Page 135 of Oh, Flutz!

“Pulmonary embolism.”

My English may be good, but it isn’t that good. Still, I feel horribly embarrassed when I have to ask. “What is that?”

“It’s when, uh, a blood clot forms in your lungs. There’s this thing that happens, that it can form in your legs, and then it travels up to block an artery. Then, you know, boom.” He waves a hand aimlessly, voice dull.

“You wanna know what’s funny?” he continues, in a way that lets me know he doesn’t actually find it funny at all. “Um. When the hospital called and said he didn’t have much time, we all thought he’d finally done it.” Bryan swallows hard. “Even though things had been so much better. But it wasn’t even—it wasn’t eventhat, you know? Not something we could’ve maybe prevented? It was a random thing that happened out of nowhere. Except the doctor said that paraplegics are at a higher risk of deep vein—whatever it’s called. ‘Cause they can’t move their legs, you know?”

The look on his face is too much.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I whisper, trying to swallow the ache before it swallows me. “I would have…”

I would have come. In an instant. I would have dropped everything. To know he was like this the whole time, I would’ve risked my career to be here.

Screw competition. Screw everything. I would have come.

I don’t say it. Bryan already looks like he’s about to splinter. And I can’t let the tears fall—I don’t have the right to, not anymore.

He’s trying so hard not to cry, and it’s killing me. Then I just wish I could fall into the floor when his voice finally breaks.

“Why weren't you here?”

I can barely breathe. I’m barely holding it together. “I’m sorry, Yasha,” I choke, and even though it’s the most selfish thing I could do, I wrap my arms around him, feeling him immediately fall to pieces, gripping him so tight it hurts me. But I can’t let go. Not again.

“I hate you so much,” he sobs, voice muffled by my sweater.

I pull him impossibly tighter as he falls apart in my arms, my hands tangling in his curls, trying desperately to hold on, to let him go, to help him get everything out—to will into existence another time; where I hadn’t been so stupid and he hadn’t been in so much pain. As if I could somehow turn back the clock, or maybe just give him the part of me that had allowed myself to somehow push through even when I felt like dying. To make him feel better, even though I know there’s no use. Even though I’m part of the reason why he needs to.

I tilt my head up to the ceiling, holding my breath and holding him tighter, trying not to let him see the tears threatening to spill. I’ve had enough practice hiding my emotions. I can’t break apart. Because if we both shatter, there’s no going back. We have to keep taping ourselves back up, otherwise there’s no going forward. And if we miss this chance, we’re never going to recover.

He keeps repeating it, and I have to bite my lip to keep the tears inside, so hard I’m tasting gold and silver and bronze in my mouth like all those medals that never meant a single thing. I thought they meant everything. Why did I think they meant everything? Why did I do this to him? Why did I do this tomyself?

“Why can’t I hate you?”

Chapter Forty-Seven

BRYAN

TWO DAYS LATER

PRIX SERIES FINAL—PARIS, FRANCE

We haven't spoken.

It’s been four days. In that time, we, along with our coaches, have done the following: flown a transcontinental flight, complete with several absurdly loud children; had a collective panic attack for the five minutes at baggage claim that Katya’s skates were nowhere to be found; and lost my AirPods in the taxi. Not to mention Lian contracted food poisoning from a baguette at Charles de Gaulle, so she’s been throwing up in the toilet ever since we got to the hotel.

We haven’t even been here a full twenty-four hours, and we’re all ready to throw ourselves into the river.

“She’s still locked in the bathroom,” Juliet’s telling me worriedly. “Should I take her to urgent care or something?”

“Good luck with that. You know Lee. She’s not gonna cause a ‘distraction’ for us until she knows for sure we aren’t screwing up what we came here to do.” I snort. “Remember that time she had a hundred-degree fever and was two milliseconds away from passing out, but refused to leave the premises until she saw them physically hand me my medal?”

Juliet grins at me. “Like coach, like student. If I recall correctly, you did the exact same thing a few years ago. You were in that phase where you practically slept at the rink, and by the time we realized you had pneumonia you were on the verge of collapse.”

I have to force myself to laugh at the memory, even though my stomach clenches. Sixteen-year-old me, once again thinking things couldn’t get worse, and then suddenly I’m sleeping—not practically,literally—in the supply closet while telling the Kwans I’m back at my parents’ so I don’t have to feel so bad about them taking me in after I got kicked out. Suddenly I’m hooked up to an IV in a hospital bed while Lian’s informing me that I’m going to be living with her for the foreseeable future.Until you stop being such a bonehead,were her exact words. Lucky thing I was able to coax the uncle of a guy I went to high school with to rent me my place as soon as I turned eighteen (despite my dubious credit score), otherwise I never would’ve freed Lian from having me mooching off her—because I definitely am still a bonehead.

These latest events only go to prove it.

Because, apparently, just as sixteen-year-old me really did believe that, after such a good night, things might finally be okay again, present-day me just keeps making the same mistakes. Really believing that things could ever be okay.

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