The table expanded around the newcomers the way our table always did—Petrov immediately engaging Hana because Petrov engaged everyone, Jensen leaning across to say something to Avery about this afternoon’s skate. Someone brought up Detroit, our biggest rival and universally despised and the conversation caught fire the way it always did when Detroit came up. Théo sat with his drink when it arrived, sleeve still pulled over one hand as he held the glass, and watched the room with those dark, assessing eyes.
I wasn’t staring but I was aware of him. The way you’re aware of something slightly out of place in a familiar room—not alarming, just present.
Volsky left without announcement around ten. One moment he was there, finishing his drink, and the next his chair was empty. Going to pick up Bradley from O’Hare, he’d mentioned earlier, with that barely there shift in his expression that happened whenever Bradley came up.
I stared at his empty chair for a moment too long.
I missed the simple domesticity of being in a relationship—having somewhere to go after the bar, someone to text when the game went well or badly, someone who knew how I took my coffee without asking. Mackenzie had been my whole adulthood. A future I’d treated like a guarantee.
Starting over at 28 didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like standing at the edge of something big and dark.
I drank my beer and looked somewhere else.
Shortly after, a song came on that made Hana grab Avery’s arm with sudden urgency. “We’re dancing,” she announced, in the tone of someone who was not making a request.
“I don’t know how—” Avery started.
“You absolutely do. I’ve seen you. Come on.” She was already pulling him toward the small cleared space near the back.
Avery shot me and Théo a look over his shoulder that was equal parts amusement and mild suffering. I raised my drink. He went.
Which left Théo and me at the end of the table, the rest of the group loud and self-contained enough that we existed in a pocket of relative quiet.
He looked down at his drink, sleeve still pulled over his hands. Not uncomfortable exactly—or if he was, he wore it like armor. Most people met my friendliness halfway. Théo didn’t. And I couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t trust me or because he didn’t trust anyone.
“How long have you been figure skating?” I asked.
His eyes lifted from his glass. “Since I was seven.”
“Singles the whole time?”
“Yes.” He looked away.
“I looked you up after we met yesterday,” I said.
“Oh?” He stilled but otherwise didn’t react to this nugget of information.
“You landed a quad axel in competition,” I said. “I watched the clip like six times and I still don’t fully understand how a human body does that.”
The stillness shifted into something else. Not quite softened, but changed—like a frequency adjusting.
“It’s just physics, really. I wasn’t the first to land one. There are better skaters that make it look even more effortless.”
“I didn’t mean—” I shook my head. “It was amazing, Théo.”
He stared at his glass, jaw tight. “Thanks.”
I tried again. “How long have you been skating competitively?”
“Since I was nine.”
“That’s a long time. You must love it.”
Something flickered across his face—there and gone. “I used to.”
“Used to?”
“It’s complicated.” He took a sip of his drink, clearly hoping I’d take the hint and drop it.
