Page 82 of Ice Dance

He shifted his gym bag over his shoulder. “Will Dylan be there?”

“No, just you and me.”

His glances sharpened, and when he spoke, his tone had lowered. “You know why I can’t do that.”

I almost missed a step, and stopped on the flat, pedestrian area outside the gym. I did know that, didn’t I? The last time we’d stepped out together, things had happened that probably shouldn’t have, and it had been caught on a phone and uploaded for the world to watch. But we knew that now, it would be different. We’d be careful. “C’mon, just a few beers. We can do that. It’s not like it has to mean anything.” I laughed, trying to make the words light, even though every second with him meant something to me.

“Unfortunately, it does to everyone watching.” He lifted his gaze and looked across the parking lot. When he next spoke, he didn’t look at me. “We need to keep our heads down and get on with the work. Proving ourselves doesn’t stop now. We don’t have the luxury of socializing.”

“Who cares what everything thinks?” I’d missed the desperation in my own voice. “C’mon, we worked hard for this. We’ve earned it.”

“No, Navarro,” he said, harder now. His gaze cut to me, landing hard. “You go out, if you must.”

“On my own?” I laughed. That never happened. I didn’t do anything on my own.

“Take your friends from the Canadian team. But I can’t, and you know why. Don’t ask again.”

His tone stopped me dead. He crossed the lot, without looking back.

I stood outside the gym alone, smile dying, watching him go. I’d forgotten, sometime in the last few days, how cold he could be. Perhaps because I’d also recently learned how hot he could run. It wasn’t personal . . . maybe. Probably not personal. It felt personal, as though he’d slammed the door in my face.

I’d just danced the most important event of my life, beside the most important man in my life, and he’d cut me off like something he’d used up and thrown in the trash. I knew why, but the pain in my chest matched the ache in my hip.

Fine then, I would go out with my friends.

I called Casey, and by eleven p.m., I was in a bar somewhere bright and loud with him and Jen, and a few others from the Canadian team that I didn’t know as well. They back slapped me, telling me how they’d heard the preview had been thrilling. Rumors were, the panel had been more than impressed. Words like “artistically distinct, high risk, phenomenal.” I soaked in the praise and wished Hasegawa had been at the bar beside me to hear it.

We moved to another bar, louder still. The lights and noise became a blur.

“Don’t let Hasegawa take the credit for inventing you,” Casey said, on his way to being as drunk as I was. We stood at the bar, talking close, but still loud over the thumping music. The Canadian team had gradually called it a night, but Casey and I were still going.

“He’s not like that,” I said, feeling this new protective instinct come up in me, especially as Hasegawa wasn’t here to defend himself. He could have been. I’d have liked to have seen him go toe to toe with Casey. It would have been interesting. “He’s not as bad as everyone thinks.”

“You’ve been skating with him for what? A few months? You’re still in the honeymoon phase.”

I snorted. “We dance just fine. I’m telling you, he’s alright.”

Casey went quiet for too long, which meant he was worried. “Cam, just be careful. He’s fine now, because you’re on form, but the second you show weakness, he’ll strike, and you’ll be the one left on the sidelines. Just like Alisha, just like all the others.”

I was really beginning to get tired of Casey thinking he knew Hasegawa, when he’d barely even met him. “He’s not like that. What happened to Alisha was bad luck.”

He shrugged, like he’d heard it told differently. He probably had. Hasegawa and I had already been subjected to brutal press coverage. Some sites would print anything with a question mark, just to get clicks. Hasegawa didn’t help himself by coming off hard and distant in interviews either. The ice prince.

“I can handle him,” I said. “We work well together.”

“Whatever you say.”

Why did he doubt that? Was it because I wasn’t up to Hasegawa’s standards, because I hadn’t grown up skating like him, because I was the joke?

I told him I was going to use the bathroom, and fought my way through the crowd to find it. Then, in a quieter corridor, I pulled my phone from my pocket, sipped my almost empty drink, and dialed Hasegawa. Five rings. He didn’t answer.

Then I remembered the time. It was gone two a.m. “Shit⁠—”

“Hello? Navarro? Is everything alright?”

I winced and slumped against the wall, phone in one hand at my ear, drink in the other. “Hey, sorry . . . I didn’t realize the time.” Now I felt like a fool. I wasn’t even sure why I’d called him. Just to hear his voice, maybe? I swallowed, and rested my head against the wall to stop the corridor from spinning. “Hey, so, I’m here with the team . . .” I drawled, my words dragging on for too long. “And it’s fun an’ all, but⁠—”

“Are you drunk?”