Once the music started, though, I realized there was nothing to worry about. Heath and I were as in tune as always. Our free dance was a total departure from everyone else in the field, set to a layered mix of moody classical piano and industrial rock Heath had arranged himself. We wore form-fitting black costumes embellished only with angular panels of mesh, and the choreography was powerful, almost aggressive, showing off our strength, the way we covered the ice together like a finely tuned machine.
Sheila Lin probably hated it. Good thing she wasn’t our coach anymore.
At that point, we didn’t officially have a coach. We jet-setted to training centers all over the globe, assembling a team of technical specialists and choreographers and trainers, picking up what we could from eachbefore moving on to the next. It wasn’t conventional, but it seemed to be working for us. We controlled our career. We controlled our destiny.
Sometimes it seemed as if we’d worked with every ice dance authority in the world, but there was one missing from our collection: whoever had honed Heath’s technique during his three-year absence. He still wouldn’t tell me where he’d been, how he’d achieved such rapid improvement. I’d become increasingly frustrated with his silence on the subject, but any time I attempted to raise it, he’d shut me down with a haunted, distant look in his eyes—a look I remembered well from childhood, any time I made even the smallest reference to his life before we met. One thing was clear: whatever he had gone through, he wasn’t willing to go through it again. Or to subject me to it.
I tried to convince myself it didn’t matter. Heath loved me. He shared more with me than he would have with anyone else. He would tell me his secrets someday, or he wouldn’t. In the meantime, we were winning.
Our music ended with a piano glissando and a hissing electronic pulse. We held the final pose, panting in time. We’d done it, I could feel it in my bones. We were going to be the national champions. I’d won the title three times with Garrett. But winning it with Heath—and skating exactly the way I wanted to, refusing to rein in my power—meant so much more.
I started to take a bow. Then I realized Heath wasn’t standing beside me. He still clutched my hand, but he’d knelt on the ice.
My first thought was that there was something wrong—a broken lace, a muscle cramp. Or worse, an injury. But when I turned to face him, he was gazing up at me, holding something pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
A diamond ring.
Ellis Dean:I’m a bitter bitch, but even I can admit it: damn, that was romantic!
Heath Rocha gets down on one knee to propose to Katarina Shaw at the 2009 U.S. National Championships. The energy of the crowd shifts as they realize what’s happening, a few moments before Katarina herself catches on.
Inez Acton:Public proposals are manipulative as hell. I couldn’t believe he put her on the spot like that.
Garrett Lin:I was surprised, yeah. To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure Kat even wanted to get married, however much she loved Heath. But I figured he knew her better than I did.
A close-up of Katarina’s shocked face plays on every screen in the arena. She stares down at Heath, hand clapped over her mouth.
Francesca Gaskell:A gold medal and an engagement ring, all in one night! What more could she have possibly wanted?
Garrett Lin:Before Nationals, they were at some Caribbean resort for two weeks, and it’d occurred to me he might pop the question there. I actually wondered if they’d already gotten engaged in secret, and this was all for show.
Inez Acton:Katarina Shaw was on the verge of becoming a four-time national champ. But suddenly all anyone cared about was her becoming awife.
A reporter approaches Lee Shaw outside a gas station in rural Illinois.
“Hey, Lee! Any comment on your sister’s engagement?”
Lee turns. This is clearly the first he’s hearing about the engagement, but he tries to play it off.
“I’m thrilled for her, of course. And for Heath. Surprised it took ’em this long.”
He gets closer to the camera, looking right into the lens. His eyes are bleary, and his skin has an unhealthy pallor.
“You need someone to walk you down the aisle, Katie,” he says, “you know where to find me.”
Chapter 51
Don’t throw up.
That was my first thought when I realized what Heath was doing.
Then I thought:No. Please, no. Not like this.
But with all those people watching, flashbulbs popping like fireworks, my face projected on a screen twenty feet tall, all I could say wasyes.
I took the ring and we kissed and he spun me around and the audience cheered. When we got to the kiss and cry, the diamond was still gripped in my hand. Heath had to pry my fist open to slip it onto my finger.
More cheering. So many cameras pointed at us, I couldn’t even count them.
