Shining Through

by Elizabeth Harmon

  Just as Misha said, he was a distraction she didn’t need.

  “Damn girl,” he said, in a resonant voice. “Those are the sexiest edges I’ve ever seen.”

  She skated over to where she’d left her water bottle, a few feet from where he stood. She took a long swallow, smiling as she drank, then licked the moisture from her lips. “Don’t let my coach hear you say that. Edges should be elegant and perfect, not sexy.”

  “I disagree. And you bring something to them other skaters don’t.”

  It went without saying he was full of bullshit, but bullshit sounded really good delivered in a voice as sensuous as his. She brushed a lock of sweat-damp hair from her eyes. “You’re Daniil Andreev.”

  He grinned and slipped the guards from his blades. He glided out onto the ice and came to a stop at her side. “Guilty as charged.”

  “Mmm. So I’ve heard.” She wondered why he was here, and not in a jail cell some place. “I’m Tabitha Turner.”

  His brown eyes held hers, and when he smiled, her heart did its own version of a triple axel. “I know.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHE NARROWED THOSE AMAZING BABY blues and Daniil’s heart kicked into overdrive, like he was putting his foot on the gas, to surge down a wide open road. He might not know where it was headed, but he sure as hell wanted to take the ride.

  “What are you doing in Chicago? I heard you’d been arrested or something.” A little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth when she said the word “arrested.”

  Daniil shrugged, though he was turned on by how she seemed turned on. “A misunderstanding. Everything’s fine now.”

  “I’m sure.” Her low, throaty laugh suggested she didn’t quite believe it, but she was still talking to him, right? Whatever that was worth, he’d take it. “Back to my first question. If you’re not competing, what brings you to Chicago?”

  You. He smiled, but not too much. Keep it cool, dude. “Others from my training group are competing in Star Spangled Skate. My coach’s wife coaches Phillippe and Marguerite, so I came to support them.”

  “Just one big happy family.”

  Across the rink, Misha had his mobile to his ear, and held up a finger, that he was almost done with his call. No hurry, as far as Daniil was concerned. “Yes, that’s true. And my other coach is Ilya, Misha’s papa. Since Misha’s my choreographer too, and since I missed so much practice due to... other matters, we’ve arranged for him to travel with us to Vancouver for Maple Leaf Classic.”

  “A friend of mine is competing in the Maple Leaf. Brett Stafford. He trains at my rink.”

  “Yes. I know of him.” Perfect red nails tipped each long elegant finger. She was poised, and taller than the average skater, with a ballerina’s bearing. The one thing that didn’t fit with that picture was her hair. It wasn’t the sleek blond curtain she’d worn on TV, but a riot of blond waves, more like a gypsy than an ice princess. Soft. Untamed. Touchable. And his fingers itched to do it.

  “Will you see the other competitions this weekend, or just the pairs?”

  “I plan to watch as many as possible, and cheer on all my favorite skaters.”

  “Katia Filipova?”

  “Yes, Katia.” His gaze held hers. “And others.”

  Her smile faded. “Viktor Domachev?”

  “I suppose. Why? Are you a fan?”

  “No. This morning he said something to Katia that seemed to upset her. I called him on it, and then he said something to me. It was in Russian, so I don’t know what it was.” She lifted one shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe he was complimenting my earrings.”

  “Doubtful.” Daniil’s mood darkened as he imagined the ugly possibilities. “But whatever it was, I’ll make him damn sorry he didn’t keep his mouth shut.”

  She drew in a breath. “No. Please don’t. I’d hate to see you in any more trouble.”

  That Domachev had acted like a pridurok wasn’t exactly a surprise, but her concern for Daniil’s well-being, was. Other women would have encouraged him to fight for their honor. But Tabitha was thinking of him. Though she couldn’t have known about the vow he’d made to stay out of trouble, she encouraged him to keep it. For her, he would.

  He nodded. “Domachev’s an ass. No one likes him.” Well, almost no one. Bogdanov and the rest of the federation seemed quite enamored. Daniil skated in lazy circles beside Tabitha. He ought to start his warm-ups, but didn’t want this to end. “And he pads his dance belt.”

  Her eyes widened with momentary shock, and then she laughed. “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve shared a locker room with him enough times. You watch at tonight’s competition. See if you don’t notice an abnormally large package.”

