Epilogue

“Oh my god, did you watch it?”

The sun isn’t even up yet, and two girls sit beside the rink, lacing their skates.

“ Yes. It was wild, right?”

They’re too busy gossiping to notice my presence. I ease the door shut behind me and lean against it, listening to their animated voices ping back and forth.

“The part about the thorns in her boots? Ouch. ”

“That Francesca lady seems super sus. The way she stormed off at the end?”

“Totally. Oh! And what about that video of Coach Shaw throwing a chair at—”

“You think that was wild?” I say.

The girls startle at the sound of my voice. They’re so young. They remind me of myself and Bella—except we never spooked that easily.

“Trust me, you don’t know the half of it.” I point toward the fresh ice. “Go warm up.”

“Yes, Coach Shaw,” they mumble in unison.

When Bella asked me to join the staff at her new school, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. And, shortly thereafter, when skaters’ parents started threatening to withdraw their children rather than let them work with the notorious Katarina Shaw, Bella gave them two choices: shut up or fuck off. Lest my scandalous reputation prove too distracting, I don’t accompany her to competitions, but I can’t say I miss that high-stress, always-on-the-go life. These days, I’d much rather stick close to home.

Madison Castro arrives at the rink next, with Bella right behind her carrying a travel mug of coffee. Madison has been helping out with the younger teams, for a stipend and an assistant coaching title. She and her partner, Jacob, competed in the 2022 Olympics and came in tenth. They’re hoping for better in 2026, but if not, she has a real future as a coach.

Bella and I watch as Madison starts putting the skaters through warm-up exercises, stroking back and forth across the ice. The old North Shore rink where Heath and I got our start is hardly recognizable; Bella gave it a gut rehab after she took over. Now there’s natural light instead of low-hanging fluorescents, and definitely no hot dog smells or traffic cones.

“Were they talking about that damn documentary again?” Bella asks.

“Oh yes. Don’t worry, they’ll lose interest eventually.”

“Yeah, until the twentieth anniversary.” Bella sips her coffee. “Maybe I’ll let them interview me for that one. I’ll tell everyone the shocking truth that Katarina Shaw actually isn’t that scary, once you get to know her.”

I gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.”

We’d been surprised when Garrett agreed to participate in the documentary. Out of all of us, he loathed the spotlight the most. But he said it was important to him to show the humanity behind the scandal—and to shine a light on the extreme pressure elite athletes face.

Bella hands me her coffee so I can try a sip. For the past several years, she’s been seeing a prominent Chicago restaurateur who’s a wizard with an espresso machine. He travels a lot and keeps his own studio apartment in the city, which is an ideal arrangement for Bella. She gets companionship when she wants it, independence when she doesn’t.

As the swirl of complex spices washes over my tongue, I moan with pleasure.

“You better marry that man,” I say. “Or I will.”

“I think Heath might have a few objections,” Bella says.

“Objections to what?” Heath asks.

He’s just come through the door, holding his daughter’s mittened hand.

Mei tugs on his arm. “Can I go skate?”

“Sure, sweetie,” he tells her.

When he was her age, Heath looked world-weary and serious. Now, at forty, he’s always smiling—especially when Mei is around. He’s never regained his full strength, though; we skate together sometimes in the private rink in the woods behind my—now our—house, but Heath gets winded after only a few minutes. Then he sits back and watches me.

“Aunt Katie, watch!” Mei shouts at me as she races onto the rink and bends into a perfect Biellmann spin, pigtails blurring.

“Be careful!” Bella calls out. I whoop and applaud, ever the bad influence.

Heath and Bella’s daughter is a fearless skater, far better than I was at nine years old. Who knows, maybe she’ll be the member of our strange little family who finally brings home the Olympic title.

Or maybe she’ll do something completely different. It’s up to her.

After we came home from Sochi, I resumed wearing the engagement ring Heath gave me, but we’ve never gotten married. A piece of paper means nothing compared to what we share. Over the past decade, we’ve been off and on and everything in between. One way or another, Heath Rocha and I will be in each other’s lives until we die. Even if we end up killing each other.

Right now, though, I have no complaints. Sunrise streams through the skylights, turning everything golden. Bella passes me her coffee again, and Heath slips his hand into mine.

So say what you want about me. Call me a bitch, a cheater, a loser, a whore. I may not have an Olympic gold medal, but I have something better: a life where I spend every day with my favorite people in the world, doing exactly what I love.

If that’s not winning, I don’t know what is.