Page 107 of Ice Dance

“It’s fine. I’ll go find him. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I shoved on my sneakers, lacing them up with trembling fingers, and jogged out of the rinkside. He wouldn’t have left the rink without his skates. He’d be here. Somewhere. I wasn’t running, but I was close to it. I checked the men’s room, then the lockers.

Maybe he hadn’t seen the pills? Maybe he’d just gone for a walk to clear his head. But he never did that. He was always dialed into the rink. He didn’t just up and leave unless something had spooked him.

His coat hadn’t been by our bags.

He’d gone outside.

I rushed out the front, into a blast of December air in. The skintight Lycra costume I wore wicked all the heat from my body. The street, cars, people passing by. No Hasegawa. He may just have upped and left his gear behind, if he was really hurt.

Fuck.

I headed back inside, to the rink and Dylan still standing by our bags.

Most of the banks of spectator seating were empty. He wouldn’t be up there, but I looked anyway. My gaze snagged on the terrace door. There was a small terrace area that nobody used in the winter. It was mostly private, but had a far-reaching view of the city. I took the steps up two at a time and pushed through the door. A blast of cold air hit me smack in the face.

He stood at the rail, back to me, dark wool coat on. I slowed. The door swung shut with a click. “Ren?”

His shoulders tensed. His gloved hands gripped the rail tighter.

I took a step. “Ren, I⁠—”

“I can’t be around you right now.” His voice trembled.

He knew, he definitely knew. Oh god, this was it, this was what I’d been so afraid of. He’d find out everything was a lie. All of it. My skating, me. We’d come this far . . . and I’d ruined everything.

Another step forward. The cold tore through my costume, trying to bite at my skin and dig deeper into my bones. “Let me explain⁠—”

“Don’t. Please go.”

Snowflakes drifted. It was so quiet, the city beyond us muffled and far away.

He leaned forward, forearms on the rail and head bowed, and whispered, “How could you do this to us?”

Those words broke what was left of my fucking heart. I felt the damn thing crack open in my chest and all the fight drain right out of me. My vision blurred, my throat tightened, and it hurt. It hurt so bad, all over, but mostly in my chest. “It’s not a problem⁠—”

“Leave!”

I jumped. He’d never raised his voice to me. Never.

I couldn’t go. I had to explain. “Ren, please.”

He still leaned against the rail, still had his head down. Snow collected in his dark hair, melting slowly.

A step closer. I was almost alongside him now. Montreal glittered, quiet and subdued in the snowfall. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s over.” He straightened, hands tight on the rail still, staring ahead so he didn’t have to look at me. “It’s over,” he said again, softer, to himself.

“No, no . . . it’s not a problem. I just need it in the morning, to help with the pain⁠—”

His glare cut like his blades, silencing me. His eyes were hard, cold. “I will not dance with you tomorrow or at the competition if you’re taking drugs.”

I tried to smile, even as my heart shriveled under the crushing weight of his cold voice. “It’s not like that.”

“You’re not listening, again. Listen! I will not dance with you, Cam.”

“Ren, don’t be crazy about this.” I reached for him, laid my hand on his arm, and he looked at it there, stared at it with such hatred in his eyes that I had to pull back. I trembled in my costume, colder, hollowed out.

“Camden . . .” He turned to face me. “Why?” He sighed, and the sadness in his eyes broke me open even more. “You’re better than this.”