CHAPTER THREE
Tasha should have left an hour ago, yet she remained in the eerily empty rink. Everyone else had gone home. Oh, she’d been there with no skaters every day, but this was the last time, and her heart bled as if sliced open by a newly sharpened blade.
Enjoy it while you can.
She slowly inspected the interior to make sure nothing had been forgotten. Each crack in the wall or tear in the carpet or ding in a locker brought back a memory, sometimes more. The ache in her heart intensified, each beat of it bringing the final goodbye that much closer.
Tasha stared at the bench where she’d sprained her ankle dancing when she should have been warming up, passed by the spot where Alek’s bloody nose stained the carpet, and touched the rail where she’d been kissed for the first time by Robbie Davis on a dare. She ran her palm against the rail. “Thank you.”
For the good times.And the bad times.
The rink had been a home away from home for much of her life. No one would ever know she’d slept in the office last night. A final hurrah so to speak that included a midnight skate with the music blasting.
Mom’s signature fragrance announced her arrival before her footsteps did. Yelena, an expensive perfume, was named after her and sold in a gold bottle to match the medal she’d won for Russia competing with the Unified team in figure skating nearly thirty years ago.
“I went through the office and snack bar. Your father wants me to pick up dinner on my way home, so it’s time to go.” Mom's designer clothing and glowing skin made her look to be in her late thirties, not her early fifties. But her nonchalant tone bristled.
She tsked. “Don’t pout.”
Mom claimed showing extreme emotions caused wrinkles, but Tasha didn’t care. She gripped the railing like a lifeline. “A few minutes saying goodbye won’t hurt me.”
Mom scoffed. “You’ve been moping around for the past two weeks. And for what? You deserve better than working yourself ragged at this rink.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Is true.” Even though Mom had lived in the US for twenty-nine years, she still had an accent and spoke Russian whenever she could.
“I love this place.” Her parents had built the rink not as a business investment, but so their family could skate without driving an hour and a half away. The ice rink had been more than a place to practice. It kept Tasha from drowning each time her life imploded, which happened even after she’d retired thanks to her former pairs partner vicious lies. “I thought you did too.”
“It served its purpose.”
“For you, maybe.”
Mom sighed, a long exhale rivaling the wind that often whipped off the bay. “You are meant for more.”
“What if I don’t want more?”Oops. Tasha hadn’t meant to be that open…honest.
“Alek—”
“We may be twins, but we’re not the same.” Not even close. Despite training until her body revolted, she’d had to settle for tarnished bronze. Unlike her brother and parents’ gold medal legacy. Her World Champion gold didn’t even count toward the Winter Game tally. “This rink has been everything to me. Even if the new owners ask me to stay on, the renovations will take months.”
Mom sniffed. “Could use a remodel.”
The worn, stained carpet, dingy gray walls, old and dated fixtures needed replacing, but…
What about me?
Tasha bit the inside of her cheek. The metallic taste of blood hit her tongue.
“You’ve been hiding here.” Mom’s accent became more pronounced, a sign she was losing patience. “Is time to move on from the past and live in the present.”
Talk about a toe pick to the forehead.
Tasha’s hands balled. Couldn’t Mom show some compassion? Unfortunately, that wasn’t Yelena Ramson’s style. Mom had earned the nickname Ice Queen for being unflappable in competitions and never showing emotion beyond what the choreography demanded. Strange, when Dad wore his emotions like a favorite T-shirt for all to see. “Mom—”
“You’re a survivor. You’ll survive this.”
“Of course, I will. I’ve survived worse.” Tasha’s voice came out stronger—more confident—than she felt. “I’m also twenty-eight. Old enough to decide how to live.”
