Chapter Thirty-One

KATYA

“ M erry Christmas!” someone yells into my ear, and I shriek, swinging my fist before my eyes can even open.

“God— ow !” Bryan clutches a hand to his face, mouth dropped open. “What kind of good morning is that?”

“Are you insane?” I demand. “Do you usually go around screaming at people while they are asleep?”

“On Christmas morning, yeah. Come on, sunshine, get moving!” My partner physically drags me out of bed while I groan and stumble after him, rubbing at my eyes.

“You are such a child.”

Bryan grins, and leads me into the living room. “I don’t care. Here!”

I barely catch the package he throws at my face. “What is this?”

“A present, dumbass. Open it.”

Shit. “But I didn’t…” I trail off, face starting to burn. “I didn’t get you anything.” Couldn’t consider anyone else for five minutes, could you, Katya?

But Bryan just smiles. “Sure you did. You brought me here, didn’t you? This is the first Christmas I’ve actually enjoyed in years.”

“Oh. Well…” I clear my throat, suddenly flustered, and start tearing at the wrapping paper. A chain falls out and into my lap.

“So, I know it’s kinda stupid,” Bryan begins, “but I know you hate that you can’t represent your own country at the Games if we go. It doesn’t make up for it, or anything, but you can at least have this. And it has one for us, too.”

I stare at the necklace in my hand. It has three tiny charms on it—one with the Olympic rings, one of the Russian flag, and one of the American flag.

“Do you like it?” Bryan asks nervously. “It’s okay if you don’t. Sorry, it was a stupid—”

I shut him up by wrapping my arms around him tight enough that he makes an oof noise. “I love it,” I say, suddenly trying not to burst into tears, my chest tied up in knots. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” he says, clearly confused by my reaction. “Okay.”

“Katya, there’s someone here for you,” Mama calls from the end of the hall, and I spring off of him, trying to act casual even though I’m sure my face is burning. What is wrong with me?

“Hold on!” I yell back. Then I glance back at Bryan, who’s looking at me strangely, and clear my throat.

“Can you, um—”

“Right,” he says, a little too quickly, and takes it back from my palm. I turn away from him, picking up my hair, and he loops the chain around it, fastening it in place. His fingers brush the back of my neck, and suddenly I feel dizzier than the last time I used the spinner harness in the off-ice room.

I whip back to face him, and I’m too close to him, practically nose-to-nose. All I can see are his eyes, so wide and blue it would explain why I suddenly feel like I’m drowning.

“I should see what she wants,” I blurt out, then rush out before he can reply. I barrel down the stairs, then turn the corner and stop short.

What. The. Fuck.

“I…” I have to exercise a great deal of self-control so that my eyes don’t pop out of my head. “Irina?”

Irina Sokolovskaya offers me a tight-lipped smile. “ Privyet , Katya. Merry Christmas.”

I glance over at my mother, who mouths, I have no idea .

The universe has to be playing a joke on me. This is too weird. Have I stepped into another dimension? I turn back to Irina, who looks exactly how I remember, remembering to at least attempt a smile. “You, too. It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

“Ah, I’ve been alright. And you? Lots of changes in your life lately, so I’ve heard,” she adds, waving for me to sit down.

“That’s an understatement.” I sit, hoping it isn’t too obvious how awkward this is, and that I don’t look as nervous as I suddenly feel.

Seeing Irina is like being thirteen again—in awe, and more than a little intimidated. She was the first of Tatyana’s girls to hit the scene, and she was so consistent, people couldn’t believe it. She floored everyone when she showed up. She was superhuman. She was supposed to win.

We all thought she was going to win.

“How is New York? Do you like it there?” Irina asks, and I nod.

“It was a big adjustment, but, yes, I do. Lian Chen has been a wonderful coach, and my partner and I have finally figured out how to work together and win.”

Irina quirks an eyebrow. “Finally?”

I smile. “It was a, um, rough start.”

“I’m not surprised that you’ve excelled in pairs, Katya. You have always been spectacular. Always handled hurdles with grace.”

I blink. Wow . “Thank you.”

“They didn’t think you’d come back from your back sprain, did they? But you did. They didn’t think you’d come back from being kicked out, and now you’re a Prix medalist, perhaps soon to make it onto the Olympic team.”

“I guess I am.”

Irina looks at me in a way I can’t decipher. Almost…sad. “I’m happy for you, Katya. Really. It’s a good thing that this happened. I know it may not seem like it, but it is.”

“What do you mean?” I ask uncertainly, brows creasing. “How?”

“You know what happened to me, don’t you?”

Everybody does. “I was there,” is what I say quietly, and she laughs softly.

“That’s right. You were.” Irina pushes her hair back, biting her lip. “I was like you once. I believed that my team had my best interests at heart, so I listened to them. I tried to impress them. I pushed through injuries and pretended like everything was fine when it wasn’t. Because winning, proving that I deserved to win, meant more to me than my health did. I ignored all the signs. And I suffered for it.”

I try to swallow, but I can’t. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need to be careful. When you get on that plane and go back to America, don’t look back. Don’t believe that you’d be better off here, at your old camp. You’re not. Do you hear me?”

“But I—"

“Katya.” Irina grasps my wrist, forcing me to look at her, her eyes almost manic. “Listen to me. Whatever they tell you, promise me you’ll keep your eyes open. You can’t trust anything they say. They’ll turn around and stab you in the back the second you’re not looking.”

What the hell? “I know,” I say, trying to keep the confusion from my voice. “Believe me. Only an idiot would trust the federatsiya after everything. And I’m not even in the same division anymore.”

“I’m not just talking about them, Katya.” Something strange flashes across her face again before she blinks, as if catching herself. She sits back, clearing her throat, looking away from me. “Just—keep your eyes open.”

