to sink like a rock. I was seconds away from coming to her defense, to tell Lian to lay off her, but I know that look. I know what it means.

“I…” Crap. Crap . I hate being caught in the middle. I don’t want to do this. I have to do this. For her, if anything. “I think,” I say slowly, hesitating, standing back up and closing my hand around the pills. “Maybe…look, we can find someone, to—”

She looks like I’ve slapped her. Only for a split second, though, because then the betrayal morphs into fury. “Fuck you. Fuck you!” She drops to the floor, scooping up the rest of her stuff and shoving it into her bag.

“Katya, come on.” Nothing . “Katya. You know this doesn’t look good!”

She slings her backpack over her shoulder, then marches over to me, face burning red. “You might be my partner, but you are not my friend,” she hisses, eyes blazing, poking me hard in the chest. “Get out of my personal life. And you better stay out of my way tomorrow if you want to live.”

I don’t even say anything. I just let her go.

Lian isn’t even fazed as my furious partner storms up to her. “No need to worry. You’re not coming to practice. I’m taking you to a friend of mine.”

“I—”

“Don’t even try to complain, or I’m sending you to rehab, and we really don’t have time for that.” She pins Katya with a cold look. “You do as I say, and maybe I’ll let you back on the ice in two days.”

Katya doesn’t reply, just shoots me another look of absolute hatred, then pushes past her and storms out the door, leaving the two of us standing there.

I open my mouth, then close it, unsure what to say. “Lee, I…”

“She’ll be fine.”

“Will she?”

“Sanjiv will know what to do. You know him, you know he’s good.”

I do know he’s good, he’s the one who made my competition nerves less incapacitating, but it doesn’t make much difference. It must show on my face, because my coach softens.

“She’s going to be okay, kiddo. I promise.” Lian sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “It’s better that we rip the band-aid off now.”

Her words should make me feel better. They don’t.

W hen I get home, it’s dark.

“Alex?” I call out, feeling my way alongside the wall of the entryway until I get to the light switch. I flick it on, and the living room is flooded with a warm glow.

“Alex, you here?” I dump my bags, then shuck off my sneakers and let them drop to the floor with a clunk, sliding them over to the footwear lineup by the door. “I swear, every time I think it’s getting better, she just goes and pulls some crazy BS again. I’m sick of it.”

, and resist the urge to pull my hair out. “I don’t know, Lex, I think…I mean, maybe it’s stupid, but I thought we were getting along. She’s just so freaking— ugh . Remember last year, that whole thing with you and Charlie Beck? It’s just like that. I mean, except for the part where you guys liked each other. Obviously. ‘Cause we definitely do not like each other. That would be—”

“She isn’t here, Bryan.”

I stop.

I turn around, and sure enough, there he is, sitting in the kitchen doorway like Dracula. Motherfucker . “Hey, Dad.”

He nods once, his way of acknowledging my existence. “Your sister’s sleeping over at a friend’s tonight. You were talking to a wall.”

I ignore the comment. “Which friend?”

“What?”

“Who’s Alex staying with?”

Dad frowns. “How should I know? She didn’t say.”

“There’s only three options, Dad. It’s either Sofi, Eleni or Emma. She wouldn’t have gone out without telling anyone.”

“Well, she didn’t ask me. If you know so much, how come you don’t know?”

“I’ve been gone all day, in case you didn’t know that, either.” Go away. Go away. Go away.

He almost smirks. “You’ve been gone a lot lately, haven’t you? You haven’t bothered to come see me or your mother. Busy with training?”

How is it that he can say something so normal and make it sound like he’s saying I should die in a hole? Or, better yet, make me feel like I should die in a hole.

Who am I kidding. He doesn’t have to say anything for that to happen.

I force myself to breathe normally. “Why are you here, Dad? Don’t you have class?”

“I cancelled.”

That means he had an appointment today. See, I could ask how it went, but that would just make him pissed off at me, and then I’d never be able to get out of here, so I keep my mouth shut. “Okay.”

My father tilts his head at me, looking like he’s trying to figure something out as he wheels closer. Which is weird, considering he’s never cared before. More than likely, he’s just trying to calculate how he can pick me apart and say something that’ll really get under my skin. “What’s her name?”

“Who?”

“The girl. Your partner. The one who’s making you so crazy.”

Why the hell does he care? And why the hell is he asking this now? I’ve already been skating with her for six months. We’ve already competed. Guess that just proves he never watches. “Her name is Katya. Ekaterina.”

“Interesting. And she was the Worlds silver medalist last year, isn’t that right?”

“Yeah. She’s been first or second the last couple years.” What is he getting at? “Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering how a girl like that would end up stuck with you, is all.”

I almost laugh. “Thanks, Dad. And you wonder why I haven’t come to see you.”

“It isn’t a totally unreasonable question, Bryan. Did something happen to make her team not want her anymore?”

I don’t like what he’s implying. “Katya’s an incredible skater, if that’s what you want to know.”

“I’m sure she is, but if she got knocked down this many pegs, she’s got to be damaged goods.”

Damaged goods? Who the hell does he think he is? “Careful, Dad.” I try to keep my voice even, but it comes with the price of curling my fists tight behind my back. “That’s my partner you’re talking about.”

“So that’s a yes, I take it?”

I scoff. “You can take it as whatever you want. You haven’t even asked about me and her this entire time, and all of a sudden you want to know whether she’s damaged goods?”

He narrows his sharp blue eyes at me behind his wire-framed glasses. “Watch your tone, kid. I’m trying to look out for you here.”

“Are you? Because you don’t know anything about her, and you barely even know me, anyway, so don’t pretend like you give a shit. Because we both know you don’t.” I try to swallow, but my throat’s gone thick. “And don’t call me kid . I’m not a kid.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell acting like one.”

“I’m not!” I burst out despite myself, voice going desperately high, and his lips curl.

“See? You can’t even get through a conversation without freaking yourself out over nonsense. Grow up, Bryan.”

For one, twisted second, I wish I could be like him. Maybe if I were stronger, I’d be able to yell back. Just tear into him, maybe throw a punch, stand up for myself for once instead of letting him and Mom and Katya and everyone walk all over me like I have my entire life. The worst part of it is, he knows it. He sees just how much of a godforsaken mess he’s made me, and he doesn’t care.

I try to breathe. I try to keep looking at him. I try not to break eye contact, but the empty look in the blue eyes that are just like mine, it’s too much. I look away.

I fight to keep my voice steady. “I’m gonna go call my sister. Someone has to know where she is.”

He doesn’t care. I can feel it. I don’t know why it keeps coming as a surprise. “Good luck,” he says.

I turn around and leave before he can see how much it hurts. I must imagine the sound of him swearing as the door slams shut behind me.