“Yup, I get that,” Ben replied good-naturedly. “I’m taking a different approach, and my team atThe Scoreis okay with it.”
It felt like he was a student getting called out for not doing enough work for a presentation.Whywas I trusting him to chart my comeback?
Then again, Ben knew more about my origin story than anyone. He knew nearly all the truths I’d never shared, and despite agreeing to come to this week with a clean slate, there was no way he could truly avoid incorporating everything I’d confided in him. He didn’t need a packet filled with media-friendly pull quotes, because he’d gotten the real story directly from the source.
My pageant queen, borderline-narcissist mother; my absentee, workaholic father; my struggles with disordered eating triggered by abusive coaches; my disdain for the system that valued medals over mental health. I’d spilled it all to him.
And now the regret I’d felt at a low simmer since Switzerland was about to boil over.
In the months after the Games, once I realized that Benwasn’tgoing to be the lifeline I so desperately needed, my anger shifted to embarrassment. I’d exposed my soft, white underbelly to him and he’d rejected me. I was needy, and weak, and a disappointment to the entire world. His rejection of me validated every negative feeling.
Until therapy. With the help of my counselor I was able to reframe what had happened between us. It didn’t make me hate Ben any less for drop-kicking me when I needed him most, but it did prove that his actions weren’t a reflection of my value.
“Okay, let’s go again,” Sarah said, breaking me out of my self-doubt tailspin. “You’re on a roll.”
I nodded and glided back out to the center of the ice.Fun? Allow me to expand your vocabulary, Mr. Martino.
My second run-through was even better than my first. Rather than trying to seduce an entire arena, my focus was solely on Ben. His pen hovered above his notebook while he stared at me.
The fleece came off right before my third run-through. The notebook sat on the boards, untouched.
More feedback from Sarah, some refining, a few laughs, and I was feeling even better than normal. We wrapped up as more skaters started to dot the ice. I prepared for the squeals of recognition when they realized that the mighty Magic Martino was at our humble arena.
Ben seemed to sense it as well and pulled on a baseball cap.
“I’m going to cool down now,” I said to Mel and Sarah, even though they already knew what came next.
“Hold up,” he replied quickly, frowning at me. “Can you and I go skate for a bit? Please?”
Chapter Eight
“Why bother? The cameras aren’t here,” I said to Ben.
Plus I had zero desire to spend any more time with him than necessary. Mel and Sarah picked up on my vibe and quickly packed their things and left us alone.
“I thought it would be fun,” he shrugged.
“If that’s the case we definitely should save it.”
“Are you saying we can’t have fun off camera?”
I pursed my lips and glared at him. “Yes, that’sexactlywhat I’m saying. Have you forgotten everything we talked about yesterday?”
“Yup, got it.” He stood up and walked to the edge of the ice. “You can do what you want, but I’m skating. I don’t get the opportunity much these days. I feel like an addict staring at a pile of cocaine. Ineedthis.”
I watched him pause at the edge then step onto the ice one foot at a time, deliberately, like he was a newbie afraid of slipping.
“Home at last,” he sighed as he glided away from me.
I debated grabbing my stuff and leaving. There was no point in hanging out with him any longer, and I needed to stick to my daily routine.
Then he turned and beckoned me, smiling that irresistible smile as he did effortless backward crossovers.
Damn it. I couldn’t be a total dick to him, especially since it looked like a few skaters had recognized him and were watching us.
“Fine,” I said to myself with a sigh.
I caught up and fell in line beside him. We slid into a natural rhythm, like pairs skaters.
