I can’t blame him on that point. Not when it dovetails so neatly with my own tendencies. How he utilises it, though—that’s the path where we diverge.
No matter how much I lean on people, mould them, influence, and manipulate them into getting what I want, I also recognise their right to autonomy. Whatever intimate games I’ve played, they were spoken and agreed upon before any action was taken.
The only time I dish out pain to someone I care for is when I’m certain it will be appreciated. With Isabelle, I no longer use it for correction; that quickly became unworkable. Not that she needs correction, not from me, not for a long time. She is always and forever my good girl.
“Do you know, I showed this footage to another coach. One who develops talent rather than smothering it. Do you know what he said?”
Jacob whips his head from side to side, eyes continually searching the room for a means of escape.
Good luck with that, mate.
“He said that this team should have been a shoo-in for the Winter Olympics. Their form was exquisite—his word, not mine—and he can’t understand why someone wouldn’t push for them to have every opportunity to excel.”
“That’s what they were training for. You can’t blame me they didn’t make it.”
His lip curls and I sit patiently, watching him, committing his mannerisms to heart.
“Except you put a stop to her career.”
Jacob licks his lips, eyes cutting sideways to the wall where I keep my instruments. Torture isn’t great for eliciting confessions that are worth anything but that’s not what I have in mind today.
There isn’t anything I want from this man but his screams of pain.
“Her weak ankle ruined her career. Not my fault if the girl never learnt to balance on the—”
I punch him while he’s still talking. Because his jaw’s open, the blow does more damage. There’s an audible click when he forces his teeth together and the joint locks back into place.
“Wow,” I say, watching the tears of pain stream down his face. “Bet that was even more painful than it looked.”
“What d’you want, man? I don’t have anything.”
I drag my chair over, taking a seat and meeting his eyes. Being polite only takes a moment. That’s what my adoptive mother always says.
“Why’d you hurt her? If their performances had continued as scheduled, you stood to rake it in from sponsorships.”
“Nobody hurt her. She fell.”
I nod to Yuri who stands hunched over the computer. Considering his attachment to Isabelle, he also has a vested interest in the outcome.
Images are displayed overhead. The hospital records from Isabelle’s emergency admittance. Quotes from surgeons, reports from her physio. The inescapable verdict after months with no improvement—that she’d never skate professionally again.
“These look familiar to you?” I ask and wait patiently for an answer.
“Sure. I did everything I could for that girl. As you so rightly pointed out, when she lost the Olympics, I lost out on a fortune. Ten years, I coached her and just when I should have been recouping my investment, she went and landed her jump wrong.”
“You changed the blades on her skates.”
He snorts and shakes his head, eyes glued to mine as he minutely tracks my every movement. “Is that what she told you?”
“Shedidn’t tell me anything. I asked around.”
“Sure. And everyone trotted out the line they thought you’d be most likely to believe. Doesn’t take a genius to work out you’d come down on her side but that also doesn’t make it true.”
“Lots of those same people testified against you when she filed for the protective order.”
“If you did your research, you’d know most of them didn’t make it into court when it came time to back up those statements. The moment there were real-life consequences if they continued to spout their lies, they stopped.”
“Lots of people don’t want to go to court. Doesn’t mean their initial statements weren’t the truth.”