Wait a minute. “Hold on. Are you talking about Tatyana?” I scoff. “Wow. They got to you too? I wouldn’t have thought that Sokolovskaya would give in to the jealous gossips that easily. I thought you had more backbone than that.”

She shakes her head. “When something happens, remember this. Remember that I warned you.”

Is she high? I shake my own head. “It’s not like they’re ever taking me back.”

She eyes me. “Keep it that way.”

“ M s. Andreyeva, you're really a great chef,” Bryan says through a mouthful of solyanka at the dinner table, after we’ve spent the day freezing to death exploring the Christmas market.

“Don’t say that, she may kidnap you and keep you here,” Dedushka says wryly, earning a chiding slap to the shoulder from my mother.

“Well, Bryan, mal’chik , it’s nice to know that someone appreciates my cooking around here,” Mama says with a smile. “These two like to complain, but I don’t see either of them in the kitchen.”

“That’s because I’m allergic to gas stoves,” Dedushka grumbles.

I meet Bryan’s eyes, both of us trying not to laugh, and he not-so-subtly has to leave the room to go control himself so he doesn’t choke on his soup.

Just then, a knock sounds on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” my grandfather grouses, attempting to get up from his chair, but my mother ignores him, beating him to it.

“Katya, it's for you again,” Mama calls, and I look up from my plate just in time to watch Mikhail walk in.

“Hello, everyone,” he says, offering a slight smile. “Kak dyela?”

“You’re late for dinner,” I say pointedly.

Mikhail grins smugly. “Is it my fault I’m in such demand?”

I subtly flip him off so my mother doesn’t see, and the dark-haired man at the receiving end just laughs.

“Come on, I have to talk to you first.”

I follow him into the living room. “What is it?”

“Listen, zemelya , just promise to hear me out before you cut my head off.”

“That isn’t a promising start, Mikhail.”

He blows out a breath. “So I’ve been talking to Tatyana.”

I still.

“About taking you back.”

What? “I…” I have to physically close my eyes and open them again. “What are you talking about?”

“I figured she might be more open to changing her mind after everything that’s happened this season. I mean, you weren’t even supposed to find another coach, let alone medal at two Prix. So I spoke to her.”

I feel dizzy all of a sudden. “What did she say?”

He hesitates. That pretty much tells me all I need to know.

I’m going to be sick. “Why did you tell me this?” I ask, my voice coming out high. “Why? If it was just more bad news?”

Mikhail looks panicked, like he wasn’t expecting this reaction from me. “I don’t know, I thought you should know. Look, I think I can change her mind. I told her you’re in St. Petersburg—”

“You what? ” I may actually vomit all over my mother’s carpet. “Why? Why would you do that? She hates me!”

“She doesn’t hate you. Everyone was telling her she had to dump you, she didn’t have a choice. And I did it because I want what’s best for you.” Misha scoots forward, taking my hand. “Katya. I don’t want you to be stuck in pairs with an American who can hardly string two thoughts together. You’re too good for that. It’s a waste of your time, of your potential. I want you back with us. I want you home.”

You’re too good for that.

I blink, moving away so his hand slips off mine. “Wow, Misha. You’ve barely spoken to me since I left, and now you want to judge me?”

He falters. “I’ve…been in touch.”

“Well, then you must be confused with another Katya Andreyeva, because my grandfather still uses a Nokia 3310 and I’m getting more calls from him,” I bite, and Mikhail sighs.

“Come on, Katyusha. I’ve been busy. And you know Tatyana would’ve had my head if she knew I was talking to you before now.”

“Please. You’re a grown man. Why are you so scared of her?”

“Because I’m not an idiot,” he says through clenched teeth. “She could finish my career if she felt like it. I need to stay on her good side.”

“So that’s why you’ve ignored me all year?” I ask pathetically.

Misha’s face flickers. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

I don’t know what I want him to say, either. I don’t know what would make me feel better. “Just forget it. Maybe Irina was right, and I am better off in New York. At least they care about me there. At least they value me.”

“Irina? You saw her?” Mikhail asks in confusion, then shakes his head. “They only value you because you’re their only shot at winning a gold in Helsinki. The state of their national team is pathetic, they had to resort to another country’s leftovers and a washed-up has-been who should’ve been dumped off their roster years ago. I don’t know what Lian was thinking keeping him around. He’s a waste of her time, just like he is yours.”

My mouth is open, but nothing’s coming out. This isn’t—this is Misha. One of my best friends. He’s the one that shipped me over there, to Lian and Bryan. Why is he saying all of this now?

Did he never believe in me at all?

“I am not leftovers, Mikhail. I am a fucking world champion. And you do not —” I jab him in the chest—“speak about my partner, or my team, like that. You aren’t on my team anymore. You aren’t on my side anymore. They are. Got it?”

Mikhail looks at me in utter confusion. “Why are you acting like you care about them? I thought this was just a trial period. You were telling me just a few months ago how much you hate it and want to come back.”

“I care,” I say before I can stop myself. “I do.”

He shakes his head again. “I don’t know, Katya. I still don’t think it’s right for you.”

“Well, it’s not like I had a choice. I’m leftovers , right? So do me a favor and keep your opinions to yourself.” I let out a mean laugh. “Anyway, who are you to judge me? You have an Olympic gold and you’re here lecturing me on low expectations for myself when you’re just an assistant.”

The hurt is clear on his face. “What the hell?”

I sigh sharply, rubbing at my hairline. “Just leave us alone, Misha. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Us? There’s an ‘ us’ now?” He laughs bitterly. “Wow. I never thought you’d get attached. I guess there really is a first time for everything.”

Suddenly, I’m back on the diving board again. I’m back at the walk home after Thanksgiving.

A feeling splits down my spine, freezing, unmistakable, because I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve felt it.

Fear.