Chapter 39

Chapter 39

“Ms. Shaw, can you tell me where we are right now?”

I blinked into the flashlight beam as the medic checked my pupil dilation. Behind him, Sheila stood, arms folded across her white leather moto jacket.

“St. Louis, Missouri,” I answered. “The Savvis Center.”

The most important competition of my career. But by all means, take your time.

Frannie and Evan had finished their skate to the Lord of the Rings score, and the first notes of Lou Bega’s “Mambo No. 5” blared through the arena, which meant Josie and Ellis were on the ice. I’d already given a detailed report of my symptoms (dull pain, no nausea, no blurred vision) and listed the months of the year in reverse order to prove I was lucid. But this guy kept asking me inane questions and shining that damn light in my eyes.

“And what’s today’s date, please?”

I sighed. “Friday, January thirteenth, two thousand six.”

I’d heard some of the other skaters joking about the date, what bad luck it was to have the final on Friday the 13th. Figure skaters are a superstitious bunch at the best of times—tying their boot laces a certain way before every skate, carrying lucky charms at competitions, repeating prayers and affirmations under their breath as they take theice.

I thought it was all absurd. I didn’t need luck, I had skill and determination and an unwavering desire to win.

The medic sat back on his heels and clicked off the light.

“Well?” Sheila said.

“She may have a mild concussion.”

“So I can skate,” I said. “Right?” My skull still throbbed, but I was prepared to chalk that up to Josie and Ellis’s earworm music.

The medic hesitated. “You should be examined at a medical facility. They can run scans. Give you a more conclusive diagnosis.”

“I can do that after the competition.”

I stood up. My head swam a bit, but quickly leveled off.

Four minutes. That was all the time I needed, and then they could scan me with every piece of equipment in the hospital.

Garrett waited right outside the door. I might not have been experiencing nausea, but he sure looked like he was. He rushed toward me, arms outstretched, then pulled back as if he was afraid I might break.

“Are you okay? Your head, is it—”

“I’m fine.”

On the monitors, Josie and Ellis took their seats in the kiss and cry. Tanya Fischer and Danny Chan stepped onto the ice for their two-minute warm-up. Garrett and I were next.

“You’re sure?” he said. “It looked like you smacked it pretty hard.”

I shrugged. “Maybe a mild concussion, but nothing I can’t—”

“A concussion? That sounds serious, Kat.”

He looked to his mother. She said nothing.

Bella, though, couldn’t help inserting herself into the conversation.

“If you have a concussion,” she told me, “you shouldn’t skate.”

I whirled on her. “Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Was that your plan all along?”

When we’d collided during the practice session at our first Nationals in Cleveland, it had been an accident, pure and simple. This time, I wasn’t so sure. Bella certainly didn’t look sorry.

“That’s enough.” The slender blade of Sheila’s voice slipped between us. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you where we are.”

Backstage at a major competition, which meant skaters and coaches and officials and reporters watched our every move. The cameramen were keeping a respectful distance, but no doubt they had their zoom lenses trained on us.

Heath kept his distance too, leaning against the wall a few feet away. But he hadn’t taken his eyes off me for a second.

“Let’s go.” I took Garrett’s hand. “It’s almost time.”

I started toward the curtained-off tunnel between the backstage area and the rink, where we’d wait for our names to be announced.

Heath blocked my path. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I glared at him. “Get out of my way.”

The final movement of Fischer and Chan’s Chopin sonata had begun. Garrett and I should already be in position.

Heath turned to Garrett. “You’re just going to stand there and let her—”

“He’s not letting me do anything,” I said. “It’s my decision.”

“It’s her decision,” Garrett repeated in a numb monotone.

“You’ve won this thing three times in a row,” Heath said. “Even if you withdraw, they’ll send you to Torino. You can submit one of those, what do they call it…”

“Appeals,” Bella supplied. “Heath’s right, you can petition to be on the team no matter what happens today.”

Garrett turned back to Sheila. “Do you think they’d still name us to the team?”

Sheila lifted her shoulders. “They might, they might not. There’s no way to be sure.”

I thought about asking Sheila what she would do in my situation, but I already knew the answer. Sheila Lin wouldn’t withdraw from a competition unless she was stone-cold dead.

Yes, my head hurt, but it was nothing in comparison to the agony I’d gone through to get to that moment. Not only the physical pain of pushing my body to the limit, but all the grief, the struggle. The heartbreak.

I couldn’t stop. Not when I was so close. I could see it all—the rest of my career unrolling in front of me like a red carpet. Garrett and I were going to win our fourth U.S. title, and we were going to be Olympic champions.

“I can do it,” I said. I’d never felt more certain of anything in my life.

Sheila nodded. “All right.”

Bella pursed her lips and turned away. Garrett stared down at his skates, taking slow, deep breaths.

Heath gripped my shoulders like he wanted to shake sense into me. “Katarina, you’re hurt. You can’t seriously—”

“Don’t touch me.”

I tried to writhe free, but he held fast. My vision blurred, pain spiking between my eyes.

“Please.” Heath’s voice was a whisper, meant for no one but me. “Don’t do this. If anything were to happen to you…”

I was so relieved he didn’t finish the sentence. That way, I could go on telling myself that this plea was merely another manipulation, the latest phase of his revenge plot. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t care what happened to me.

As I headed for the ice, hand in hand with Garrett, I felt Heath’s eyes hot on my back. Same as when we were kids, when he sat in the stands watching me spin and jump for hours.

Watch me now, I thought. Watch me win.

Without you.