Chapter Three

brYAN

TWO WEEKS LATER

LAKE PLACID, NEW YORK

“ A nd I thought five a.m. practice was bad,” Oliver wheezes, doubling over. “Man, I can’t walk. You’re gonna have to carry me.”

I slap him on the back with my towel rag. “Not a chance. Move it.”

It’s times like these when I wonder if Ollie knows how lucky it is for him that we love him so much, because he’s annoying as hell and no one else could ever put up with him.

We’re standing in the middle of the lobby after leaving the ice after a, to put it one way, grueling practice session. We usually book sessions together with Nina, his cousin (who’s been the only sane one in our group since we all started skating here in kindergarten). Today, though, Juliet and Mia, Oliver’s coach, must’ve had a little too much coffee, because they were working us like drill sergeants in Lululemon, equipped with reusable pink Starbucks cups.

He gets to his feet, still griping. “I swear, Mia and Jules knew we were hungover, that’s why they decided to go all Rambo on us today.”

“Don’t look at me. I told you to stop after the third round of shots; you, as usual, decided to ignore my advice. They could totally smell it on you.”

“Ugh. Why is this my fault? I can’t believe I wasted one of my good fakes on your ungrateful ass. I was just trying to do my job as best friend and get you drunk after getting kicked off the team.”

I told Oliver the news yesterday. I’ll give him some credit, he at least waited thirty seconds before seizing an opportunity to get plastered, but I still ended up getting dragged downtown —Alexandra was monumentally pissed about me ditching Bachelor night, but Ollie wouldn’t leave me to spend my Friday evening in peace to catch up on the episodes I missed while I was away.

I’d have much rather have just sat on the couch with my little sister waiting for Mom’s frozen leftover cake to thaw while we started placing bets on which of the identical girls would end up getting the rose. Instead, I was left moping at the bar while Ollie hit it off with some guy. The bartender didn’t even card me, so I didn’t need the fake, just gave me one of those “yikes, man ” looks before giving me a refill on the house.

Yeah. I’ve never felt more pathetic in my life than I have these last few weeks.

“Thanks for reminding me, dick. And I’m not getting kicked off, alright? Lian’s got a plan.”

At least, I assume she does, after her mysterious words post-my freakout in the hallway at my last competition—especially considering we pulled me out of Nationals after that disastrous short program. I had zero shot at winning anyway and could use a break to get back to regular training. Except of course, my coach immediately disappears after teasing her master plan to save me.

I’m assuming she flew to Colorado Springs to go harass Chris Heffner at Committee HQ and get them to fix this. I hope .

“I’m never drinking again,” Oliver moans, ignoring me and collapsing on the overstuffed sofa.

I laugh, because hell would have to freeze over before Oliver Kwan turned to sobriety, then reach over my shoulder for the remote on the side table to turn the little overhead TV on.

I flick between channels, searching for something other than politics or the telenovelas that Oliver’s coach pretends she doesn’t watch religiously, but Oliver jerks upright as I skip over a CSN Sports segment.

“Wait, wait, wait, go back.”

“What?” The screen changes to footage of a familiar redheaded girl trying to escape a mob of reporters. The camera pans to the crowd, stopping for a second on some lady and an extremely frazzled Mikhail Kuzmin trying to get them to a car before zooming in on—you guessed it--Katya Andreyeva. Who looks remarkably unbothered for someone with a hundred cameras shoved in her face.

“Man, that’s depressing.” Oliver shakes his head. “You know none of the Russian coaches want to take her?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nina says she’s blacklisted. They’re metal as shit, man. One bad skate and it’s like she’s a leper or something.”

I have a feeling that, if Tatyana Zhukova were my coach, it wouldn’t have taken nearly this long for me to get in trouble. “That’s insane, though. Have they not seen her? She’s fifty times better than all those robots they have on rotation.”

“Yep. Guess it’s like with us, though. If you don’t have the quads…”

Story of my life.

Wait . “It’s already been almost two months since the Final, though. Why’s it still on the news? It’s not like it’s another doping scandal.”

He shrugs, and we both jump as the door bursts open before I can focus on what the commentator is saying.

