Chapter Thirty-Eight

KATYA

“ B ryan,” I try to say, but I can barely get my voice to work.

He pushes past me back out through the door I just came in through, into the hallway, away from me.

No. No . Not yet. I’m not ready for this yet. How the hell did he find—I whip my head over to look at Oliver, who’s looking a little sheepish but holds my stare as if to say, you screw with my best friend, you get screwed. My lip trembles dangerously, and I bite down hard enough to draw blood. Ollie whispers to Nina and Juliet, who both turn to look at me, the look on their faces unmistakable, because it’s exactly like the one just on Bryan’s. Betrayal.

I turn away.

“Bryan,” I call, ignoring how my voice shakes, speed walking down the hall, glancing around at the open doors. But I know him. I know where he’d hide.

I break into a run, picking up the skirt of my dress, cursed heels pounding against the floral hotel carpeting, down the maze of hallways until I find a flight of stairs. I go up, up, to the fresh air, the place farthest away from everyone else.

I steady my hand on the wall, trying to steady my breathing, as if it would do any good, because that’s when I see him standing there on the terrace, hunched over the railing, hands digging into his hair.

What have I done? The thought grips me suddenly. All I want to do right now is run as far away as I can as fast as my legs can carry me. But somehow, despite the feeling like they’re about to fold under the rest of me, despite the voice in my head telling me to run, something forces me forward.

I step out, and the night breeze comes over me, crisp with a biting edge that makes me hug my bare arms to my chest.

“Bryan,” I say softly, my voice carrying in the stillness.

No answer. He keeps his back to me, but I can see every muscle stiffen through his shirt.

“You’re going to catch cold.”

Nothing.

“Come inside,” I say, and it comes out a little too much like begging. Please. Come inside. Forget this ever happened. Forget whatever he told you, just for tonight.

Bryan turns around slowly, and my chest shrivels into a tiny ball. He doesn’t look angry. It’s terrifying.

“Answer me one thing, Katya,” he says, voice horribly even, brutally calm. “Can you do that for me?”

My throat’s gone dry.

“Were you even going to say anything?”

Not now. Not yet. This was supposed to be one last perfect night before I had to break the spell—because none of this has been real, not really. It was all just a dream.

“Bryan,” I say, and I watch him split open.

“Were you even going to tell me?” he demands. “Or were you just going to leave?”

“Of course not—"

“Your flight’s tomorrow morning. When were you gonna tell me? On the way to the fucking airport?”

I could say that I’ve been looking for the right time. That the plans weren’t even finalized until Mikhail sent me the updated tickets with Tatyana copied. That I didn’t know how to tell him.

But that would be lying. Because I didn't want to. I didn’t want it to be true. So I say the only thing that I can think of, trying to stay breathing. “Listen, we—you can still do this. You won’t have any trouble finding another partner—”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare .” He’s practically spitting, and he walks over close enough that I can see just how red his face is. How red his eyes are. “Tell me why, Katya. Give me one real reason, and I won’t try to stop you.”

I shake my head, trying to calm myself, because I might actually start hyperventilating between the screaming in my head and the look on Bryan’s face like he’s about to crumble.

I haven’t felt like this since after the skate last year that changed my life, the one that led me to this moment; not this panicked, this terrified of something I couldn’t name. My lungs are seizing. My heart keeps stuttering in my chest.

“Is it—is it my fault?” he asks finally, voice cracking. “Because, I mean, I know I’m nothing compared to you, when you skate no one can take their eyes off you. But I’m trying, I swear. I swear I’m trying; I know it's not a lot, but I’m giving everything I have. I know it’s not enough. I know you can replace me, I know you don’t—I’m not stupid , Katya, I know you don’t need me. But have you ever considered that maybe I need you?”

I’m not breathing. “It’s not your fault. It could never be your fault.”

He shakes his head, tears flooding. “Then why? ”

Because you believe too much in me. “I have to go back.”

“No.” He shakes his head again, wiping his face. “No, I won’t let you. I won’t let you go, not like this. I won’t let you do this.”

“I have to,” I say, voice breaking.

“No you don’t. You’re here now, with me, with Lian and Alex and Nina and all of us. You’re a pairs skater now. This is your home now. I thought you said we were family!”

I can’t get air in; I can’t get words out. “It’s not that simple,” I choke, and he shakes his head violently.

“No. Fuck that. Of course it’s simple. You’re running away.”

“I have to go back. They understand me. They made me,” I sob.

“And I don’t? I don’t understand you?” he yells. Bryan turns away, burying his face in his hands.

When he finally turns back, he stares at me, eyes empty. “Oliver was right,” he says, voice quiet and hoarse. “You really just can’t help yourself.”

“Yasha—"

“The worst part is, is I knew this would happen. I just knew it. You were waiting for this, for them to want you back, so you could throw me away like a piece of trash. Win at all costs , huh?”

“No, no, Bryan, you know I—”

“You what?” he bites. “What? I want you to say it.”

I can’t say it. I can’t let it be true. I just let out sobs instead of saying anything.

“Oh my god,” he says, like he’s disgusted with me. Or maybe with himself. Like he didn’t think I was going to prove everyone right, prove myself right. Like he thought I was better than I really am.

Do something! My head is screaming at me. Say something! Fix this!

But then he looks back up at me, and he doesn’t look angry anymore. He looks like a terrified little boy. He steps closer, taking my hand, drawing the other one up to my face, cupping my cheek, eyes wide and searching, looking for anything, any kind of sign. “Don’t leave me alone,” he says, and he’s begging. “Please. Please don’t. Come on. I need you, Katya, please don’t leave me, not like this.”

It’s too much. I pry my hands away, even though my heart rips in half when I watch the light in his eyes go out.

“I’m not who you think I am,” I say, tears streaking down my face. He just looks at me, and it’s almost a relief when he finally walks away.

T wenty minutes, and I’m packed. My entire life, everything I’ve built in the last year, and yet it still only fits in three suitcases.

I sleep. I do. And then I wake up, and I take a cab, and I get on the plane, feeling like I’m still in a nightmare.

I should be feeling good about this. I should be feeling relief. I don’t have to lie anymore, I don’t have to pretend, I don’t have to change—I’m going home. I’m going back to my team, to my coaches, to my family. Everything will be exactly as it was.

I squash down the sudden unease. This is what you want, Ekaterina. This is all you want.

I resist the urge to look past the woman next to me out the window, to get a glimpse of New York as it runs out underneath me. I shut my eyes, leaning my head back against the headrest, pretending the sweeping feeling in my stomach is only from the takeoff.

It’s just me now. I’m all alone again, just me against everything and everyone. This is what needed to happen; what would always have happened eventually. I did all of us a favor. I had to do it. For me, but especially for him. It’s for the best.

This is all I know how to be.