Chapter Fifty

brYAN

I am entirely unsurprised by the fact that Katya is the lousiest patient anyone could ask for.

She flat-out refused to sleep, and told me that “rest is for other people” when I told her to quit trying to do sit-ups in bed. Now she’s being a pain about taking the painkillers. I’m starting to understand why my mom was always in a mood after dealing with the ten-year-olds in her class, because playing nurse to this girl is just as excruciating as if she were a fourth grader.

“Take the freaking pill.”

“I just took some!”

“Yeah, and now it’s time to take some more! What, have you never taken Advil before?”

Katya groans. “You’re being ridiculous. Don’t treat me like a child.”

“Then don’t act like one!” I force myself to take a deep breath. I need to calm down. I need to stop letting her get under my skin like this. “So help me God, if we can’t skate tomorrow because you’re being stubborn, I’m going to—to—”

“What?” she asks tiredly, and I deflate.

“Forget it,” I mutter. “Just do it.”

She rubs at her eyes. Shit . She better not be getting a migraine. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“Yeah, you’ve only told me a million times. And you’ve always made that perfectly clear, anyway.” I drop the pills in her hands, then fold her fingers over them; something sour turning in my stomach. I sigh. “Quit being difficult and just take it, will you?”

Katya eyes me, blinking a few times, hesitating. Then she slowly raises her hand to her mouth and swallows them. I watch her throat bob as they go down, then turn away.

“You’ll feel better soon.”

“It doesn’t hurt that much,” she says quietly.

Why is she still lying? I clench my jaw. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re fine all the time. It’s okay to not be self-sufficient for five fucking seconds.”

I’m acutely aware of how rough I’m being. My mom said once that I sound like my dad when I’m pissed. Ever since all of this happened, I think I can understand why. I’m lashing out like a wounded animal, but I can’t find it in me to take it back.

She’s silent, looking up at me with those grey eyes, rimmed with matching eye bags. She looks more tired than she used to. I guess I do, too. We’re not the same people we were just a few weeks ago. At least I’m not. Maybe she’s always been this way. Maybe I just never wanted to see it.

“Hey, well,” she says, the barest break audible in her voice. “At least I have you to call me out on my bullshit, no?”

Even her jokes make me want to die. Just the fact that she’s trying this hard. I look down at the floor, then scoop up the bottles of painkillers and the rest of the stuff we picked up at the pharmacy from the nightstand. “What else are partners for?” I say, the words coming out traitorously thin.

The worst part is, I hate myself for doing this to her. Even though it’s not fair to myself. It makes me sick, ignoring her, making her feel like this. Hurting her. Even though she hurt me.

“Bryan…” Something about the look on her face, in the sound of her voice, makes it obvious what she’s trying to say. What she’s trying to do.

I clear my throat. “I’m gonna go, alright? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No, please listen to me. Please. I know there’s no reason for you to—”

“You’re right about that.” I say flatly, and pretend to miss the way her face falls.

But she doesn’t give up. Of course she doesn’t. That’s not who she is. This is the girl who almost snapped her neck from a faulty harness so she could keep drilling the jump she messed up on. This is the girl who skated through withdrawals because she refused to let it beat her. This is the girl who came back, even though she knew it would hurt. This is the girl.

“I kept trying to skate, but the ice felt empty. I kept expecting to turn and see you there. It felt wrong , Yasha.”

The dam has clearly broken. There’s no stopping this now. I feel the crippling ache rise in my chest again, and I shake my head, flopping back down on the bed, putting my head in my hands. “Don't call me that. Just don't.”

“You were right, okay?”

I scoff. “What?” I don’t even know if I want to know what she’s talking about. I drag a hand over my face, closing my eyes so I don't have to look at her.

“That night. You were right. I was a coward. I was running away, from this place, from you, from my feelings, from the first real good thing in my life in a really long time. But you were wrong about one thing.”

I can’t ask what she means. I don’t want to know. I can’t ask.

“You were wrong when you said I didn’t need you.”

You ever feel like a wound that can’t stop opening? I open my eyes, and I look at her, at this girl with tears in her eyes, this girl that’s done nothing but raise my hopes and crush them ever since she crashed into my life. I don’t know whether she’s the knife or the wound. I don’t know whose fault it is, either.

Because whichever one she is, I’m a walking opened stitch, some kind of pathetic gaping mouth where the rest of me should be, tearing myself open like I love it. Like it’s the only thing I know how to do, even though it hurts every time like it’s the first. Maybe she’s the knife, and maybe that’s why I can’t stay away from her. Or maybe she isn’t. Maybe we’re just two horrible things instead of people. Maybe we’re the same. And that’s never going to change.

“Why are you crying?” I snap, and Katya immediately inhales sharply, biting her lip and eyes wide, trying so hard to stop—and just like that, all the anger collapses.

I reach for her, and take her in my arms, burying my head in her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she sobs, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Bryan, I’m so sorry. For all of it.”

I bite back tears. Why did it take us this long? Why was it so hard? “It’s not your fault.” And it’s true. I’m not just saying it.

“It is.” She pulls away, starting to hide her face, but I gently pull her hands away, cupping her face with my own.

“Like someone I know once told me,” I tell her, “Not everything always has to be your fault. And I didn’t believe her either, by the way,” I add, and Katya laughs tearfully. I brush my fingers across her cheeks, wiping away the tears, leaning my forehead against hers. “Don’t cry. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

We just lie there for a while, sitting together in peaceful silence.

She feels like that. Like somewhere I can finally lay it all down. And not in the way that I’m unloading it onto her, weighing her down with my shit ton of baggage, but because she makes me feel like I can do it at all.

