Page 61 of His Reward
Lucien nodded, but I could feel his uncertainty. I answered it through our bond with fierce determination and protectiveness. Lucien sent me a grateful smile in return.
“I’m more worried that Jennifer Collier will try to barge in here somehow,” Oliver said as he joined us at the edge of the rink, where he’d been skating around doing what I assumed were warm-ups. “I don’t know who it was who overheard the fight at the ball, but she was reported to the Central Skating Authority for misrepresenting you in that interview, and now she’s under review.”
“Serves her right for manipulating footage,” Etienne said. He then clapped his hands together and said, “Enough of that. Now it’s time to focus. This is your first time back on the ice, and it’s how we’re going to gauge how much work we need to do before the next Winter Games.”
“Should I be worried that you’re coaching two skaters who will be competing against each other for gold in two and a half years?” Oliver asked playfully, crossing his arms and giving Etienne a look.
“That’s entirely up to Lucien, not me,” Etienne said.
Oliver glanced to Lucien, who laughed. “Just you wait,” Lucien said, tying his second skate tightly then standing. “I’m going to give you a run for your money, Sagwa.”
Oliver laughed, then said, “Bring it on, Monteverdi.”
The pure happiness and sense of fun I felt coming from Lucien was wonderful. I exchanged a glance with Etienne as if the two of us knew Lucien and Oliver would push each other to heights of greatness.
“Are you ready?” Etienne asked.
Lucien took a deep breath and a burst of anxiety wafted from him. I could practically hear all his fears and reservations boilingto the surface. This was a moment almost eight months in the making. It was Lucien’s first time back on the ice. This was when he reconnected with the part of himself he’d almost lost and when he determined whether the goal he’d set for himself was possible.
“I’m ready,” Lucien said at last, blowing out a breath.
He stepped forward, but I caught him before he did, holding his hand. On his skates, he was a few inches taller and closer to my height. “Hey,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Whatever happens out there today, it doesn’t matter. We have an amazing life ahead of us. We’ve got a wedding to plan and a baby to get ready for. However this goes, I’m going to make sure you have the most amazing life, okay?”
Lucien’s eyes were glassy with affection and gratitude as he smiled back at me. “I’m so happy you bought me and rescued me,” he said, even though Oliver and Etienne were looking on. “You give me strength.”
I was moved, too, and to avoid getting all blubbery in front of the other guys, I pulled Lucien close for a quick kiss before letting him go.
Lucien smiled broadly, then turned toward the ice. He took one more, deep breath before stepping through the open section of the boards and onto the ice.
It felt like everyone held their breath as Lucien took his first, tentative glides away from the boards and out to the center of the rink. Etienne and Oliver stayed behind with me, and the few other skaters who Etienne trained seemed to sense the importance of the moment as well and skated to the sides to watch. The only sound in the rink was the sweet pop ballad that played over the PA system.
My heart beat so hard as I watched Lucien skate to the center of the ice. He stopped there and stood perfectly still, his face tilted up as he drew in a few deep breaths. I could feel the painand the joy, the fear and the determination rolling off him, even across the distance. It was so powerful.
After a moment of standing there, Lucien dropped to his knees. I jerked forward a little, worried he was in distress, but Etienne held up a hand and shook his head at me. Lucien bowed his head, then lowered himself even more, prostrating himself on the ice with his arms and legs spread and his left cheek pressed against the ice’s smooth surface.
I blinked when I realized what he was doing. He was hugging the ice. The love and sorrow that I felt from him was unmistakable. He was greeting his old lover, letting it know how much he loved it, and pouring his heart into it. It felt like I was watching something deeply spiritual.
Finally, Lucien breathed in and pushed himself up. He stood, shook his arms and legs out, then moved into a long, smooth glide toward the far side of the ice. I could see the difference in the way he pushed and stroked across the ice, picking up speed as he curved around the far end. He extended his arms as he moved faster and faster. His stance was slightly off as the scarring on his left side prevented him from extending his arm fully, and as I watched, I saw that he struggled a bit with his left leg, but he was skating so much better than I ever could.
“Flexibility,” Etienne said in a low, distracted voice. “Is that because of the scar tissue?”
“Yep,” I whispered, caught up in watching Lucien as he switched to skating backwards, then forwards, then moved his feet in a few baffling ways as he streaked through the center of the ice. I realized then that he was doing what he’d called “footwork” when we’d been watching the Winter Games.
“Do you know if he’ll be able to improve his flexibility?” Etienne asked.
“I think so,” I said. “It’ll take a lot of work.”
Etienne grunted, and we continued watching. After the footwork sequence, Lucien tried a few spins. He was slower than the things I’d seen on TV, and he couldn’t manage one or two of the positions he tried, but he was working hard.
After he broke out of the spins, he skated around the perimeter of the ice again to pick up speed, and in a move that had even my heart in my throat, he threw himself into a jump. He only managed a few rotations and even I could see that his balance was off, but he managed to land it and glide easily away, his arms and legs extended gracefully.
“Excellent,” Etienne called out as Lucien skated over to our side of the ice. “You’re in surprisingly good form for having been off the ice for eight months. I’ll come up with some exercises to get you back where you need to be.”
“Thanks,” Lucien said with a breathless smile as he reached the boards.
He shared that relieved, hopeful, determined smile with me. All I wanted to do was jump over the boards and hug him for all he was worth, but before I could so much as congratulate him for his bravery, my phone rang in my pocket.
I frowned, pulling it out and looking at the number. I didn’t recognize it, but the call was from Barrington and something told me to answer it. “Sorry,” I said, stepping away from the boards, then tapping my phone. “Hello?”