“Oh, hey, Neens,” I say, and she just stares at me, wild-eyed.

Nina Yung is like my second sister—and yes, there’s a years-long running joke about how I have the white version of her last name, though there’s no question which one of us she’s related to. She and Ollie are cousins, but could be twins. They’ve got the same pale skin and jet-black hair and brown almond eyes with sharp brows, and they tear into each other like siblings, too.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Nina says breathlessly, then glances past us. “Wait, you guys already saw?”

“What?”

“Haven’t you been online today?” She nods at the TV screen. “That’s not from last month. It’s from this morning, when the news broke.”

“What news?” I ask, trying to pop open the battery pack on the remote with my fingernail. Oliver waves a hand, massaging his temples with the other.

“Do you think you could maybe get to the point before I die of old age?”

Nina narrows her eyes. “Like you’ll get the chance. Are you hungover? Again ? ”

Oliver groans louder, upping the patheticness, and I can’t help but laugh as I watch his cousin weigh the pros and cons of reaching over and strangling him.

“ Anyway . Maybe I’m insane, but…I think that Katya Andreyeva might be coming to skate here.”

“Here where?”

“The States. This rink. Well, maybe not this rink, but definitely Team USA. The transfer papers were filed this morning, that’s why everyone’s freaking out. And then Lian disappeared right before it happened, so…”

I straighten, rubbing at my eyes and sitting up. Too much crazy information is being thrown at me, too soon after a workout. “What?”

“You’re reading too much into it, Neens. There’s no way someone like her is going to come skate here.”

Nina plants her hands on her hips, glaring at her cousin. “I said it was just a theory, asshat. And why not? It’s happened before.”

“Wasn’t that Canada, though?”

“Whatever. I just thought it was too big of a coincidence, especially since I’m pretty sure Lian knows one of her coaches. You know, Kuzmin? The Nagano Nuke? There’s a picture of all the ’98 medalists in her office, and they’re standing next to each other.”

I glance at Oliver, who looks at me like, are you thinking what I’m thinking? Because the idea is totally insane. I can’t even picture it happening—but Nina’s not wrong. The timing of it all is just…too eerie.

I blow out a breath, stretching my arms and letting out a yawn. “I don’t know. Maybe she’ll go train with Natalie King or Terry Peterson or one of them. Ollie’s right, as much as it pains me to say it. I don’t think someone like her would want to skate here.”

Oliver grins. “Nowhere within two hundred miles of Bryan’s stinky skates, that’s for damn sure—"

I grab the pillow behind me and punt it at him. Just as he falls off the couch in a fit of hysterical cackling, the door swings open again.

“Hey, guys,” Juliet says cheerily, her bright smile oddly strained.

“Looking for a refill?” I joke, seeing her Starbucks cup in hand.

“What’s up, Campbell?” Oliver crows from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, and Nina glares down at him.

“It’s an embarrassment to be related to you.”

I snort, and Oliver tosses the pillow back at me.

Instead of laughing and joining the fun like she usually does, though, Juliet stands there awkwardly, clutching her phone. “Bryan, can you come to the front?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure.” I shove my feet back in my beat-up blue gym shoes, following her out of the room.

I jog a few steps to catch up. “What’s up?”

Juliet grimaces. “Just…Lian’s back. She wants to see you.”

Part of me is wondering why this is making her act so constipated, but I keep my mouth shut for once, nodding in tune to “Cruel Summer” playing over the loudspeakers. My sister plays this stuff all the time at the house. I’m not bothered by it, it actually kind of puts me in a good mood, but still, it’s kind of funny considering she’s the last girl you’d initially expect to blast Taylor Swift loud enough to shake the walls.

This must mean news about my, uh, problem. I swallow hard. Please tell me Lian got it figured out. Please let me stay on the team.

Juliet pushes open the glass door of the rink staff area, and the chime jingles above it.

My coach’s wiry frame and maroon puffer jacket are in her swivel chair, but one of the two seats in front of her desk—the one I usually sit in—is filled already.

“Here he is,” Juliet says, injecting copious amounts of brightness into her voice, and Lian nods.

