Below it, a grainy photo taken at what looked like a competition afterparty. Théo and Nico standing close together, Nico’s hand on Théo’s lower back. The way they were looking at each other—it was obvious, at least to me. You didn’t look at a friend like that.
Here they are at 2024 Nationals. Notice the body language.
Another photo. Théo mid-laugh, Nico watching him with naked adoration.
And here’s Théo leaving Nico’s hotel room at 6am after the 2023 Grand Prix. Make of that what you will.
The comments underneath were a cesspool.
I always knew there was something going on between them. The chemistry was off the charts.
Théo left Toronto and then Nico overdoses a few months later. Coincidence? I think not.
Honestly if Théo broke his heart and that’s why he did this, I will never forgive him.
Théo always gave me bad vibes. Too cold. Too calculating. Pretty face but dead eyes.
I tossed the iPad aside.
My chest was tight. My hands were shaking. I wanted to reach through the screen and defend him—to tell these strangers who thought they knew him that they didn’t know anything. That Théo wasn’t cold, he was guarded. That he wasn’t calculating, he was surviving. That those “dead eyes” came alive when he laughed, when he skated, when he looked at me like I was something worth looking at.
But I couldn’t say any of that. Because officially, I was just his brother’s teammate. Just a friend. Just nobody.
I switched off my bedside lamp and pulled the covers up, but sleep wouldn’t come. I tossed and turned, a low thrum of anxiety and anger buzzing under my skin.
I kept picking up on my phone from its charging station, looking for a text that never came. Around 3 a.m., I gave up and went back to Reddit. Read more threads. Tortured myself with more photos of Théo and Nico—at competitions, at galas, at what looked like a private dinner where someone had snapped a picture through a restaurant window.
They looked good together. Young and beautiful and perfectly matched in a way that made something twist painfully in my gut.
He’s there for Nico right now, I reminded myself.That’s where he should be. This isn’t about you.
But the selfish part of me—the part I wasn’t proud of—couldn’t stop wondering if he’d remember he had someone waiting for him in Chicago.
???
The next morning, I showed up to weight training on four hours of broken sleep and a dangerous amount of caffeine.
Petrov took one look at me and frowned.
“You look like shit, Sully.”
“Thanks. Very helpful.”
“I’m serious.” He racked his weights and turned to face me fully. “What is going on with you?”
“Nothing. Just didn’t sleep well.”
He studied me with those sharp, assessing eyes. Petrov wasn’t the type to pry—he usually let things go if you didn’t want to talk about them. But something in my face must have given me away.
“This have something to do with… Théo?” he asked, lowering his voice.
I stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not blind, Sully.” He shrugged. “I see how you look at him. How you been… different lately. Happier.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “And now you look like someone kick your dog. So is he okay?”
I should have denied it. Should have kept up the pretense that Théo was just a friend, just Avery’s brother.
Instead, I exhaled and rubbed a hand over my face.
