Page 142 of Oh, Flutz!

“I said I can’t feel my leg,” I repeat, and his eyes go round.

“Don’t freak out,” I warn in vain, blindly turning on my numb foot, keeping my smile stable so no one notices something’s wrong.

“Don’t freak out?” Bryan half-yelps with his face turned away from the crowd, his usual stage expression sliding back into place every time he turns to face them. Some hysterical part of me wants to laugh at how psychopathic this is.

I prepare for the next jump combination, spreading my hands out and glancing behind me, but out of nowhere Bryan grabs my waist, swinging me around and guiding me into more footwork instead.

“What the—”

“Just listen to me. We do the pair spin, then some ice dance stuff— just, go along with whatever I do.”

“Are you insane? We can’t just—”

“Just shut up and listen to me for once in your life. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” is all I can say. There isn’t anything else to say.

Thankfully, there’s less than twenty seconds on the clock and the spin is on my left foot, so once we get out of it I let myself go limp, follow what Bryan does, let him carry me the rest of the way. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the judges frowning over the program sheet, trying to figure out why the hell the last quarter has gone out the window. Every instinct drilled into me by my coaches to never,everdeviate from the program is screaming at me. We’re risking everything right now. I can feel the podium slipping further from our grasp with every passing second.

I’m going to kill him when this is over.

But I keep my mouth shut, and he picks me back up in his arms, spinning us around. Then he puts me down, and somehow without even telling each other we both dive into a lunge, sliding into our end position just as it’s over.

I heave a sigh of relief, but before I can open my mouth to say anything, like,how bad do you think this is going to be,or,what were you thinking, jackass, Bryan picks me up again and starts rushing us to the boards. “Medic!”

“Bryan, I’m fine—” I try, but he shoves past the gaggle of coaches and cameramen so confused they haven’t even pounced on potential drama yet, swinging me back and forth, people dodging my flying blades.

“I need a medic!” he shouts.

Lian pushes through the crowd, worry creasing her features. “What happened? Katya?”

“I’m fine,” I say again, although, even though Bryan’s grip on my back is gentle, it’s still pressing in all the wrong places. I keep a whimper locked in my throat. I’m fine. I’ve skated through sprains, hairline fractures. I’mfine.

Someone directs us to a foldout cot, cameras finally starting to crowd around us, and Bryan lays me down as carefully as if I were glass. Something leaps into my throat at the gesture. I flick my gaze back to him, and he hesitates before averting his eyes.

I guess I’m still not forgiven.

“Where does it hurt?” the medic asks me, probing at my leg, and I shake my head, trying to focus.

“It’s just a little numb.” I make the mistake of wincing when the man’s fingers press down again a little more forcefully, and Bryan glares at me. “Fine. When I landed the jump, I felt it in my back. I thought it would hurt more but it doesn’t. I can’t feel much of anything in my leg.”

“Could she be—is she going to be okay to walk?” Bryan asks, voice cracking.

Oh, god.

“I’ll be fine,” I say quickly, to him, then turn to the medic. “Right?”

The man ignores me, and my pathetic attempts at reassurance. “Any history of numbness? Back issues?”

I hesitate. “Um.”

Lian nods curtly, and Bryan clenches his jaw.

“The feeling’s coming back,” I mumble.

“Turn over on your stomach, please.”

I oblige, and he prods at my lower back. “Anything?”

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