Chapter 56

Chapter 56

All my life, the Olympic Games had been my dream—but those first few days in Vancouver, I felt like I was sleepwalking. We marched in the opening ceremony, sweating through our Ralph Lauren reindeer sweaters and ski pants, waving at the crowd until our arms were sore. We marveled at the simulated snowfall, the looming lit-up bear puppet, the flurry of fake maple leaves, the fireworks. We posed in front of the Olympic flag, the Olympic rings, the chain-link fence surrounding the frosted-glass Olympic cauldron, smiling in our matching Team USA clothing, Heath’s arm tight around my waist.

I wanted to savor every moment. Instead, I stood outside myself, evaluating. Did I look happy? Did I look confident? Did I look like an Olympian? Did Heath and I look madly in love even though we hadn’t slept together in months?

Our room in the Olympic Village had a pair of twin beds, but even on the king-sized mattress in the cozy private chalet we’d been renting in Germany, most nights we rolled to the outer edges like repelling magnets.

After so many years of performing intimacy for all the world to see, the fire between us had guttered out. And I had no idea how to reignite it.

—

No one watching our compulsory dance would have guessed at the growing distance between us, though. We took the lead with a passionate Tango Romantica, all sharp movements and snapping eye contact in time with the crisp snare drum beat under the bandoneon. Yelena Volkova’s blade caught in a rut during their second pass through the pattern steps, and the Russians plummeted to third place behind the Canadians.

Bella and Garrett were in fourth, after leaving points on the table with a few minor mistakes. We’d steered clear of one another so far, preserving the narrative that we were bitter rivals battling it out to boost the ice dance broadcast ratings.

Despite the media frenzy, I knew the Lins didn’t pose a serious threat. They hadn’t beaten us all season. Bella was as ambitious as ever, but after their time skating with other people, the twins had never quite gelled as a team. If we lost the gold, it wouldn’t be to them.

Bella and I had managed to steal a moment of solidarity at the opening ceremony, when we were sure no cameras were pointed at us: a quick squeeze of our gloved hands as the U.S. delegation started walking into the stadium, and a shared glance that said, We really did it. We’re really here. For that one moment, I truly felt like an Olympian.

There was a day off between the compulsory and the original dance, and our publicist—a terrifyingly poised woman who’d exclusively represented movie stars and pop idols before adding Heath and me to her client roster—booked us on a morning show.

Morning on the East Coast, which meant a middle-of-the-night hair and makeup call out in Vancouver. Our coach didn’t come with us; I’m an old woman, I need my rest was her excuse, though Lena Müller was probably the most vigorous person I’d ever met, at any age.

Kirk Lockwood was supposed to be interviewing us, but while we were getting primped and mic’d, a production assistant informed us that Kirk had felt a cold coming on and canceled all media appearances, in the hopes of recovering in time to call the rest of the skating events. When the substitute host approached to introduce herself, I thought she was another PA. She was young—maybe even younger than we were—with frizzy curls and thick-framed glasses.

“Inez Acton,” she said. “I’m so excited to be chatting with you guys today!”

It was barely five a.m., and Inez sounded as if she’d already downed six espressos. As Heath and I settled on the love seat in the studio, her feet jiggled anxiously, heels pistoning in her plain black pumps.

The set was built to resemble an upscale ski lodge, with a fireplace and a mantel made of gray stones that would have reminded me of home if they weren’t so spotless and uniform. A plexiglass wall behind the line of cameras looked out on the plaza where, even at this early hour, fans pressed behind the barricade to watch the taping.

Well, not all of them were fans: in the center of the crowd, I spotted a middle-aged white woman waving a poster board with a drawing of me sporting devil horns and a blood-soaked ice pick in my fist. Points for creativity, at least.

The producer counted us down. Heath waited until the last second before we went live to shift closer and slip his arm around my shoulders.

Inez started the interview, reading off a stack of note cards she held so tight, her knuckles turned white. She tripped over her words, punctuated her sentences with ums and uhs, and referred to the compulsory dance as the “compulsive” dance. The network seriously didn’t have anyone more experienced to take over in Kirk’s absence?

“You two got engaged at last year’s National Championships, right?” she asked.

“That’s right,” Heath said.

“Let’s see a picture.”

Inez turned to look at a monitor, which displayed a photo of Heath kneeling on the ice in Cleveland. The crowd outside let out a long awwww. Right on cue, Heath squeezed my shoulder and smiled at me. I smiled back and felt nothing. It was only a reflex, muscles contracting to pull my face into a pleasing shape.

The monitor dissolved to another image of us: ten years old, on the beach by Lake Michigan. My father had taken the picture, with my mother’s old Polaroid camera. It was only public because Lee had handed our family photos over to the press without my consent.

“So cute!” Inez exclaimed. “From childhood sweethearts to possible Olympic champions. You two are serious couple goals. When’s the big day?”

“The big day?” I repeated.

Inez gave a nervous giggle. “Your wedding! Have you picked out a dress yet? I know everyone’s dying to see what you choose.”

Our wedding was just some stupid party. February 22, the day of the Olympic ice dance final— that was our big day.

“Not yet,” Heath answered when I failed to. “We’ve been focusing on the Games. Once that’s over, I’m sure we’ll have more to share.”

“What about after the Games?” Inez asked. “Will you be taking time off from skating to start a family?”

Heath’s smile turned coy. “We’ll have to see about—”

“What the hell kind of question is that?”