We had practice ice booked for this afternoon, but with her back and what the doctor said, it was pretty clear we weren’t going to make it anyway. So we’re just recovering.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Katya whispers eventually, into the silence, her hair spilling across my chest.

I take a strand between my fingers, toying with the ends.

If you’d asked me a month ago whether I thought I’d ever forgive her, I don’t know what I would have said. It isn’t an easy question, and the answer’s even less easy. Because, like a lot of things, it isn’t that simple. You can’t just decide to hate someone forever, especially when you love them. Especially not when, as much as you hate to admit it, you can understand why they did what they did.

And especially because, if there’s anything I learned after my dad left us, it’s that you can’t ignore a problem forever. You can’t just keep swimming until you’re out at sea. Otherwise you’ll never get back to shore.

There were so many things I wanted to say to my dad, and I never got to, because the second we started smiling again in the same room he was just gone. I don’t know what would’ve happened if we’d had more time to fix everything that went wrong, but that wasn’t even it. Because we’d had years. Years , and we’d done nothing.

And there’s no time. No time.

None.

“What is it?”

I glance back up at her. “What’s what?”

“You’re doing the face.”

“What face?”

“The one when you want to say something, but you don’t want to make anyone upset.”

“I do not have a face,” I protest, and she furrows her eyebrows.

“I should hope you have a face. Otherwise there’d be a problem.”

“Shut up. And I think we should talk about your face,” I tell her, poking the tip of her nose lightly like it’s a button. A very cute button. God, she’s pretty. Ever since that first day, I couldn’t help but notice. How could I not? It’s like my head got deep-fried the second I saw her standing in front of me and not just on TV, and I’ve been muddling through ever since.

“You’re going to make fun of me,” I say, only half-joking, and she swats me.

“Just tell me.”

“Nothing. I’m just…” It’s hard to explain. All of this has been so strange. I reach forward, tucking the hair that’s fallen in her face back behind her ear. “I’m just happy we’re past it.” I don’t have to explain what I mean by it . “I’m happy we’re here, is all.”

She bites her lip, a shadow passing over her face. Then she straightens, sitting up with her back turned to me.

Shit . Dread seizes me. “What’s wrong?”

She glances back at me over her shoulder, an odd, almost hurt look on her face. “Bryan…” She says it like a sigh, and my stomach clenches. Please no. Not now. Everything was just fine.

Katya bites her lip before scooting over down the bed until she’s perched on the edge next to me. She reaches a hand out, stroking my face. “Bryan, we aren’t just getting past this. It’s part of us now. We can’t just forget and pretend it never happened. You can’t.”

“Why not?” I say it too quickly, and I mentally curse myself, because if I’ve noticed, then so has she. I don’t want to talk about this. I just want it to be over. I want to look forward. What’s so wrong with that?

“Because—” she cuts herself off, searching for the words, pushing her faded hair back in a frustrated huff. “Because. That way, you forgive me, and then there’s nothing. I don’t get…punishment.”

This is getting way too Old Testament for my liking. “Punishment?” I repeat. “I don’t want to punish you. I want us to be together. I want us to be happy.”

“I can’t—I don’t know how to explain. We can’t pretend nothing happened, Yasha. Otherwise, you leave me with too much forgiveness. And then eventually you’ll hate me for it, and it’ll be justified. Because I can’t help but push people away.”

Something sweeps in my stomach. That can’t be what she thinks, can it? She turns her head away, but not before I see the redness rimming her eyes. I reach a hand out, tilting her chin to face me.

“Katya,” I say softly. “Come on.”

She laughs a little, but she’s still got a look on her face like she might cry. “It’s okay. It’s just the truth.”

“It is not just the truth, Katya. And you are not just a person who pushes people away.” I take her shoulders and make her look at me as I say it. “You, Ekaterina Dmitriyevna Andreyeva, are the best skater I have ever seen. But you’re not just that. You’re more than a medal or a title, or even this sport at all. You are so strong. And you’re so sharp. And you’re the funniest girl I’ve ever met, even though all you do is make fun of me.”

I grin, and she lets out a real laugh this time, but then my smile fades slightly. “Katya, listen to me. You push people away because you were taught you had to be strong at all costs. That you had to be—I don’t know. Superhuman?” I shake my head. “But, I mean, being superhuman isn’t just being unbreakable. You know that. ‘Cause opening yourself up to get hurt isn’t weak. It’s the bravest thing you can do. And you are so goddamn brave .”

She hiccups, the tears running down her face. “Bryan, I’m not brave.”

“Yes, you are.” I can see her opening her mouth to protest again, so I cut her off. “Yes, you are. You are .”

“I run away from everything. I hurt everyone I love, even when I don’t mean to. I’m so fucked up, Yasha.”

“Oh my god, Katya, look who you’re talking to.” I snort. “I’m the human in most need of therapy in the state of New York. And that’s saying a lot, considering there’s a ton of people who’ve got it way worse, so it just goes to show how terrible my coping mechanisms are.”

That gets another laugh out of her, and I smile. “Glad to see my mommy and daddy issues are so entertaining, sunshine.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles, but she’s still smiling back.

“You get what I’m saying. I’m messed up, too. Don’t forget it. And I’m gonna have to work on it, and so are you. But if you’re permanently screwed and unlovable, then so am I.” All over again, I wonder what I ever did to deserve any of this. Wonder how any of this ever happened to me, after I thought I’d never be able to ever really be fully happy again.

I brush messy curls out of her face so I can see her better. I’m pretty sure I’m smiling like a dumbass again. She makes me stupid, I swear. “I guess that’s why we’re so damn good together,” I add, and she shoves me playfully.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but it’s funny. And still true.”

Katya sighs. “Move.” Then she lays back down next to me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and I close my eyes, pressing a kiss to her head.

“Thank you .”