“Thank you. Ekaterina, you already met Juliet Campbell, my assistant; I’d like you to meet someone else. This is Bryan Young.”

The seat-stealer turns around, and my eyes practically pop out of their sockets.

What the fuck?

Sure enough, Ekaterina freaking Andreyeva is sitting two feet away from me, in my chair, bright red hair in a bun severe enough for competition, steely grey eyes boring holes into me.

By the time I’ve unfrozen, it hits me that I should probably say something, so I clear my throat. “Er—hi.” Real smooth, Young . I shoot Juliet a look, like, what in the everloving hell is going on? But she’s suddenly very preoccupied with the lid of her coffee.

Ekaterina doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at me with a squint that, aside from making me uncomfortable, gives me the impression that she doesn’t really know what’s going on either.

The thought should reassure me, but it doesn’t. Mostly because she’s looking at me like she’s picking me apart into itty bitty pieces, and then debating whether to step on them.

“Bryan’s in singles as well. For now.” Lian waves a hand to the other chair. “Sit down, will you?”

I barely process the question, mostly because I’m still working on the for now, and Juliet has to nudge me. “Uh—yeah.” I almost trip over myself as I go to sit down.

“You two are probably confused right now, so I’ll get to it.” Lian leans forward across the desk. “Both of you are in a bit of a predicament. Your careers are at a crossroads, and there’s a decision to be made. You either have to shit or get out of the kitchen, you know what I’m saying?”

“No,” Ekaterina replies flatly, an accent tinging the word, and I almost jump out of my skin.

Lian doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s an idiom. It means you need to do what you need to do before you lose your chance. And in this case, that means what I’m about to tell you.”

I glance over at the girl sitting next to me, stiff as a board. This is so insanely weird. I’ve only ever seen her on TV, not counting the times I’ve spotted her in busy hallways at international competitions.

“Katya, I’ve been watching you for a while. And Bryan, as your coach of twelve years, I’d like to say I know you well enough to make this decision. I’m pairing you up.”

I frown. “For…”

“The arena’s brand-new circus troupe. For pairs skating, Bryan.”

I say “what?” at the same time Katya cries out, “ pairs? ”

“Lee, what?” This has got to be some kind of fever dream. “I thought you were going to talk to Heffner about giving me a break!”

“I was told I’d be switching teams, not switching sports!”

Lian rolls her eyes. “You two are so dramatic. See? Already have something in common. Pairs isn’t that different from singles; it’s a separate discipline, not a separate sport.”

I laugh nervously. “Look, I—”

Katya looks me up and down judgmentally before scoffing. “If you think I’m trusting this pile of sticks to toss me in the air like a sack of potatoes—”

“Hey!” I protest. “I’m literally right here.”

She ignores me. “I’ve never heard of this skater before. If you wanted to be serious and transfer me, why didn’t you find someone actually worth my time?”

What did I even do to this girl? I narrow my eyes at her, then turn to give Lian the fakest smile I can manage. “I can see why you thought this was a good idea.”

Lian shoots me a withering look, then gets to her feet, planting both hands on the desk and leaning over us. “Listen to me, you little shits. Morris and Kelso just retired to have their baby, and the AFSC needs its new pairs sweethearts to bring in some cash flow. I promised I would find some, and now I have. They and the Russians, by some miracle of sweet baby Jesus, have all agreed to my idea. I’m saving both of your asses here, so you’d better play nice and do as I say.” She glares at both of us. “Unless you want to retire, of course?”

Just hearing the word makes the nausea come back full swing like I’m having an allergic reaction—I can practically feel the hives breaking out. “No!” I blurt, and Katya rolls her eyes but doesn’t answer.

Lian locks eyes with her, arching an eyebrow. “Well?”

They stare each other down for a moment, and I almost think my coach may have finally met her match—but, as always, Lian wins.

“Fine,” Katya snaps, getting up and shrugging on her coat (also black, surprise). “Just don’t expect me to slow down for this gandon.”

She gets up, pushing past Juliet to leave through the door.

I just turn to Lian, mouth slightly agape. “Did she just call me a condom?”