“Oh, they’reamazingskaters. I love both of them. I respect their talent. But I don’t focus on what everyone else is doing, you know? I’m all about bringing my best to the ice. Obsessing about other people shifts my focus.”
I saw something flicker across his face. It’s what we’d both been insisting since the first morning at Eagle Diner.
“Speaking of focus, there’s been plenty of attention on yourskates. Those black skates and blades. Women have skated in white skates basically forever and men in black, so why are you bucking tradition?”
“Who decided that men get to wear black and women have to wear white?” I demanded. “White skates are easier to scuff up, so why would I opt for them over black, which stay looking good basically forever? It’s a silly tradition that means absolutely nothing and I’m not going to be forced to adhere to it without a good reason. I like the way black looks, and I don’t think that wearing white solely because ‘that’s the way it’s always been’ is enough of a reason to do so.”
“Bold stance,” Ben said with an approving nod. “But I guess that’s how you roll these days, right?”
“I’m glad you noticed,” I laughed.
“Oh trust me, it’s hard to miss.”
We shared a moment that all the world would see, but somehow it felt like it was just for the two of us.
Chapter Thirty
When I picked up Ben’s FaceTime call a week after Connecticut, I couldn’t tell if his expression was angry or sad, but I knew for a fact that whatever had him breaking our agreed-upon low-contact scenario with just three weeks left until Italy couldn’t be good. We’d mapped out a communication strategy that worked for both of us; occasional texts and nothing more until I was post-events in Italy and he’d locked down his position atThe Score.
“Sorry for calling,” he said, his eyebrows pinching closer. “Is now an okay time to talk?”
My mouth went dry. I was on the couch after a grueling day, strapped into my massage compression pants. It was supposed to be my recharge time, not processing whatever had Ben all stressed out.
“What’s wrong?” My stomach twisted preemptively.
I came up with a million scenarios as I waited for him to say something.
“So, the trailers for your show are going to start airing tomorrow. I, uh... need to go over some stuff with you.”
His face went even more pained. It didn’t compute, because Ben always managed to find the sunshine in every scenario.
“You know that you and I were on the same page about the story we were telling, right?”
The joy of seeing him kept bubbling up inside me despite all the red flags from what he was saying. My body repeatedly tried to remind me that it wasBen, yay, you’re happy! The tingly, excited feelings went to war with whatever worry was creasing his face.
“I do,” I answered in a shaky voice. “Why? Did something happen?”
He nodded, his expression tightening even more. “They changed my edit. Without my knowledge or permission.”
I felt my face collapse into a frown that matched his. “But I was there for like eighty percent of filming and I was totally comfortable with everything. The only part that was dicey was the solo interview you did with my parents.”
“Which I managed like a conductor.” Ben leaned closer to the screen and lowered his voice. “And I deleted any footage that was questionable. Let’s just say that your mom won’t get all of the airtime she’s hoping for, because a good part of her interview disappeared. Somehow. Which is a major editorial transparency breach.”
“Wait, are you serious?”
He nodded, looking grim. “I didn’t get rid of anything that could change the narrative. I was just making sure that your story remained yours, the way you want to tell it.”
“But isn’t that like, tampering? Can you get in trouble for it?”
“If they find out, yeah, I could. There’s probably something about content ownership in the contract I signed, plus there’s possible reputation damage to me if it gets out. Neil, Hailey, and I agreed to keep the deletions to ourselves.” He paused. “After a conversation about their own little ethical breach.”
“You threatened toexposethem?” My head started spinning at the developing soap opera.
“God no, no threats. I just pointed out how we were all sidestepping the rules in our own ways.”
I much preferred him Mister Rogers–ing them to a conclusion over strong-arming them.
“So how bad is it? The edit?”
