Page 120 of Ice Dance

And the man I loved with all my breaking heart.

FORTY-THREE

CAMDEN

I spent three days in hospital.

I’d missed the podium, and missed our chance at competing in the Meridian final. It was all over.

We didn’t win the Meridian Cup.

Because I hadn’t been able to hold it together long enough to get us there.

I’d fucked up.

I saw Dylan, but nobody else. Definitely not Ren. I couldn’t stand it, not after watching replay after replay of him on the podium, and seeing the hurt on his face, the tracks of his tears through his makeup. He never, ever showed emotion in public, and he’d been so broken on that podium that I’d choked up watching it. He’d tried to hide it, but the whole world saw his tears. I’d done that to him.

My mom wanted to visit. I’d refused. Another screwup she’d have to witness. No.

We could have won. We’d been on fire. If my body had just held out for another round. The money would have paid off my loans, the win would have proven I could damn well do this, proven I wasn’t a failure who never finished anything he started.

Now I was the skater who fell.

Dylan had brought me the medal after I’d refused to see Ren.

It had sat on the hospital table, and then I’d tossed it on the kitchen counter when I’d limped home on crutches. What good was a chunk of metal?

Nine of the hardest months I’d ever endured. My heart and body were broken. For what?

I didn’t leave the apartment for a week. Didn’t reply to any of Ren’s polite, gentle texts. Couldn’t bear seeing Dylan. She left voicemails to call her.

I locked them out. Hated them all, hated everything, hated myself.

Since there was no need for them to stay in Montreal, Dylan left, flew back to England.

I assumed Ren had gone too.

They’d be planning the next competition. Ren’s next event to conquer. Good. I was broken, he didn’t need me.

I had a leg that wouldn’t work properly and I may not touch the ice again, that’s how my life was going.

Casey had been texting me. Saga too. Random numbers pinged, press people wanting interviews. We may not have won, but our story was everywhere. For a man like Ren Hasegawa, infamous for his icy demeanor, to break down on the podium? The press were lapping it up. They wanted to know us, the real us, wanted to know if the relationship went beyond the ice, if we were real. Social media was a circus I ignored, notifications silenced.

It was all too much . . . And none of it was enough.

I spent three whole days in bed, buried under the covers. Stupid, maybe, but I couldn’t face any of it. Then, when I’d had enough of my own wretched company, I took a taxi to my local rink.

My old skating class come at me full of questions and fun, and nothing of importance.

Sometimes it was the little things that made the biggest difference.

The little ones were impressed and probably a bit alarmed at the sight of my crutches. But hey, it was all part of the sport. Learning how to get back up when you fall. Maybe I should have listened to my own advice.

I was twenty minutes into forgetting all the bad things, when I caught sight of a handsome, tall, dark-haired bastard entering through the double doors, dark woolen coat buttoned to his chin. Sultry eyes, as Saga would say, fixed on me as he approached. My heart swooped, dropping, then decided to choke me on its way out.

Ren waited his turn by the benches as the kids asked me about whether the big competition had been scary. “Yeah, it was scary, but I had lots of people around me who helped.”

“Mr. Navarro, you were so brave. I don’t know if I could do any of that.”