by Erin McRae
“Freak me out, yes. Scare me off, no.” Zack hugged him tighter, though he was aware of Aaron’s parents surely watching them.
“Oh. Okay. Well, good then.” Aaron seemed to ponder something for a moment. “Another question for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Want to come to Nationals? To watch?”
“Oh!” Zack was surprised, delightfully so.
He hadn’t imagined being included that way when everything between them was still so tenuous and under discussed. It was a given that Aaron’s season came first, but to be a part of it felt huge.
He didn’t even know where Nationals were. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to get on another plane. Even so, there was only one answer he could give.
“Yes,” he said. “Definitely.”
Chapter 29
U.S. NATIONAL FIGURE Skating Championships
Boston, MA
WALKING INTO THE DRAW was always a little bit like walking into a high school cafeteria—at least as far as Aaron could tell. His schooling hadn’t exactly been typical. But it seemed like the sort of tension and drama high school cafeterias had on TV. Who sat where and what that meant was a big deal.
“Hey Sheftall, welcome to the big kids table!” Cayden shouted.
At least Aaron’s read on the situation wasn’t wrong. He narrowed his eyes at him. “This is my sixth senior nationals.”
“But you’re having a year!”
“I am, aren’t I?” he said with a smile he didn’t feel. He was either going to have to sit with Cayden and his hangers-on or he was going to have to pointedly reject his not remotely sincere friendliness, which would create a whole new drama.
He scanned the seats looking for a better, more plausible option, but Katie and Brendan didn’t have any other U.S. senior men and were currently with their pairs skaters who had practice ice.
To his relief, Rasmus Tamm caught his eye and who waved at him. “Aaron!” he said warmly, patting the empty chair next to him. “I haven’t seen you all season. How are you?”
The rescue was obvious. And immensely welcome. That it probably annoyed Cayden on both those counts was only a bonus.
Aaron stepped across the aisle and into the seat Rasmus had indicated. He’d skated for Estonia years ago before moving to the States, and now was one of the oldest skaters in the U.S. field. Everyone called him ‘Uncle Ras’—fondly and not to his face. If someone needed a ride at a competition, or a rescue from unwanted advances or social awkwardness...Uncle Ras was there.
What the fuck Rasmus was doing with his life, Aaron did not understand. He’d never won nationals—in the U.S. or Estonia—had almost no international competition experience, and had certainly never been to an Olympics. At thirty-two that wasn’t going to change. And yet he kept showing up. Aaron didn’t know how he had it in him. Surely it was a sign he was a better person than all of them. Because Rasmus just loved to skate, results more or less be damned.
He twisted his hands together in his lap as Rasmus asked him how his family was doing. He replied on autopilot, probably inanely, and was grateful again when Rasmus didn’t take offense at his distraction.
This was the U.S. National Figure Skating Championships. How he placed here would determine whether he secured a spot on the Olympic team. Jack and Cayden were here and their careers were on the line too. This was it. If he didn’t perform at his absolute peak, if he didn’t make the cut, in seventy-two hours the season and Aaron’s Olympic dreams would be over.
An official stepped out, holding the bag of numbers for the draw. Aaron took an involuntary breath.
Rasmus reached over and patted his knee. “You’ll be all right.”
Aaron wasn’t so sure he would.
DESPITE THE FACT THAT he’d invited Zack to Nationals, they didn’t see much of each other. Separate hotel rooms and no plans for socializing until after the competition were essential; he needed to keep his head in the game. So while Zack occupied himself, Aaron went to his practice sessions and kept his focus where it needed to be: skating.
By the morning of the men’s short program, Aaron could feel the uncertainty trying to push its way through the well-managed nerves he’d been able to keep in check for the rest of the season. Competitions were always nerve wracking, but this was different. There was so much on the line, and in a season filled with surprising success, there were now expectations on him. Aaron was unfamiliar with the sensation, which was the emotional equivalent of not being able to settle over his blade on the ice. He wanted to find somewhere safe and dark and hide.
I’ve trained for this, he reminded himself as he laced up his skates for the warmup. I trust my training. I trust my coaches. I trust myself.
Aaron hated skating early in the draw. The crowd was never filled in yet, there wasn’t much energy in the arena, and judges, he believed, needed to warm up as well. Not to mention, with so many people coming after him it was easy to get forgotten in the commentary of the day.
But no matter when he skated, he still had to turn in the performance of his career.
At the end of his short program, he wasn’t sure he had. He’d skated cleanly, that was for sure, but there had been no magic, no energy, pulling the crowd along with him.
Still. Clean was nothing to be ashamed of. The judges agreed—it was still too early in the day for it to really mean anything, but when his scores were announced, he was in first.
Which should have been a relief, but as Aaron left the kiss and cry with Katie’s arm around his shoulders all he could think was that there were three more groups of skaters to go and every chance his name would fall too far down in the standings. And with his own skating done for now, there was nothing to do but watch everyone else skate.
