I tried to picture Heath there, but all I could think of was him shivering in the stable—only without me to bring him blankets, to press my body close to his and rub life back into his ice-cold hands.
“Yelena kept making mistakes, and Dmitri wouldn’t stop berating her. Veronika stood there and let him do it. So I took him aside and told him to knock it off.” Heath finally looked at me, fresh rage still smoldering in his eyes. “And he shoved me through a stained-glass window.”
“Jesus.”
“I think it was Saint Andrew, actually.”
“Very funny.” I pushed against his arm. He grimaced. “Shit, sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. That merciless pummeling you gave me last night helped.”
“You’re welcome.” I considered what he’d told me. “What if it’s Dmitri? Maybehe’sbeen the one sabotaging us all along, and the Volkovas didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Thorns in skates and butcher shop blood on the bed seemed likeextreme measures to rattle your opponents, even in a notoriously dramatic sport like skating. For the Russian mob, though? That was child’s play.
Heath shook his head. “Dmitri’s not smart enough to put together a plan like that. Not on his own. He reminds me of your brother, actually—all dumb brute force, zero impulse control.”
He reached for the bottle of painkillers on the nightstand, tapping out two white pills.
“You want any?” he asked.
I waved him off. “They didn’t do much last night. Guess I’ll just have to tough it out.”
“If there’s one thing you’re good at, Katarina Shaw, it’s toughing it out.”
I touched his arm again, sure to be gentle this time.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“I’m sorry too.” He laid his hand over mine. “Cause you’d’ve kicked that pretty boy’s ass, and I would sure have loved to see that.”
I thought about the way Dmitri came at us before the short dance, the chilly menace in his eyes. After I shoved him, he refused all forms of help, growling like a feral dog at anyone foolish enough to approach him—the medics, his coach, his partner, even sweet little Francesca Gaskell.
I hadn’t been there when he gave Heath those scars. But the best revenge would be kicking Dmitri’s ass today—and now, thanks to Yelena, I’d look damn good doing it.
“Better get moving,” I said. “We have gold medals to win.”
The final group of ice dancers are introduced before the free dance at the 2014 Winter Olympics.
Ellis Dean:Talk about an entrance.
“Representing the United States of America, Katarina Shaw and Heath Rocha!”
Kirk Lockwood:I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Katarina and Heath skate out hand in hand, looking strong and formidable, unswayed by the turmoil of the past twenty-four hours. Katarina lifts her arms and spins to show off her new costume. The dress is red velvet, trimmed with golden embroidery.
She’s wearing Veronika Volkova’s Catherine the Great costume from the Calgary Games.
Veronika Volkova:I suppose it wassimilar,from a distance. ButmyCatherine the Great gown was much grander.
Backstage after the warm-up, Veronika and Yelena Volkova have a heated argument. This time, there are no tears from Yelena. She gives her aunt an imperious smirk and struts away.
Garrett Lin:I didn’t recognize the dress, but my sister did, right away.
Veronika Volkova:It was much too tight on her. She looked like overstuffed kielbasa.
Garrett Lin:Kat looked beautiful, but not because of the dress. It was the way she carried herself, the look on her face.
