Lee had figured out a long time ago: the best way to hurt me was to hurt Heath.
Heath always stayed stoic, brushing off every insult and injury, no matter how severe. Once Lee shoved him into a wall so hard, he lost consciousness for a few terrifying seconds, and when I shook him back awake, all he did was shrug and tell me it could’ve been worse.
As close as we were, I knew next to nothing about Heath’s life before me. He had a birth certificate showing he was born in Michigan and shared his surname with his mother. The line that should’ve listed his father was blank. The nameRochawas Spanish in origin, or maybe Portuguese—the only solid clue he had to his heritage. Most people in the Midwest took one look at Heath’s brown skin and dark hair and assumed he was either Mexican or Middle Eastern (then made other, less charitable assumptions accordingly).
Heath knew nothing more about his real parents and insisted he had no desire to search for them. I’d never set foot inside his foster home, a squat sepia bungalow by the train tracks that didn’t look anywhere near large enough to hold the number of people who lived there at any given time. When Heath moved in with us the summer before eighth grade, my father gave him Lee’s childhood bedroom, which he’d vacated the second he turned eighteen in favor of a filthy shared flat closer to the city. Heath had gaped at the cramped, drafty room like it was a royal palace, and I’d realized it must have been the first time he’d had space all to himself.
He didn’t like to talk about his past, and I didn’t want to pry. All Iknew was, if life with Lee Shaw was an improvement, whatever he’d endured before must have been truly horrific.
“Murdering your brother seems alittleextreme.” Heath’s shivering had slowed, so the words came out steadier. “But I could get behind slashing his tires.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” I said. “Check your pockets.”
Heath rummaged through the coat until there was a metallic clink. A slow smile spread across his face as he held up the keys to Lee’s truck.
I didn’t have my driver’s license yet. But Heath had gotten his the summer before.
“Nowhe’sgoing to killus,” Heath said.
“Not if we’re gone before he wakes up.”
Still clutching the keys, Heath took my face in his hands and kissed me. Cold metal pressed against my cheek. “What did I tell you, Katarina Shaw?”
I smiled and kissed him back. “There’s nothing I can’t do.”
Nicole Bradford:At first, Heath seemed hopeless. Thanks to his hockey lessons, he could skate fast, but he had no finesse. Ice dance is all about maneuvering on the edges of your blades, carving into the ice with precision and control.
In a home video taken by Ms. Bradford during one of their first practices together, Katarina and Heath attempt some simple forward crossovers, skating hand in hand.
Nicole Bradford:But they had this…connection.
Heath’s skates keep getting tangled up as he tries to match Katarina’s rhythm. She squeezes his hand. He stops focusing on his feet, looking at her instead. Soon, they’re moving in unison.
Nicole Bradford:It was like they were reading each other’s minds. His technique needed a ton of work. But I’ve never seen anyone work as hard as Heath.
Ellis Dean:Imagine being down so bad you’d master awhole Olympic sportto spend time with someone.
Nicole Bradford:By the time they turned thirteen, I was starting to think bigger: Nationals, Worlds, maybe even the Olympic Games. I never made it that far myself.
Katarina and Heath wave from the top podium step at a regional competition.
Nicole Bradford:One afternoon, I found them together on a bench outside the rink. They were embracing, and I thought for a second they might be…(She clears her throat.)Anyway, it turned out they were crying. They were both so upset, I thought someone must have died.
A series of candid snapshots show young Katarina and Heath at the rink and at the Shaw house: wading in the lake, cartwheeling on the lawn, cuddled in a nest of blankets watching television.
Nicole Bradford:I finally got Heath calmed down enough to tell me he was being transferred to another foster home, hours away. He had to leave in less than a week.
Jane Currer:Mr. Rocha’s departure most likely would have meant Ms. Shaw had to give up skating, unless she could find another partner. Since switching to ice dance, she’d developed a body type that was…less than ideal for the jumps required in the ladies singles discipline.
Nicole Bradford:I was sad too. But what could I do? I thought it was over. Then the next day, in they walk, holding hands, big smiles on their faces. And Katarina says Heath isn’t going anywhere after all.
A snapshot of preteen Katarina and Heath, standing on either side of Katarina’s father outside the Rosemont Horizon arena after the 1996 Stars on Ice tour performance headlined by Lin and Lockwood. Mr. Shaw has his arms around their shoulders, and all three are smiling wide.
Nicole Bradford:She’d convinced her father to become the boy’s legal guardian.
Chapter 5
The heater in Lee’s Chevy pickup didn’t work, and frigid wind cut through the cracked window seals. Even so, my memories of that drive with Heath are drenched in warmth.
