“That’ll do,” Anamária said. “Bring your skates.”
Adonis ended the call, tossed his phone away, and dove back onto his knees. Guy’s head fell back, and he gripped Adonis’s thick black hair as he released in Adonis’s mouth.
——
Bellford University was one of the top Ivy Leagues in the country. It was known for its medical and law schools, its production of several presidents, and its ice sports teams.
Multiple decades ago, a wealthy alumnus had married an elegant former figure skater, and the two of them became the benefactors of the Trask Ice Rink and the sponsors of Bellford’s figure skating and later hockey team. The hockey team was Division I in the NCAA. Because figure skating wasn’t offered as a varsity sport, it was part of an elite intercollegiate club. Even without the varsity label, it was prestigious.
When it came time for Adonis to pick a college, the choice was obvious. By the time he finished high school, he was already a Junior Olympian and a multi-medalist. His mother was his coach. Bellford didn’t need a coach for their figure skating program. Anamária, an alumna of the college and a former Olympic skater herself (Gold medalist, Women’s Singles, 1994, Lillehammer), had a few words with President Crawford. Suddenly, Bellford needed a coach. Adonis was accepted on a full ride. He started skating for Bellford, and his mother was still his coach.
It wasn’t wise to keep Anamária Costa waiting. She was known among the figure skating team as the Ice Queen, and the Rink was her castle. The team feared her, and Adonis feared her more.
She was in the stands when Adonis arrived at the Rink. Her workout clothes looked like couture. Everyone said that Adonis favored his mother, with their tan skin and wavy dark hair, though Adonis’s light brown skin was several shades darker than his mother’s, and his hair was truly black.
Anamária loved to tell people how she and Adonis had once been mistaken for brother and sister (Adonis was still sure the waiter who’d said it was just hoping for an extra tip). Even though Adonis would never say that she could pass as his sister, Anamária did look relatively young for fifty-three. Theydidlook alike, too, though Adonis was Indian on his father’s side, and peoplelovedto ask him where he was from originally. They were never satisfied with “Connecticut” as his deadpan answer.
“You’re here, good,” she said. She gave him a once-over. She set up a tripod with a camera. “Run your free skate program. HPD asked me to email it to them. TJ Greer—remember him?—broke his ankle after Collegiate Champs and can’t skate in the Cranberry Cup. They want to send you instead, but they need confirmation that you’ve tightened up your free skate. I assured them you have.” She pursed her lips. “I hope you have.”
“I have. Cranberry Cup is next week.”
“Yes, lucky you. Show me you’ve improved.”
Singles skating events were divided into two programs: the short program, which emphasized precision and technique, and the free skate, which allowed greater creativity and artistry. Adonis was an excellent technical skater, but technique didn’t always translate into artistry.
He lost points on his free skate at the Collegiate Champs, yet he still medaled. They said he was too restrained. He had to let go and loosen up. Fat chance, he wanted to tell them. His mother left him no choice but to figure it out. If she had her way, and Anamária Costa always did, he would enter the Cranberry Cup andwinthe Cranberry Cup. Then it would be a merry dance straight to the 2026 Milan Olympics. Then all dreams would come true, and world peace would be achieved.
Loosen up indeed, Adonis thought, and got on the ice.
Chapter 2
Bash
Before the doctor’s appointment, Sebastiaan Koning had seriously considered bribing Dr. Al-Tahawi (Head of Orthopedic Surgery at Bellford University Hospital), Tanner McGee (Athletic Training Director, Bellford University Athletics), and Charles Kurtzman (Head Coach, Bellford University Ravens). He could, and would, pay whatever it took to get them to sign off on his returning to the Rink for his senior year.
He had enough money. Or, his family did. With a few calls, he could have thousands of euros wired to the lot of them. His father would not even notice it missing from the family coffers.
But that would be a scandal. Sebastiaan did not need a scandal.
He needed to get better.
“You’re better,” Dr. Al-Tahawi said.
So, no need for a bribe.
The doctor pointed to the scans of Sebastian’s shoulder, which she had pulled up on her desktop computer. “See?”
Sebastiaan leaned forward. He braced his elbows on his knees. Kurtzman and McGee looked at the screen. They were as interested in his recovery as he was. He was the star of the hockey team. A real money maker for the college.
“I see a scan of my shoulder,” he said.
“Yes. Your shoulder, which is better,” Dr. Al-Tahawi said. She spoke slowly. Sebastiaan didn’t like it when people did that. He was a hockey player. That did not mean he was an idiot. He was Dutch. That did not mean he did not understand English. Dr. Al-Tahawi pointed meaninglessly at several parts of the scans. “All healed.”
Ligaments, Sebastiaan assumed. A muscle or two. Definitely a bone in there.
The same parts of his body that had reacted so poorly when he hit the ice in the NCAA Championship last year. Total shoulder joint separation. Grade III, Al-Tahawi had said. Lucky to ever skate again, McGee had said.
Fuck that, Sebastiaan had said.
