My hat had come off somewhere in the struggle, and my hair tumbled free, curtaining around our faces. We needed to get up, off the lake, back to the safety of solid ground. But we were frozen in place, staring into each other’s wide, startled eyes.
Eventually we caught our breath and trudged back to the house to warm up by the fireplace. By nightfall, we were both wracked with chills and coughs, and Heath ended up staying over for days, until wewere both on the mend. I thought his foster parents might object, but they seemed relieved not to have to take care of a sick kid. The two of us curled up together on the sofa in a nest of blankets, watching hours of skating competitions I’d videotaped, and I was so grateful for the feverish flush on my face, because it kept Heath from seeing how I blushed every time he looked at me. Every time I thought about how close we’d been.
—
Eight days following our flight out of Nagano, my fever finally broke. I’d still heard nothing from Heath.
After so much time spent prone, my body was strung tight with anxiety and restlessness. I needed to move.
I needed to skate.
It was nearly midnight. I had no idea whether I’d be able to gain access to either of the Academy rinks at that hour, but I decided to try my luck anyway. I pulled on some ratty leggings and my old Stars on Ice shirt, slung my skate bag over my shoulder, and went downstairs, my deconditioned leg muscles protesting every step.
The door to the main rink was shut, but light leaked around the edges. Not the bright white banks of overheads, but the soft blue-tinted spotlights they used for ice shows and exhibitions. There was music playing too—though the volume was so low I couldn’t pick out the song until I went inside.
“The Good Fight” by Dashboard Confessional. And there, whirling across the ice in time with Chris Carrabba’s wailing vocals, was Garrett Lin.
Instead of his usual perfectly fitted, designer-branded workout gear, Garrett was in loose-fitting sweatpants and a tank top that showed off his well-developed shoulders. Sweat glistened all over his arms and chest, streaming below the neckline of his shirt as he leaned into a layback spin. He’d clearly been at this for hours.
Another song started; I didn’t recognize this one, but it had the same angsty, emo vibes. Despite his casual attire and the intensity of the music, Garrett’s every move was impeccable, a masterclass in technique.
He was mesmerizing. I didn’t realize how long I’d stood there watching from the shadows like a creep until Garrett stopped skating and looked at me.
He seemed startled for a second. Then he smiled and gave me a little wave, like we’d bumped into each other on the street.
“Kat.” He was winded, and my name came out in a gasp. “You should be in bed.”
The rise and fall of his chest pulled his sweat-soaked shirt taut, revealing every muscle underneath. Off the ice, Garrett sometimes seemed like an awkward teen boy, uncomfortable in his body, unsure of himself.
But on the ice? He looked like a man. And an artist. Garrett wasn’t just some reliable backdrop to show off Bella’s talent. He was a star too, and he’d been holding himself back so he wouldn’t outshine her.
“I’m feeling much better,” I told him—though if I’d known I was going to have company, I would have bothered to shower or at least brush my hair.
He skated over to the boards and picked up his water bottle. “If you’re better, you must have thrown out that disgusting green juice Bella brought you.”
“Of course not.” I smiled. “I poured it down the drain.”
Garrett laughed. “Very wise.”
“Is that what your mother used to bring you, when you were sick as kids?”
“No. Our nanny.” He tipped his head back to down the last of the water; a bead of sweat slid over his Adam’s apple. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, but what are you doing up so late?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Jet lag. It always screws me up for a couple weeks. By the time I get back on track, it’s usually time to fly somewhere else.”
“Your mother doesn’t mind you coming here in the middle of the night?”
“Not as long as I’m practicing.” He set the bottle down. “I’m glad you’re here, actually. I’ve been hoping to talk to you, but I wanted to wait until you recovered.”
“Oh? About what?”
“About what Bella told you in Japan.”
My stomach sank. He was going to tell me it had all been a big misunderstanding. Why would Garrett Lin want to skate withme,when he could have anyone? And now that I’d blown up my relationship with Heath, I had no partner, and I’d never make it to the Olympics, and—
“I never would have asked her to talk to you,” Garrett said, “if I’d thought it’d lead to—”
