Page 4 of Oh, Flutz!

“Gordon’ll choke if they try to send him to the Olympics, Lee, you know it.” I literally don’t even know what I’m saying at this point. “You know it, Chris knows it, everyone knows it. He can’t even drive. He doesn’t drive,” I repeat, louder, as if it’ll make more sense that way.

“Bryan—”

“No, no, it’ll be fine. I can do the quads. It’s gonna be fine.” I hastily unzip my jacket pocket and fumble for my phone, unlocking it and racing through my contacts. Damn it, where the hell is his number?

I frantically swipe through the list again. “I’ll call Chris right now, see? I’ll call him, and—and—oh, God,” I blurt out, voice strangling, and my chest starts pounding, I’m losing air and my knees are threatening to give way just like they did on that fucking triple Axel, the one big element I can always count on. Except for today, when everyone was apparently looking. At a skate I didn’t even know would determine the rest of my career. The rest of my life.

I’m going to throw upI’m going to throw up—

“Bryan, breathe, kiddo,” Lian warns, securing an arm under my shoulders to keep me upright, and I gasp for air, my eyes stinging.

“What the hell is wrong with me this year?” I choke. “What the hell is wrong with me? I’m only twenty, this isn’t supposed to happen for--”

“You’re just a different kind of skater,” Lian says softly, and that’s how I know this is really bad, because she’s never this nice to me. “The others have a lot of quads. You’re just different.”

“No, I’m done.” I straighten up, wiping my face roughly. “I’vebeendone. They’re all right. It’s over.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Negative Nancy. What, have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”

I let out a shaky hiccupping laugh, despite the tears blurring my vision. “Um, Lian Chen, Olympic medalist, star coach and insane killjoy?”

“More like Lian Chen, never caught dead without a plan of attack.”

I pause, exhaling slowly to try and get my breathing back to normal, giving her a wary look. “What are you saying?”

Lian raises an eyebrow. “I’m saying never doubt my capability to bring a skater back from the dead.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Something suspiciously like a grin spreads across her face.

“I wasn’t just talking about you.”

Chapter Two

KATYA

ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA

For an instant, I'mflying.

My toe pick sends snow into the air as I pound it into the surface, the takeoff propelling me high into the air for four consecutive rotations.

And just like the snow, I come back down—only much less gently.

I let out a grunt as my backside slams onto the ice with a force roughly eight times my body weight.Again.It’s barely been two hours, but I can already feel the bruises blooming under my skin and my limbs stiffening from the number of times I’ve come crashing down. Which is more than I can count.

For a split second I wish I could just lay down on the ice and close my eyes. It’s seven on a Friday morning, and it’s still the New Year holiday, so there isn’t anyone else in the building. I wouldn’t have to worry about someone skating over my neck and killing me, as appealing as it sounds right now.

Unfortunately, that isn’t an option. So I grit my teeth, bracing my gloved hand against the ice under me to force myself back up. Then I brush away the snow stuck to my pants, and take off before the internal screaming of my muscles gets too loud for me to ignore.

It’s a good thing I can’t hear anything when I’m out here, other than the sound of blades cutting into ice, scratching and ripping into the shiny surface. People usually view the ice as unforgiving. To me, it’s a tool, one I use and can bend to my will.

At least that’s what’s supposed to happen. Lately I seem to be entirely at its mercy.

Out here, though, I can escape. Everything on my mind disappears. So I dig my edges in, speeding across the ice, cold wind biting at my face and making my sweat-plastered hair fly out of the way.

I’m pulled into the familiar rhythms of the same routine I’ve obsessed over for weeks, curving and gliding with the wind blowing my hair back in my face and air rushing in and out of my lungs. The cold stings, but it feels good. You’re always a little short of breath, and your calves are burning, and your toes are crunched to the point you lose feeling in them after a while, but that’s how you know you’re doing it right. If it doesn’t hurt, you’re definitely doing something wrong.

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