Page 112 of Oh, Flutz!

“It’s my parents, as usual. They…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “They think this is my last season.”

I don’t even have to explain further, because a look of understanding washes over my partner’s face. “Bryan, I’m sorry.”

“They think the only reason I got this far is because of you.”

Katya creases her brows. “I—"

The nausea stirs again, and I cut her off. “Just—I mean, they’re not wrong, you’re incredible, and I wouldn’t be standing here if you weren’t. But like…it’s like they don’t care how hard I work, nothing is good enough, and I’m sosickof them erasing it like that.”

She’s looking at me strangely.

“What?” I ask, not even bothering to dread whatever she’s about to say. It can’t get worse at this point. She might as well hurt my feelings.

“I was just going to say that they’re wrong,” Katya says, reaching for my hand. “I wouldn’t be standing here without you either.”

I stare at her, but before I can even open my mouth to process what she just said, they urge us to get out there, so Katya pulls me out onto the ice. She’s smiling and waving to the audience, and I remember what I’m doing, so I smile and wave too, like I didn’t just have a mental breakdown a minute ago.

That’s just how performing is. The second you step onto the ice, everything else has to disappear. That, or you can use it.Usewhat you’re feeling, instead of letting it choke you.

These last few years, I’ve been forgetting that.

“And now, for our next skaters; the newest addition to Team USA, two-time Prix medalists in their first season. We’re lucky enough to have them here tonight, and wish them the best of luck for the rest of their upcoming competitions. Skating to‘What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve,’please give a warm welcome to Ekaterina Andreyeva and Bryan Young!”

We reach center ice, and the cheering dies down. Katya and I lock eyes.

She nods once, almost imperceptibly. And just like that, I can breathe freely again.

“Whoever invented alcoholic hotchocolate needs to get a million dollars,” I declare, plunking an emptied Peppermint Patty down on the table we’re standing around amid the bustle of the post-exhibition New Year’s Eve party in the event space by the restaurant.

The place is hoppin,’ and I’ve already pulled my tie off despite Katya’s pleas not to. New York at New Year’s is something else entirely—everyone’s buzzing, glitter’s on the floor, energy’s in the air, from excitement and adrenaline and post-skate rush. I heard someone say that we’re actually close enough to Times Square that we might be able to hear the ball drop.

Katya snorts into her mug. “And whoever let you have another one needs to get fired.”

“Excuse me, sunshine, but I can absolutely handle my liquor.”

“Mm, what is it they call you? A hamster?”

“Shut up!”

Katya lets out a little laugh. “You have whipped cream on your face.”

“Where?”

She just rolls her eyes, leaning forward and swiping at my nose.

“Thanks.” I glance back, and she's got a weird face. “What?”

“Before,” she says, hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

I stop, furrowing my brows and looking up at her. She’s got one arm crossed across her chest, clutching her elbow. She looks nervous. Does she think I’m mad at her? Or, actually, does she notwantme to be mad at her? Does she…care?

“I know,” I say, slowly, trying to sort through my suddenly very mushy thoughts. “That wasn’t why I was upset. I was just overwhelmed. It was a lot.”

I don’t miss the split second wash of relief on her face before she clears her throat. “Right. Okay. Good.”

…Holy shit.

My pocket starts vibrating. “Uh, sorry, hold on, someone’s calling me.” I don’t even look at the caller ID before picking up, turning around as Katya floats off into the crowd. “Hello?” I yell into the speaker. “Bryan can’t come to the phone right now. How can I assist you?”

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