Chapter 54

Chapter 54

Heath and I left the party before they could throw us out.

We were the only ones in the elevator car, but Heath crowded me the whole way down, asking if I was all right, examining my reddened palm, wanting to know what I’d been thinking when I slapped Ellis.

Rain obscured the view beyond the brightly lit awning outside the hotel. The temperature had fallen a good fifteen degrees, and goose bumps prickled my bare arms. Heath shrugged off his suit jacket and started to lay it over my shoulders.

“Stop,” I said.

“You’re shivering. I was only trying to—”

“You keep trying to take care of me, and I don’t need you to. So please, just stop.”

Heath slumped, letting the jacket sleeves drag on the sidewalk. “It’s been a long day. Maybe we should head back to our hotel and get some rest.”

“You go ahead.” I folded my arms—hugging myself against the chill. Shutting him out. “I need a minute.”

“What if your brother comes back?” he asked.

“Then I’ll handle it.”

Heath might have convinced himself his confrontation with Lee was solely for my benefit, but I knew better. I’d seen the rage contorting his face. While I’d spent the last ten years avoiding my brother at all costs, Heath had been lying in wait, hoping one day he’d have the chance to get his revenge.

“Fine,” Heath said. “Take all the time you need.”

He strode away from me so fast, I almost missed what he muttered next.

“You always do.”

I stared after Heath’s retreating form. He was headed straight for Central Park, hunched against the driving rain.

“Don’t tell me you two are fighting again.” Bella stood outside the gilded vestibule surrounding the lobby door. “You’ve got to cut this shit out, Kat.”

I whirled to face her. “How was I supposed to know my brother would—”

“I’m not just talking about tonight. I’m talking about all the shit you and Heath have been up to the past few years. The fame whore photo ops, the flitting from coach to coach. The fighting and the fucking and the endless drama. You’re not reality TV stars, you’re world-class athletes. You’re the goddamn reigning world champions.”

Sheila’s words from years before echoed in my head: You’re a world champion. Act like it. But Bella’s voice held none of her mother’s harshness. She sounded sad, almost weary—which was so much worse.

“We have one season left,” Bella said. “This is it. Our one remaining chance to go to the Olympics. You need to get your shit together and your head in the game, before it’s too late.”

“We were undefeated all season,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but is anyone talking about that?”

She was right. People couldn’t shut up about our engagement, our sexy choreography, our scandalous reputations—which would only be bolstered by what went down at the gala. Our skills and accomplishments were an afterthought, if they were mentioned at all.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“Because I’m your friend.”

“You’re also my competitor.”

“Which is why I want you competing at your best.” Bella smiled and knocked her shoulder into mine. “So when I kick your ass, I’ll know I deserved that gold medal.”

We stood in silence for a moment, watching the rain. Bella sighed and shot a glance at the door. “I should probably head back in. You coming?”

“I doubt I’m welcome anymore.”

“Please, they should give you a standing O. At least half the people in that room have fantasized about bitch-slapping Ellis Dean.”

She hugged me, her familiar white peony perfume cutting through the petrichor.

“You’re my best rival, Katarina Shaw. You better not back down now.”

—

I thought about following Heath into the park. But he had too much of a head start, and the weather was getting worse, so instead I hailed a taxi and headed back to our hotel suite alone.

Hoping to avoid attention, we’d checked into a Lower East Side boutique hotel under assumed names. The rooms were obnoxiously trendy, all sleek and monochrome with furniture that looked like it belonged in a modern art gallery. The views were impressive, though: floor-to-ceiling windowpanes wrapping around the corner opposite the bed.

I left the lights switched off so I could watch the storm. Lightning crept closer and closer, flaring against the steel-and-glass skyscrapers.

Surely Heath wasn’t still out in that. Any minute I’d hear his keycard in the door, and there he’d be, soaking wet and sheepish.

But an hour passed without any sign of him. The storm clouds started to recede, the rain slowing from sheets to a steady drizzle. Maybe he’d gone somewhere else. Out for a drink, by himself or with some of the other skaters from the tour.

Or maybe he’d gone looking for Lee.

I climbed under the covers with my cellphone, as if I were hiding what I was about to do even from myself. A quick search established that our showdown at the gala hadn’t shown up on any major news sites yet, but Ellis had wasted no time writing a lengthy post for Kiss & Cry, complete with bystander video.

“Ice Queen Melts Down” read the headline, above a screen cap of me looking unhinged. Ellis’s breathless firsthand account of the incident barely mentioned Heath, focusing instead on my fraught family history, and the “sudden, unprovoked” way I’d lashed out at Ellis himself.

I kept scrolling, down to the comments section.

Kat Shaw is one crazy bitch! I don’t know why Heath puts up with her tbh

he’s probably scared of her, she’s had her claws in him since they were little kids u know

Her poor brother…did anyone else watch that interview where he talked about how his dad loved Heath Rocha more than him? It seriously broke my heart.

Each word was like a fingernail digging under a scab, drawing fresh blood. When I finished all the comments on the gala post, I clicked back through the archives.

realized who KS reminds me of: my ex, same sort of narcissistic drama-seeking missile

she tries so hard to be sexy so no one will notice what a shitty skater she is

someone should teach that cunt a lesson

I scrolled and scrolled, until my thumb hurt, until my eyes felt like sandpaper. When the door lock finally clicked open, I startled, dropping my phone on the bleached white duvet.

Heath was back.