“That depends entirely on your definition of stupid,” Dad replied.
I laughed under my breath. “You two….”
“We can’t wait to get there,” Mom continued. “Your father’s already planning where he wants to sit, even though he knows perfectly well the seats are assigned.”
“I like to be prepared,” Dad defended loudly.
“You like to complain in advance.”
“Also true.”
I smiled, listening to them bicker in the background the way they always had.
“It’ll be good having you there. Seriously.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Mom replied.
Dad came back on before she could say anything else. “Just don’t overtrain trying to impress us.”
“I’m an Olympic athlete. Everything I do is technically showing off.”
“That’s my boy.”
I shook my head, still grinning. “Okay, I’m hanging up before this gets worse.”
“Love you,” Mom said quickly.
“Love you too.”
“Proud of you, kid,” Dad added.
That one sent warmth flooding through me.
“Bye.” I ended the call, then let the phone fall onto the bed beside me. I leaned my head back against the wall, listening to the silence that followed.
My head didn’t stay quiet, however. Ethan’s laughter and comments lingered, along with Mark’s warning about distractions.
And then there was Luka.
I’d spent maybe ten minutes talking to the guy. Less. But I could still picture him standing by the bench, shoulders tight, gaze sliding away whenever I looked directly at him.
And then there was the way he spoke.
Not his accent, although that was admittedly distracting.
Luka never seemed to say anything by accident. Every word sounded chosen.
Which, now that I thought about it, was exactly how he skated.
I scrubbed a hand across my face.
This is ridiculous.
Tomorrow I’d be back on the ice.
So would Luka.
Fuck. Mark was right. The Olympics were a terrible place for distractions.
