Dean
“You sure about this?”Mark asked as we waited outside the media room. “We can postpone it. No reason to rush this. You’ve already faced the press once.”
Luka adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, a habit I’d started recognizing whenever he forced himself under control. He looked exhausted, as though he’d been holding tension inside him for way too long.
That’s because he has.
“We need to get ahead of the curve,” he said. Then he let out a short breath. “Bože. Listen to me. I sound like a federation statement.”
Mark snorted. “That alone tells me you’re concussed.”
Luka rolled his eyes. “I blame your skater. When he is near, I cannot think clearly.”
I buffed my nails on my jacket. “Damn, I’m good.” They both laughed. “Thanks for organizing this, Mark.” Then I remembered. “And in case I didn’t mention it, thanks for the Valentine’s Day gift. It was awesome.”
Luka’s eyes widened. “Yes. I must thank you too.”
I swear Mark flushed. “Okay, you can stop right there. You’ll give me a swelled head. Now let’s go give those reporters something toreallywrite about.” He opened the door and guided us inside.
The room carried none of the charged chaos of the mixed zone. The atmosphere had a quieter kind of intensity. Journalists filled the rows of chairs facing the platform, cameras already recording while reporters murmured to each other and checked notes on glowing screens.
Waiting.
I smiled to myself.Looks as if they’re trying to decide whether they’re about to witness damage control, scandal, or history.
Luka walked beside me, and I could feel the strain running through him, every line of his posture held too carefully in place, his breathing measured.
He sat first, and I took the chair beside him, angled toward the room while the moderator thanked everyone for coming. Luka kept his gaze forward, expression composed enough that most people there would probably mistake it for calm.
I knew better.
Mark stood at the side, arms folded, his gaze protective.
The moderator glanced at the audience, and the murmurs died away. He turned to Luka. “Would you like to begin?”
Luka nodded, taking a breath, and I mentally sent him all the positive vibes I could muster.
“What happened after the medal ceremony was not planned for public attention,” he said, his voice even. “That moment belonged to us. The Games are over now—for Dean and I at least—and we felt it was important to acknowledge what people saw without turning our private lives into speculation.”
The room got very quiet.
He rested both hands on the table before continuing.
“I am proud of my skating career. I am proud of Dean. Beyond that, I am not interested in dissecting our relationship for public consumption.”
No one made a sound for a second after he finished. Then pens started moving again and phones were raised higher, reporters exchanging glances across the rows.
The moderator cleared his throat. “We’ll open the floor for questions now.”
A journalist near the front raised her hand. “Luka, how long have you and Dean been together?”
Luka didn’t rush his answer. “Long enough that this matters deeply to both of us.”
We’d agreed on the best way to handle this. The last thing we wanted was to give anyone an invitation to pry further.
Another reporter jumped in before the first had lowered her microphone.
“Dean, were you concerned about the consequences of making such a personal moment public?”
