Page 29 of On the Brink of Passion

The ceilings in all the buildings are painted generic white. Nothing to see there. I’m not the best at sitting around and doing nothing, which is maybe why my brain gets impatient and decides to start producing one of those movie-montage things. Scenes of me and Jubilee doing this, but in my bed back in Allston. I can’t imagine Jubilee actually preferring to be in my place over hers, but the fact is that I’ve never seen her place, so I can’t imagine what it would be like to be there, never mind to be in her bed. So my bachelor pad in Allston—within jogging distance to the rink—it is.

That, and taking the T downtown, maybe skating a few laps at the Frog Pond and pretending not to notice the people taking pictures of us. Hell, I’d like to take her on a date. Like a real date. No skates involved. Even though I’m sure we’d end up talking about skating anyway.

I have to can my tame domestic fantasies though, because she’s waking up for real, and if she sees the look on my face, she’ll know. And run screaming for the hills, because that’s what she does. So I try to fake like I’m just waking up, too, when she pushes up on her elbows to face me.

Her face is sunshiny bright, and there’s only one thing that makes Jubilee look that happy. “You ready to skate today?”

Hell yes, I am.

Chapter Fourteen

Jubilee

It’s a terrible habit I have, this needing to know the scores. At some point you’d think Daphne would’ve just started lying to me, but she never has. Never looks happy when she comes to tell me how everyone’s doing, but she does it anyway. Perhaps knowing if she didn’t, I’d just go watch them myself.

Because of the standings, we’ve had a long night of waiting in the wings for the three flights ahead of ours, and we’ve been back here, trying to keep our cool while trying to keep warm. And trying not to freak out. I always get a bit nervy right before competing, but this feels like there’s more on the line than the usual. The “usual” at the SIGs being a gold medal, since we are definitely in the running for first.

Of course I want that. Of course I do. A nice shiny gold to put next to my other one. To be able to say when I’m old and grey that yes, I’d been the very best in the world not once, but twice—for a period of fourteen whole minutes. Because oddly, that’s all it takes. There are, I think, better skaters than me out there. But I have that certain kind of alchemy that’s rewarded by the frankly arbitrary guidelines of my sport. Technical skills combined with making them look pretty, effortless, having the luck of finding a partner who compliments me as well as Beckett does, having a body that can be imprinted with these strange things we force ourselves to do. Plus the psychological fortitude to be able to do these crazy things not just in the privacy of an empty rink but in front of thousands of people, and to be able to hold onto everything I know when it counts the most.

Seven minutes each time, four years apart. These are the tiny slices of time that will define me in the history books. What an odd legacy to leave. I chance a glance over at Beck, who’s keeping his sturdy legs limber and warm by alternately taking little jogs and stretching. Unlike me, he doesn’t want to know how the others are doing until the very end, so he’s careful to keep his headphones on and not make eye contact while Daphne’s here lest he, I don’t know, suddenly develop a talent for reading lips? Foolish man.

Foolish man indeed for having his heart set on me. Why couldn’t things have stayed the way they were? Why couldn’t we have maintained our professional courtesy, our fiercely competitive but distant partnership? In some ways I know we’re a better team for the intimacy that’s developed, but for the rest, my god do I resent it.

Before I can get too mired in wishing things were different or trying to do calculations on what will happen in the next hour or so, I see the flash of Daphne’s snow-white sweater approaching, and the look on her face says it all: we’re up.

Darling Beckett keeps his massive headphones tucked over his ears while we walk to the entrance of the rink for our warm-up, and goes ahead of me and Daphne so she can give me the DL on the last flight of skaters.

“The two Russian teams had very solid skates. If there are mistakes in your flight, they could take advantage to fill the podium. But it’s going to take mistakes I don’t see coming. Not from you and not from their premier pair. Unless something truly bizarre happens, the Canadians aren’t going to be able to fly their maple leaf, and the Chinese are out. So really it’s up to you, Lebedeva and Volkov, Hahn and Ziegler.”

I look at her sideways. “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”

“You mean Todd and Sabrina?”

“Yes, given that they’re in third and only trailing by a few points.”

Daphne snorts derisively and rolls her eyes. “Those two have about as much chemistry as mint and peanut butter.”

“Ew, gross.”

“That’s what I’m saying. They could get away with it during the short program because it’s so focused on skill, and they’ve got decent levels but there’s something off about that pair and it’s going to show hard during their free skate. Just you watch.”

We’ve reached the entrance to the rink, and our on-ice warm-up will start any minute, so I give Daphne a quick nod and then rest a hand on the boards for balance as I strip off my skate guards. Beckett does the same before finally taking off his headphones, relinquishes them to Daphne, and then offers me a hand. When I take it, it’s warm and large and solid. Trustworthy, constant, and strong. Both the very best feeling and the worst, because one way or another, this is the beginning of the end.

Beckett

The warm-up is same as it always is: me freaking out and Jubilee maintaining her cool. Unlike some of the other teams, we don’t practice any of our throw jumps or twists this time, but focus more on getting our muscles primed and ready for the hard work, getting comfortable with each other’s bodies and rhythms again. Jubilee is as familiar to me as the back of my own hand, and yet I still have to learn her every day.

I also have the prickly feeling of being watched. It’s not the crowds, which I’m used to, nor Daphne, who’s got her eagle eyes trained on every move we make in case she’s got a last-minute lecture or correction. It’s also not the occasional glances of other skaters, which you get used to during warm-ups.How are they looking today? How are we stacking up? Is she going to hit that jump?No, it’s not the standard level of attention. It’s something sharper, more concentrated. Something distracting, and I can’t pinpoint it.

Jubilee elbows me in the ribs after we’ve finished going over a footwork sequence.

“What’s your deal, Beckett? You’re not here. Like, more than usual.”

Which is when Todd and Sabrina speed past us, Sabrina up in a lift and yet looking at the ice. In our direction. Why?

“Do you feel like Todd and Sabrina have been eyeing us?”

Jubilee’s gaze flickers over to them as Todd sets Sabrina back on the ice and they glide away from us. Then she shrugs. “They’re in third, we’re in second. They know we’ve changed our program some since the last time they saw us in competition. I’m sure they’re just trying to get a handle on what they’re up against. You don’t need to fall into that same trap, though.” She reaches a hand up to my face, passing a thumb over my cheek. “Just pay attention to me.”

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