Epilogue

brYAN

“ O h my god oh my god oh my god!” Katya screams, rushing to meet me with a bone-crushing hug.

She’s still in her free skate costume, and she’s got her gold medal, which tells me she must’ve ran straight from the ceremony to watch me. Because of course she won her division. Was it even a possibility that she wouldn’t?

“Beat their asses,” I’d made her promise before she went on, and she did. She gave them hell, and looked extremely pretty doing it. The fact that she came straight here makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, even as I’m still trying to figure out if any of that was real. If I really did that.

“I don’t know what just happened,” I tell her truthfully, grinning now despite the fact that there’s still tears in my eyes, and she’s still totally hysterical, but she grabs my face.

“ You just happened,” Katya says, a huge smile on her face. “You did it. You were incredible, Yasha, you should be so proud of yourself.”

She’s not telling me that she’s proud of me. Not because she isn’t—I know absolutely that she is, and not just because she still hasn’t stopped bouncing like a giddy little jumping bean—but because she wants me to be proud of myself. And I love her all the more for it.

“I am,” I tell her. And for once, I’m not lying. I really, really am.

If you’d asked me this time two years if I thought I’d ever be able to skate like this again, like I just did out there, I would’ve laughed. Then I probably would’ve cried. Because…really, I didn’t think I ever would. Or that I even could.

I’ve always known on some level that, until recently, I wasn’t skating because I wanted to. When Katya said it to get a rise out of me ages ago, she was right. Even if I shoved the knowledge down deep enough that I could ignore it, it was still there. And it blocked me. I was preventing myself from being my best, because I was doing a thing that I loved, but not because I loved it. And that really sucks. Looking back on it, it’s no wonder I was miserable, though I tried so damn hard to hide it. But now? Naomi’s right. I think I have the joy back.

And, okay, maybe it’s a little bit cliché to say that Katya’s the reason. So I’ll just say she’s the one that gave me the courage. If it hadn’t been for her pushing me, bullying me into pushing myself, I don’t think I would be here right now. And I don’t think she would be, either. We’re better now because of each other. On the ice and off.

We aren’t skating together anymore. Which I still haven’t gotten used to saying, because it doesn’t feel that way; considering we still see each other every day, still train together, still skate on the same ice. At least once a week we’ll go and practice some lifts or twists just for the hell of it, and when I go home, Katya’s usually on the couch ready to put on whatever show we’ve been binging, even though technically she should be over at her and Nina and Juliet’s place. She likes to pretend it’s because Nins’ neat freakiness drives her crazy, and not because she misses me. I know her excuse is BS because Katya would give Marie Kondo a run for her money.

But that’s how it’s going right now. We focus on our solo careers, and we live our lives, and try not to drive each other too crazy, although there’s nothing prettier than Katya when her face is all red and she’s about two seconds from hitting me—speaking of which, I’m starting Russian lessons, so I can at least understand what she’s saying when she’s cussing me out.

And it’s all going…pretty well. Really well. Katya’s been killing it the last few months, shredding all the records, and is currently the top contender for gold at Worlds in March. I haven’t done much on the ice because of my injury, but home is better, partially because I actually started talking to someone and unpacking all of it. Mom’s still mostly MIA, but she sends a check every month like clockwork, and calls fairly often. I talk to her as much as either of us can handle. We’re both trying.

The State of New York officially granted me custody of my sister a few weeks ago. Even though I’m flying all over the world for competitions, the court could see that a few hectic months was better than living in another country entirely. Plus, I think the judge took one look at the stank-eye all our friends were giving and knew he’d be in for it if he tried taking my little sister away from me. We all went down to Moby’s, and Deanna shut down the place so we could have a party. She made red velvet cake, and Alexandra hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe. She only said thank you once. She didn’t need to say it again.

I’m a little embarrassed to say I was bawling my eyes out even before they started pumping beer in my system.

Things are good. And maybe, eventually, once Katya and I have both officially gotten sick and tired of singles, we’ll go back to competing as a team. If you ask me, we like being a power couple too much to let people think that they’re safe with us in another discipline, and knowing our drama queen selves, we’ll surprise everyone by returning to pairs out of the blue and sweep the whole damn thing all over again.

But, for now, we want to wait. And this way, we get to celebrate our individual and joint wins—whether it’s one or both of us out there on the ice, we’re always doing this together. And that’s what really matters. Because…I think we were made to do this. But not in the way we used to think, in that do-or-die mentality—we were made to love it. To love each other.

So it’s absolutely true, cross my heart, when I pull away from her, cupping her perfect little face in my hands, still smiling like an idiot like I always do in her presence, and say, “I hope we do this forever.”

And she’s smiling back. “Me too.” But then her eyes narrow, her smile growing just a teeny bit evil, tugging my hand. “Now come on. Lian’s in the kiss-and-cry, let’s go so we can formally celebrate that you just destroyed everyone else here.”

Yep, there’s the Katya I know. Brutal, terrifying, the Russian ice queen, and my favorite person on the planet. “Mm, but I can just kiss you right here.”

“Dumbass,” Katya says, more than a little lovingly.

And for once, I don’t care what numbers show up onscreen.

I’ve already won.