Page 85 of Revolve
“Where is home?” I ask.
“With me.”
THIRTY-ONE
DYLAN
SIERRA LIKES TOpunish herself. And not in the good kind of way that I can help with.
I noticed it in the way she never goes out, or how she never packs a snack to practice. Like she doesn’t deserve even the simple pleasure of a protein bar or a plain sandwich. Now, seeing her standing there, in the middle of my bathroom, makes me so inexplicably angry, I can barely look at her.
When I went to her dorm to check on her, Scarlett was already heading out to do the same thing. She thought Sierra was at the rink because she never misses dinner. My heart was in a vise until I found her.
“Here.” I hand her a towel, but she doesn’t take it. Her gaze warms my face, but I don’t look. Ican’t. If I see her soaked, trembling frame, there is no guarantee I won’t find Justin Petrov and bash his fucking face in. Everything she said to me while she stood on that ice made it clear that her mindset is a culmination of all the shitty things she learned while skating with him. That she’s only as valuable as her performance on the ice. It’s bullshit.
And I know my anger is heightened because I watched the fucking video. I didn’t want to see her like that, but when Kian played it, I watched a few seconds before nearly breaking his phone.
Justin had dropped her. She shouldn’t have had to get hurt like that and spend months rectifying it when everyone else just gets to move on.
“Take it, Sierra. You need to shower, or you’ll get sick.”
“H-here?” Her voice is raspier than usual, frayed by the frustrated scream she let out on the ice.
“Yeah, in my shower.” I don’t wait for her to respond. Instead, I move toward it and turn the temperature high enough for her. The silence stretches between us, thick and tense.
“Why aren’t you looking at me?” Sierra’s voice trembles with an edge of hurt.
I swallow hard, keeping my gaze fixed on the faucet. “Because I don’t want to say the wrong thing and watch you retreat into your head. I want you here.”
What I don’t expect is Sierra grabbing my shoulder, yanking me to face her. Her eyes blaze with irritation. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m some head case?” she demands. “I didn’t ask for your help, Dylan.”
A sort of emptiness sweeps across her grass-colored eyes like toxic gas, choking the fire they usually hold.
“You should have,” I say roughly. “Because when I told you I’m here for you, Sierra, you chose to do it alone instead. You chose skating on crappy ice over me.”
She sighs, absently playing with the wet hem of her sweater, the weight of my words hanging in the air. “I—I just—” She deflates, like she’s letting down a wall. “If I’m not perfect, all of it will be for nothing,” she says quietly. “All the medical bills, the years of training, the Olympics. It means every broken, crumbling, rotten part of me will be worthnothing.”
She breaks into a sob, her shoulders shaking from the force of it. I don’t ask this time. I pull her right into my arms, and she clutchesmy T-shirt. The wetness of her tears warms my shirt, and my chest splits wide open.
I rub her back. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”
She sniffles. “How do you go from having your health, your career, and your people, to losing it all within minutes? My body isn’t even there for me anymore. I can’t even count onmyself. I was at the peak of my career, and now I can’t step on that ice without feeling my body break.” Her voice cracks on the last word.
“I’ve loved this sport for so long, Dylan, but I’m starting to hate it. I hate what it’s done to my body, I hate what it’s done to my head, and I hate the person it’s made me. I always thought winning gold would mean something. And when it didn’t, I tried again. But when my head hit the ice, I lost everything. Then I watched it replayed online, because no one had the decency to delete the videos. All I am is a curse.” She can barely speak through her sobs. “Sometimes, I feel like the old me is so far from who I am now, that if I ever got the chance to return, I wouldn’t recognize her.”
I pull back to cup her face. “You didn’t deserve any of that, Sierra. I’m sorry you went through it alone.”
Sierra shakes her head. “But I wasn’t alone—”
“I’m sorry you thought the people closest to you wouldn’t understand,” I rectify.
Her lips tremble, and then her body shakes so uncontrollably my arms aren’t enough to stop it. I feel so fucking useless, desperate to make her laugh, to make her feel better. But when she slumps forward and leans on me, I know she trusts me to hold her together.
“You’re still here, Sierra,” I whisper. “Doing it all again with everything you have. And I know you’ve spent your career thinking it’s easier to bear it all yourself, but you don’t have to anymore. Not when I’m here.”
She doesn’t pull away as I gently wipe the tears from her face. “I hate crying.”
“You shouldn’t,” I say softly, my thumb brushing the wetnessaway, my heart aching for her. “You’re not supposed to have one emotion at all times. You can cry, it doesn’t make you weak. Took me a while to realize that letting it out isn’t a bad thing.”
