I snorted. “You have been late about twice in eight years. Being late on the first day after we’d slept together was suspicious as hell. I’m not that dumb.”
“I didn’t say you were dumb.”
“You implied it,” I retorted. From somebody else, it could have been a valid excuse, but only an idiot would buy it from him. “And I see you aren’t denying it.”
He shifted his bag awkwardly and glanced at the clock, several feet above my head and to the left. “I probably should’ve realized that you would pick up on that.”
“Oh, you definitely should have realized it,” I said. “We can read each other too well. Not that I need to know you well to know that Dominic Hughes isn’t somebody who runs late.”
“Not regularly, but everyone has days where they sleep in or their car won’t start or they get caught in unexpected traffic,” Dom countered.
“Yeah, but if one of those things were true, you wouldn’t be acting the way you are,” I argued back. “You lying about the reason you got here late isn’t what I wanted to talk about, though. We need to talk about what happened.”
That was the wrong thing to say. “Thinking about what happened was the problem today. Getting fixated on it won’t help. We need to get back to normal. One wasted day is more than enough.”
There was stinging behind my eyes. “I know today was bad, but I don’t think ignoring our problems is going to help anything.”
“I’m not saying to ignore our problems. I’m saying that we should try to get back to what’s worked for us for years.” He shuffled his feet. Clearly, he couldn’t wait to get out of here and away from me. “I don’t want to change anything this season. I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks.”
“Fine,” I snapped. I hadn’t meant to sound so aggressive, but my tone was harsh. “We will just pretend you never made the mistake of hooking up with me and go back to being just friends. Although let me remind you, people have been assuming we’re friends who have been hooking up for years.” I turned on my heel and went to grab my own things.
There was a dramatic sigh behind me. “Hazel, come on. Don’t try to make me sound like a dick.”
I balled my hands into fists. Turning over my shoulder, I said, “I’m not trying to do that. You’re doing a fine job all on your own.” Hurt crossed his face, but I didn’t apologize for lashing out at him. He had started it. If he couldn’t take it, he shouldn’t have dished it out first.
I had my guard up for a retort, but none came. All I heard was the sound of his footfalls growing softer, fading as he walked down the hall. Digging my fingernails into my balled-up sweater, I closed my eyes. So much for moving past our problems.
Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Ilikedtothinkofmyself as a consummate professional when it came to figure skating. I never showed up unprepared, whether it be a competition or training. My coaches, choreographers, and even my physical therapist knew that I would have done all the work they’d told me to do at the end of our last meeting. Even when it was something I hated or felt pointless, I would do everything to prepare. Knowing everything backwards and forwards gave me the confidence I needed for performances. It wasn’t enough to exude confidence; I had to be supremely confident. And for several years I’d achieved just that. The Grand Prix Finals was the first time in ages I felt none of that.
My friends always asked me to apply their false lashes before we went out, because I’d had so much practice. Even after a few drinks, I could get them on with a steady hand on the first try. But sitting in that Swedish dressing room, stone cold sober, I couldn’t get my hand to stop shaking. Instead of projecting confidence, I was cursing under my breath as I tried to removeexcess lash glue from my eyelids without taking off all the eyeshadow I’d worked so hard on.
Dom and I had been doing our best to put up a good front in front of people, but there were too many problems between us. Neither of us had apologized to the other for the words we had exchanged that Monday afternoon. In fact, we hadn’t brought the argument up at all. Somehow I had defaulted to doing what he suggested, and we pretended that the fight hadn’t happened. I felt some vindication in the fact that neither of us was getting exactly what we wanted, but a sense of dread overpowered it. He had hoped that we would go back to being like we always were if we didn’t have the discussion. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. I'd started having as many issues with eye contact as he did. My mind bounced between our night together and the fight. Both situations made me uncomfortable, albeit for different reasons.
Every morning, I’d hoped it would be the day he would come around, but it had never happened. We had spent the last couple of weeks putting on our best faces for people, only to drop the act when we were alone. Silence between us had never been an issue before. If there was a conversational lull, I had always known we could pick back up when we had something to say without skipping a beat. That was yet another thing that had slipped away. The silences between us now felt like they were aching to be filled, but neither of us knew how to do it. Hell, maybe he didn’t even want to fill them. It had made for a very long, uncomfortable trip overseas. When you were stuck in a cramped airplane seat next to somebody who was doing their best not to talk to you, a trans-Atlantic flight might as well take an eternity.
Now that we were so close to the short program, I was regretting our standoff. It was like a game of chicken, where we were both convinced that the other would be the one to give before we crashed. With every passing day, I had been certainthat he was going to crack under the pressure and try to mend fences. By the time I wondered if maybe he wouldn’t, I was uncomfortable bringing it up. After more than a week, it seemed smarter to let go of my frustration than to talk about it again. I doubted that a conversation would do more than reignite the hurt feelings, and that was probably worse than the status quo.
Getting ready for the short program, I questioned that decision. We weren’t screwing up constantly in training, but that was the only positive thing I could say. I would never admit out loud that I wasn’t hoping for a personal best this time around. Not when I’d spent two weeks being told that we weren’t doing as well at everything from our side-by-side spins to our footwork.
Olga had given us variations of the same critique repeatedly. We needed to look effortless. Judges do not want to see you working to match your partner. Don’t let people see you struggle. Different words, but the same sentiment over and over. Unfortunately, it was hard to make things seem easy when you were struggling to skate as one with your partner for the first time in years.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my headphones. I needed to distract myself from my racing thoughts. I usually saved the music for later, but I thought it was best that I drown out the voice in my head telling me that I was in trouble. If I didn’t get my act together soon, I wasn’t going to have time to perfect my makeup. I didn’t need to look like a hot mess, even though I felt like one.
A few minutes later, I found Dom standing near the tunnel we would take to walk out onto the ice. His shoulders sagged and he was staring ahead, though it looked like he wasn’t registering anything. He was attempting to crack his knuckles while he stared, while also shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Damn, he was nervous.And not just the typical pre-skate nerves, this was more than that. He was overflowing with nervous energy that his body just didn’t know how to get out, judging by the rocking. I clearly wasn’t the only one who felt like we were in trouble.
I swallowed hard and tugged at the zipper of my jacket. But no matter how hard I pulled, it wouldn’t budge. I looked down, worried that it had broken and that I would be stuck in this stupid jacket when they called my name. Thankfully, it seemed fine. I’d been tugging at it to go up, even though it was already at the top. Clearly it wasn’t warm enough, because I had a chill.
I walked over to stand beside Dom. I swallowed hard. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said. He didn’t take his eyes off the spot in the distance. “It’s almost time.”
“Yeah,” I said, before we lapsed into silence again. I wanted to grab his hand and pull him close. I wanted him to say that everything was fine, that we were going to be fine. I needed to hear that everything wasn’t about to come crumbling down. But he said nothing, so I didn’t either.
