I didn’t. “When’s your next competition?”
“I don’t know if there’s going to be a next competition.” The words came out clipped. He caught himself, exhaled slowly. “Sorry. That was—” He shook his head. “I’m having an existential crisis about my skating. You don’t need to hear about it.”
“A crisis?” I kept my tone light but my brain snagged on something else—Avery. The two of them didn’t seem close. Avery never shut up during workouts and yet last week was the first time I’d ever heard him mention his brother.
Something had brought Théo to Chicago. And the more I watched him, the more I suspected it wasn’t just“a change of scenery.”
“There’s a ceiling,” he said, matter-of-fact. “You can be the most technically gifted skater on the ice and they’ll still find a way to tell you something’s missing.”
“Is that what you believe? Or just what they told you?”
He looked like he was going to brush me off. Instead, he exhaled—small, controlled. “There’s always someitfactor,” he said, frowning at the glass in front of him. “My coach thought I lacked maturity. Emotional depth.” He glanced at me, then away. “At 21.”
“So that’s it? You’re not skating anymore?”
“I haven’t decided.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll retire at the ripe old age of 21.”
I watched him for a moment. There was something coiled in the way he talked about it—not bitterness exactly, more like deflation. Like he had taken something painful and compressed it into the smallest possible shape so it would take up less room. I recognized the architecture of it. I had built similar structures myself.
“But the Olympics,” I said. “Milan. Is that still—” I caught myself, hearing how it sounded. Prying into something that wasn’t any of my business. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
He looked at me, tilting his head like he was deciding whether he could trust me with the answer.
“It’s been the goal since I was nine,” he said finally. “Whether it still is possible depends on a lot of things.”
“Your hiatus?”
“Among other things.”
I nodded but didn’t push. “I played for Team USA three years ago. Bronze. Avery’s got his eye on Team Canada.”
Something flickered across his face. “He’s mentioned it.”
“That’d be something—going to the same Games as your brother.”
“Maybe for other siblings.” He paused, choosing his words with care. “Growing up, I was always Mathéo, Avery’s little brother. That’s how people introduced me—like I was an appendix to him, not a person in my own right.” His eyes flicked up, then away. “Théo was supposed to be my escape hatch. New sport, new name, new me.” A brief, humorless laugh. “Turns out it’s hard to outrun your own family.”
He took a sip of his drink.
“Besides, the Olympics loves a heartwarming story. Two Beaubien brothers, same Games, different sports? They’d eat that up. Package us into some narrative about family and perseverance that has nothing to do with reality.” His mouth twisted. “I’ve had enough of performing for cameras.”
I tried to lighten the mood. “I bet you’re a better skater.”
He looked at me with those dark, serious eyes, and for a moment I thought he was going to deflect.
“By a significant margin,” he said.
I laughed. “Would you say that to his face?”
“Sure.” A beat. “When he comes back, I’ll tell him.”
A comfortable enough silence settled between us. Théo lifted his drink, sleeve still pulled over his hand like a habit he didn’t notice anymore.
“Hey—” he said. “What should I call you? Sullivan. Sully. Derek?”
“Take your pick,” I said. “What suits me?”
“I can’t get away with Sullivan, too sporty. Sully makes you sound sad.”
