Bash adjusted his shirt, which had ridden blessedly up, and said, “It’s not a problem.”
The entire walk off the plane, Adonis was viscerally conscious of Bash behind him.
His phone buzzed in his pocket when it connected to the airport WiFi. He checked it. It was a message from Byron on Instagram.
We just got to Minneapolis. When do u get here?
Adonis typed a reply with his thumbs:
Not for a while. We just landed in O’Hare.
“Are you excited for your last College Ice Con?”
Adonis almost dropped his phone. In imagining all the ways that Byron would make use of the toys Adonis had smuggled in his carry-on bag, Adonis had forgotten Bash was walking behind him in the gate.
He slipped his phone quickly into the pocket of his black joggers. “I am. I’m going to miss it, I think.”
“You are not feeling too much pressure?” Bash asked. They fell into step with the other athletes. Most figure skaters stuck with figure skaters, and hockey players stuck with hockey players. They were the only two currently cross-pollinating, except for Jane and Weston, who were at the front of the group with Anamária, whom Adonis was happily avoiding.
“From my mother, you mean?” Adonis clarified. Bash’s legs were longer than his, but the hockey player had slowed so that Adonis could keep pace with him.
“No, from God.”
Adonis blinked.
Bash gave him a blank look. “It’s a joke.”
“Oh, right.”
“I mean, pressure from your mother, yes.”
“There are some people she wants me to meet here,” Adonis said. “Have you heard of Damien Zelinksi?”
“No.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s a figure skating coach who got famous in the 1990s for winning gold in Nagano. He spends most of his time now as a consulting coach, training Olympic hopefuls. He’s trained six different athletes who’ve medaled in the Olympics. Anamária wants me to work with him.” He snorted. “Seems a bit last-minute for me, but if it’ll make her happy.”
“Last-minute? What do you mean?”
They reached the gate of their next flight. The athletes dispersed to different chairs or to buy overpriced food at the various kiosks.
“I mean, if I’m not good enough to make Team USA, no amount of prestige coaching will get me ready, this close to the Olympics.”
“Let’s sit here,” Bash said, pointing to a row of chairs where no one else sat. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and looked at Adonis once Adonis was seated next to him. “You think you aren’t good enough to make Team USA?”
Bash’s bluntness still surprised Adonis. “I think my mother thinks I’m not good enough yet.”
“I didn’t ask what Anamária thinks. What do you think?”
Adonis paused. “I think I can do it.”
“Good. Then why be worried about this, Mr. Zelinski?”
Adonis smiled. “You’re right.”
“I know I’m right. I usually am.” Bash clapped his hands on his thighs. “I am going to get gross airport food. Would you like to join me?”
“Yeah,” Adonis said. “I’d like that.”