Katie and Brendan always did their best to keep their people from calculating their own ranking or keeping track of other people’s scores, but Aaron was the restaurant’s bookkeeper. He was good at mental math and had an excellent working memory. It was far easier for him to do the math than it was to stop himself from doing the math.
Finally, in one of the rooms backstage, with the final group about to go on, Katie looked up from where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her laptop.
“Aaron,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Stop pacing,” she ordered. “Go get a snack. Watch cat videos on your phone. Something. You can’t change anything now.”
“I know, but—” Aaron protested
“Go,” she said. There was understanding in her face. “Twenty minutes. You can do it.”
Aaron reluctantly nodded. He reached into his bag for his phone. Zack was watching from the stands, maybe they could meet up somewhere afterward.
Once outside the room he took a moment to first swipe away various congratulatory texts from family friends. He could deal with those later, when he actually knew how he felt about his scores.
But as he did, he realized that it wasn’t just texts he was dealing with. There were notifications
from every social media platform he used—and from some he had signed up for only at Brendan’s insistence.
Odd.
They all seemed to include links or talk about an article...Aaron clicked one of the links at random. It led him to Athletics Monthly, and the article Zack had written.
This was obviously not the time to look at that, but here it was. His own name leapt up at him from the page, and he settled himself down on a bench in the hallway to read.
Curiosity turned to dismay, and then to horror as he got further into the piece. The writing was incredible, no doubt about that—but it was about him. Aaron. And only Aaron. No mention of Cayden or even of Jack, other than that they existed and were also vying for a U.S. Olympic spot. Aaron knew Cayden was being difficult, but he hadn’t realized that this would be the result. Especially after he’d put himself out on a limb way back at camp to try to help Zack.
And then, towards the end, was a paragraph, not about skating at all.
But about the island. The most private part of his life, that he had trusted Zack enough to see. There was even a picture—Aaron recognized it. Zack had taken it their first day there, when they’d taken a walk along the shore.
How dare he.
Somehow he got to the doorway of the room Katie was in. He grabbed the frame and said her name as softly as possible; he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, and he didn’t want her to yell, but mostly, he didn’t want to let go of the door frame in case he fell down.
Katie looked up from her laptop, and Aaron watched as the thing where they were alike kicked in. He didn’t have to say anything, but her forehead creased in concern.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, just as quietly
With one hand still on the doorframe, he texted her the link to the article, and nodded at her phone when it dinged.
Aaron watched her face carefully while she scrolled through the piece. She was too studied in the need for neutrality, though, to betray any reaction.
“I see,” she finally said when she finished.
Aaron, finally reasonably sure his knees would hold him, let go of the doorframe, crossed the room, and dropped down on the floor next to her.
“I forgot that was coming out,” he admitted.
“I hadn’t. It’s good timing,” Katie said, her face and voice still neutral. Aaron felt his anger extend to her, too.
“What do you mean it’s good timing?” he protested. “I’m in the middle of Nationals! And he doesn’t even talk about anyone else in the field!”
“That’s wildly to your advantage.”
“He wrote about the island!!” The sense of betrayal nearly choked him.
“He’s allowed,” Katie said. Her tone was quiet, but the words were relentless. “You invited him there.”
“Not for that.” Aaron stared at her. “I can’t believe you’re taking his side”
“I’m not taking anybody’s side,” Katie said firmly, even sternly. “He came here to do a job. He did it. I asked you to make sure it got done a certain way, and it did. And yes there were bonus complications, but you’ve seemed to mostly enjoy those. He’s a good enough guy. Everyone’s done quite well, as far as I’m concerned.”
Aaron couldn’t be that dispassionate. “He broke up with me because he was worried about journalistic ethics!” he exclaimed. “Doesn’t that make this sketchy?” He waved his phone around. “I’m not just having emotions because I’m me and I’m cagey about the shit I’m cagey about!”
“I get that, Aaron. I really do. But this article only does you well. And your personal feelings about it can wait until you’re on the side of a cereal box. Okay?”
“Everyone’s going to be talking about it!” Aaron protested
“That’s the goal.” Katie wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a sideways hug. He slumped his head down on her shoulder. “Also, Cayden just finished.”
Aaron sat bolt upright again. Cayden had drawn the last slot for the day. “How’d he do?”
“You’re in third.”
Aaron took a deep breath. That meant Cayden was ahead of him for now. Which wasn’t great, but also wasn’t fatal. “Okay. I can work with that. After I yell at Zack, of course. And go to the press conference, I guess.”
He was trying to be funny and trying to remind himself that he was absolutely within striking distance of what he wanted. But he was too angry. He felt exposed, in the worst sort of way. He’d trusted Zack, and Zack had laid out all his deepest secrets for everyone to see. He was also in the middle of Nationals and had exactly no time to deal with this.
Right now he had to get through the press conference. Aaron had never loved these things and now he was furious and trapped, a selkie without its skin and under someone else’s control. But he knew how to do these things, and was safe from questions about Zack’s article. No journalist was going to ask about someone else’s journalism.
