Page 103 of The Favorites
“I can’t deal with this now.” I pulled away from him, snatching the choker too. My fingers trembled, but after a few tries I managed to clasp it myself. “We can talk about it later.”
“Katarina, you can’t just—”
I was already walking away. We were minutes from the introduction of the final group. We had to focus. We had to win.
I don’t remember lacing up my skates or removing my blade guards or stepping onto the ice. I don’t remember the group warm-up or the waiting period that followed as the other teams performed their programs. I don’t even remember skating out for the start of our free dance. In my memory of that night, I’m walking away from Heath, and the next second I’m skating with him in the Olympic final.
One thing I can’t forget, though: how fucking furious I was.
Ellis Dean:A journalist never reveals his sources.
Kirk Lockwood:No way was I going to discuss claims from some two-bit gossip blog on the air. Not until the network fact-checkers confirmed the allegations.
In the stands prior to Shaw and Rocha taking the ice, spectators stare at their phone screens and share whispered conversations about the shocking contents of the blog post.
Kirk Lockwood:Not that it made any difference. Back in my day, you had to wait for the evening news or the morning papers. Now everyone has breaking headlines in their pockets.
Francesca Gaskell:Kiss & Cry could be entertaining, but it could also do real damage. Ellis Dean didn’t seem to care either way, as long as he made money.
Ellis Dean:If I posted something that wasn’t true, by all means correct me. I’ll wait.
Veronika Volkova:I had nothing to do with it. As I said at the time.
Backstage before Volkova and Kipriyanov’s free dance, Yelena and Veronika Volkova argue in hushed, rapid-fire Russian.
Producer(Offscreen): Did your argument with Yelena have anything to do with—
Veronika Volkova:I cannot recall.
Tears stream down Yelena’s face, and she points an accusing finger at her aunt. Subtitles translate the few words the backstage mics picked up clearly: “—your fault. You lied to me!”
Veronika Volkova:Yelena could be quite sensitive. She gets it from my sister.
Ellis Dean:There was clearly more to the story. Alotmore.
Veronika Volkova:It is ridiculous. The very idea of I, or anyone else, tearing Katarina Shaw and Heath Rocha apart. No, that they could only do to themselves.
Chapter 60
At first, I convinced myself I was just getting into character.
As sepulchral strings echoed over the sound system, I slithered around Heath, clutching at his costume like I could tear him apart with my bare hands. I was a creature of the night. I wanted to bend him to my will. I wouldn’t stop until I’d consumed him, body and soul.
Our opening twizzle sequence hit on a crescendo of choral wailing, and we whipped around in unison, left legs extended straight out, slicing the air like swords. The closer you spin, the higher the level of difficulty, and we were so close my toe pick snagged Heath’s tailcoat.
A brief bobble, but he saved it, throwing himself into our next dance hold like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to rip my clothes off or wring my neck. He was furious too.
Good,I thought. We could use it—channel our rage, our love, our hate, our lifetime of simmering resentments and jealousies and secrets, spill it all out onto the ice and leave it there.
So when he spun me so hard I heard my spine crack, and I dug my nails in under his jaw until I left marks, I told myself this was what it took to be a champion. You had to be willing to inflict pain and to take it, to sacrifice everything on the altar of your ambition.
Only when it was over did I realize what we’d done.
Our performance had been unhinged—all passion, no precision. I wasn’t even certain we’d completed all the required elements. Heath and I hadn’t competed together during that skate, we’d warred against each other. With the whole world watching.
In our final position, he held me in his arms, dipped so low my hairbrushed the ice, and buried his face in my neck as if he were drinking my blood. At every other competition, applause had roared in our ears while he pressed a soft kiss below my earlobe before setting me back on my feet so we could take our bows.
On February 22, 2010, there were over fifteen thousand people in the Pacific Coliseum, and we heard nothing but silence. Then, finally, a smattering of tepid, uncomfortable applause.
