Page 97 of Revolve
“That’s not cheating, Sierra,” Dylan says. “Doing what you need to do to function. To perform. You think taking care of yourself is a shortcut?”
I swallow hard. “You know what I mean. It’s not the same.”
“I don’t,” Dylan says. “Think of it like hockey. I couldn’t play without five other guys on the ice. Doesn’t mean I’m not pulling my weight. Or like skating—we can’t do this without each other. Your medication isn’t doing the work for you. It’s just one piece of the team helping you perform at your best.”
I stare at him. Dylan makes it sound so simple, doesn’t even let me dwell on it.
Dylan holds his hand out to me, and we head to the rink. That’s when I notice what he’s wearing.
“Where did you get that?” My question comes out accusatory, and my face feels like it’s on fire.
My partner follows my gaze to the jacket he’s just slipped on. It’s the Team USA windbreaker customized with my last name on the back. It’s a little tight on him, but of course it still looks good.
“You left it in my car,” he says casually.
“And you kept it? Why the hell would you wear my jacket around like that?” He’s wearing that windbreaker like a medal. Almost like he would wear his own jersey. Full of pride.
“What? Can’t a guy rep his favorite figure skater?”
I deadpan, “You don’t know any other figure skaters.”
“Don’t need to. You’re the only one worth paying attention to.” Dylan pulls me along, and I’m still caught on how my name looks on him when his grip tightens.
“There’s your boy toy.” Justin walks by with a plastic smile. “Since when does he do these competitions?” Dylan asks.
“Since they didn’t get invited to the Grand Prix last year.”
Dylan snorts. “Probably regrets leaving you now.”
“I doubt it. He didn’t look back, just up and left and told my parents he felt terrible, but his parents forced him to decide because they were funding his skating.”
“He didn’t try to talk to you after?”
“He did, but I didn’t care to hear what he had to say. But I’m sure he sees how much I’m struggling. Probably glad he left me. Sometimes, I want to tell him off.”
“He doesn’t deserve a word from you. Not a single breath. Next time he comes up to you, I want you to tell me.”
I nod. “Do you think I deserve this?” I ask without much thought.
“Why does that matter? Do you want it?”
“So badly.”
“Then it’s yours,” he says easily, like it’s the truth.
Once we’re on the ice, it’s like all the nerves that plagued my mind and body just moments earlier disappear. But we’re surrounded by a dozen other skaters who blatantly stare at me. They see me as either an Olympian or the dead girl walking.
“Don’t look at them. Look at me,” Dylan says.
I try to, but then I hear it.No way she’ll make a comeback with the hockey player. Poor thing. They call her the jinx. I heard Petrov was forced to get a new partner.
“What gets you out of your head?” Dylan asks suddenly, pulling me back.
I can’t think, only hear the whispers around me. “It used to be skating. But I don’t know anymore.”
He nods quietly. Then we’re in motion, and boundaries that may have existed on the mats are no longer in place. On the ice, we leave everything in each other’s hands, with complete trust. At least, we try to.
I look at him this time, and I take a breath before Lidia’s calling us over. The only words out of her mouth for the next hour areagainand the frustrated Russian variation,snova.