As the day went on he was sure he could track the spread of the article, as people’s eyes and not-so-subtle whispers followed him. He tried to keep to himself as best he could, but that wasn’t much. After the press conference and the testing, he had a team meeting with Brendan and Katie and the rest of the TCI crew, and then they all went out to dinner. At least these were the people who knew him and could insulate him from the whispers and stares of others. In other circumstances, Aaron would have had Zack come along. But he was sure he couldn’t see Zack without screaming right now, and that didn’t need to happen in front of everyone else.
At least at dinner the other skaters were more focused on some drama that had happened that afternoon in the free dance than anything involving himself. He wasn’t interested in it, but he was grateful for it.
After that, he had every intention of crashing early. Instead he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling for hours, trapped in the narrative of his life—from everything the article shouldn’t have covered but did to everything no one could understand but he desperately wished they would.
THE NEXT MORNING AT breakfast, while Aaron picked at scrambled eggs from the hotel buffet, Katie and Brendan finally came to intervene. They slid into seats at the table where he was sitting by himself, each carrying their own breakfast.
“How are you doing?” Katie asked, while Brendan gave Aaron his best concerned-coach look.
“Trying to be chill. But really, really pissed. And I didn’t sleep well,” he admitted.
Aaron didn’t miss the look of concern that Katie and Brendan gave each other. Knowing his coaches were worried about him didn’t exactly help his equanimity. He was on-edge enough as it was.
“This is a thing you need to deal with,” Katie said simply.
Aaron wanted to snap at her that he knew that, but before he could, she kept talking.
“And it’s a thing you will deal with, with Zack, after this competition is over,” she said. “You two will sort it out, one way or another, but for now, you need to put all your feelings about him and that article in a box. There will be time when this is over. There isn’t time now. Okay?”
“I’ve been trying,” Aaron said, petulant.
“Try harder,” Katie said, the same way she would tell him to fix his footwork or a jump he should have been able to execute but couldn’t. Her words were crisp, but her face was sympathetic. “Because right now, you don’t have another choice.”
SEVERAL HOURS LATER Aaron was jogging up and down a hallway deep in the maze that was the venue’s backstage, keeping his muscles warm. He wasn’t even sure he was supposed to be back here. He’d certainly seen no one else. But the solitude had been necessary.
He was surprised, therefore, to see Brendan coming down the hall toward him. He wondered how he’d found him. He slowed his pace as Brendan approached, then stopped when they met.
“I thought I had Katie today?” he said, which wasn’t very kind, but it was usually Katie with him backstage during competitions whenever possible. Also, Brendan was better at ice dancer drama; it just made Katie yell.
“And you will, we’re just trading off for a minute.” Brendan seemed unperturbed by Aaron’s rudeness.
“What’s up?” Aaron asked warily.
Brendan looked him square in the eye. “I just wanted to tell you that I know you can do this, and more importantly you know you can do this and who you are is worth showing the world.” Brendan’s voice was low, his words intent. He absolutely meant them.
Aaron stammered, suddenly overwhelmed.
“Sometimes it helps to hear it from the people you don’t have as natural a connection with,” Brendan added.
“Maybe?” Aaron said, his voice strangled. He knew why Brendan’s observation was important, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with it.
Brendan shook his head. “Look. I know how it is to be a man in this sport and navigate what other people think and what judges want and what people think judges want. It’s weird. Maybe not as awful as the women get, but odd. You’re a fantastic skater
. You’re also a very specific skater... and a very specific person. Be that person today. Put the rest of it down. Fuck what anyone else thinks. And just get it done. Even if you’ll probably find a way to give me a heart attack. Again. Okay?”
Aaron nodded automatically. It wasn’t the pep talk he’d expected—and certainly not from Brendan, whose fierceness and troubles didn’t usually show through as strongly as Katie’s did.
“Yeah,” he said, still nodding, while Brendan’s eyes peered keenly at him. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Brendan clapped him on the back, then pulled him into a hug. “Kill it out there.”
Aaron closed his eyes and exhaled into Brendan’s shoulder. “Yeah.”
BRENDAN LED AARON BACK to the main backstage area, bustling with competitors and coaches and federation staff, and left him with Katie with a last parting hug.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
Aaron wasn’t sure. “Yes,” he said, because he had to be.
He paced the hallways while the first groups skated, trying not to pay attention to how anyone else did. Keep your eyes on your own paper, Katie always told him. But the buzz of the competition followed him while he paced, coming from TV screens and people’s personal devices. He wished he’d stayed in his hidden hallway.
Because Aaron had finished third in the short program, he was in the final group for the free skate. Which meant he and the other five in that group had to wait the longest to skate—and had to spend the most time trying to block out how everyone else was doing. By the time the ice had been resurfaced, and the final group—Aaron, along with Cayden, Jack, Rasmus, Eric, and Misha—were lined up for the six-minute warmup, Aaron knew there was room. Not to win—Jack would do that—but to come in ahead of Cayden. That was all he needed.
You finished third at the Grand Prix Final, he reminded himself, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. You can do this.