“Alright, send her our love,” Holden says and exits the car. Sergio follows him out of the garage and around the house to head down to the barn.
“Awfully presumptuous of you to assume I send any love to Daphne,” Sergio says once they are out of earshot of Adrien.
“Oh, come on. She’s nice.”
“So nice she turned my brother against me.”
Holden lets out a sigh. “Sergio, she didn’t do that, and you know it.”
Sergio shrugs and slips his hands into his coat pockets. “I don’t know what I know anymore, except that Adrien has quit on me.”
“He didn’t quit on you,” Holden assures and blows on his hands to warm them up. “He’s doing what’s right for him. And, honestly, for you too, even though you don’t see it.”
Sergio shrugs again. “Maybe. I guess I could hire someone else.”
“Or you can start doing more of this on your own. Stop hiring people to make your life easier.”
“Isn’t that the purpose of hiring people?”
“Isn’t that the real reason Adrien quit? You may have been paying him, but you never treated him like he had a choice in being there.” Holden opens the barn door, effectively ending the conversation as he ushers Sergio through.
Upon entering the rink, Sergio is met with something unexpected. He thought he was going to see Henry clumsily scooting around on skates, not sitting on the low, raised ledge on the entrance side of the ice, watching Jeremy skate in graceful loops and turns. His legs, his body, his arms are making impossibly lovely shapes that move in time with the sound of Chris Issack’s voice crooning,Wicked Game,which is softly playing over the speakers.
“Well, this song is a little on the nose, don’t you think?” Sergio says to no one in particular as he watches Jeremy move, carrying himself on the ice with more confidence and comfort than he seems when he’s in shoes on regular ground. It’s not an advanced routine, he’s not doing any jaw-dropping jumps, fast spins, or overly complicated footwork, but it is soothing to watch regardless. Perhaps even more so without the heightened stakes of show-stopping tricks. It’s pure unbridled movement, flowing to the melody and punctuating the lyrics. It's also surprisingly sexy.
“Hey, guys!” Holden yells out, announcing their arrival. Jeremy puts a pause on his moves, and Henry waves so enthusiastically from his seat on the low ledge that he falls ontothe ice, laughing. Holden moves quickly to help him off the ice and back onto the low ledge to sit. He looks at Jeremy. “Routine is looking good. Legs feeling alright today?”
“Yeah,” Jeremy says, smiling. His cheeks are flushed, but not from exertion or the cold needed to maintain an ice rink. This is a happy blush. One Sergio hadn’t realized he missed seeing until now.
“I thought you weren’t competing anymore,” Sergio says, standing against the waist-high wooden wall that lines the rest of the rink.
“I’m not,” Jeremy says and grabs a bottle of water that’s resting not far from where Sergio is standing.
“So, what’s with the routine?”
“Just an excuse to skate, I guess,” Jeremy says, the attractive blush disappearing from his cheeks as he takes a sip of water and averts his eyes from Sergio’s. He turns his attention back to Holden and Henry. “What time are we leaving tonight?”
“A little before eight,” Holden says. “We gotta drop Henry off at the Weirs’ on the way.”
“Alright. I’ll meet you up at the house in a bit, then,” he says, sliding a blade guard onto his right skate before he steps off the ice, holding onto the wall by Sergio for balance and continuing to avoid Sergio’s attempt to make eye contact. He then slides a guard onto his left skate and walks away from them.
“See you later, Jeremy,” Holden calls after him as he lifts Henry off the ground and places him on his shoulders.
“Did I say something wrong?” Sergio asks.
“Well, you didn’t say anything right,” Holden answers, laughing lightly.
Sergio is sulking, licking his wounds by way of a whiskey neat at the far corner of the bar at the goldenly lit Grand Olympian Hotel. The New Year’s Eve party is effervescent and alive with the who’s who of Lake Placid elites preparing to count down to the start of a promising new year. Millionaire sports stars and businesspeople are mingling together, glad-handing and verbally promising endorsements or appearances, or soliciting sponsorships.
With the Winter Olympics fast approaching once again in only six short weeks, the rush to associate oneself with the next big star in sports is running at full tilt. This should be where Sergio shines. Showing off his connections and who he knows, and most importantly, taking pictures of everyone and making sure the right ones land on the right pages of the right sports magazines, gossip columns, or business press releases is his specialty.
But instead, he’s moping and nursing his drink.
“What’s wrong?” Adrien asks as he squeezes in beside him. “You’re not still upset about earlier, are you?”
“No,” Sergio lies and takes another sip of his whiskey, draining his glass. The acute burn of the drink as it slides down his throat is soothing.
Adrien orders him another one and a gin and tonic for himself. “As your assistant—”