  “Oh my God. Are we really having this conversation?” Her gaze dropped from his face to below his waist and the curve of his tight black skating pants. Was she curious about what was inside his dance belt?

  “No padding, all me.” Daniil grinned, then added. “Covered in the flag of glorious Mother Russia.”

  She let out a laugh, even as color rose in her cheeks, and she narrowed her eyes, looking skeptical. “Your dance belt has the Russian flag on it?”

  He liked the sound of her laugh, echoing in the deserted rink. He winked, and did a quick spin, showing off a little. “Care to see?”

  She continued to give that arched-brow narrow-eyed look, but she seemed to enjoy this as much as he did. “Another time, perhaps.”

  She was nothing like the chilly ice princess he’d seen in her Antigone program. The sexy attitude she’d shown while skating to the song about love with strangers hinted there was plenty below the surface. But across the rink, Misha had finished his call and stepped onto the ice. Time to put Tabitha Turner out of his mind and focus his thoughts where they belonged, on skating. He wasn’t optimistic.

  She too, seemed to sense it was time to say goodbye. She glided away as her session ended and his began. He called to her as she skated toward the gate. “Good luck in the competition, Tabitha.”

  “You too. In the next one, I mean. Nice meeting you.”

  Just before she stepped off the ice, she turned back. Her eyes locked on his.

  “Poka,” he said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “See you around.”

  She smiled. “Poka.”

  ~

  Unfortunately, Daniil didn’t see her around. He didn’t expect to since competitors usually laid low until after their events and Tabitha’s wouldn’t conclude until Saturday afternoon.

  He looked for her anyway.

  It was weird, the effect she’d had on him. Women rarely stayed in his mind this way, especially women he had no business thinking about. Tabitha Turner was the golden girl of figure skating. A star. A role model. He was... well, not that. Reason number one to steer clear.

  Reason number two, they both had other things on their plate. Big things. Things they’d been working toward their entire lives. He’d made a vow, unspoken, but still a vow, to keep his eye on the prize—skating in the Winter Games. There was no question of Tabitha’s rock-solid discipline, either.

  Friday evening’s ladies short program drove that reality home. Her skate to Swan Lake was flawless. She’d ended the night in second place only because of a stunning performance by a lower-ranked Japanese star in the making. On the ice, Tabitha was cool and collected. If she noticed him in the audience, she gave no sign.

  He shouldn’t have been surprised. They were day and night, champagne and whiskey, a straight smooth road, and one with broken pavement, twists and turns. Any spark between them wasn’t going to grow into a flame, much less a bonfire. Better to seek a little uncomplicated fun with the friendly blond or brunette who gave him the eye whenever he passed their vendor’s fair booth.

  For the ladies’ long program competition Saturday afternoon, he sat with the Lake Shosha group in the section reserved for skaters’ friends and family.

  “Fishy!” Two-year-old Elijah Zaikov waved a yell
ow fish-shaped cracker in Daniil’s face. Misha’s young son was already fidgety, and the adults tried to keep him entertained. Daniil had no experience with kids, but he knew how not to treat one. His own mother would have complained about cracker crumbs on her silk dress and handed him off to the nanny. His father would have berated or ignored him, depending upon his mood. Daniil took the cracker and popped it in his mouth. “Thank you, Eli. Mmmm. Good.”

  “Good!” Eli hiccupped a high-pitched laugh and climbed into Daniil’s lap. “Cowboy, ride!”

  Unsure what this meant, Daniil gently bounced the little boy on his knee. Eli shrieked with delight. Amy Zaikova looked down the row of seats and smiled. “He likes you.”

  “He’s just bored,” Daniil said, but the idea pleased him anyway.

  Tabitha had called Daniil’s training group a happy family. Before he’d come to Lake Shosha, he hadn’t believed such things existed. But Anton and Carrie had recently celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary. Misha’s wife Amy and their son had flown out from Delaware to spend the weekend before Misha left for Vancouver. Right now, Misha, Amy and Ilya were huddled over the older man’s tablet, admiring photos Ilya’s other son, Alexei, had sent from Antarctica.

  Living among happy couples had made Daniil realize he wanted the same thing for himself, something he’d never considered before, or even thought possible. But for that to happen, he needed to meet the right woman, and keep his act together.

  Given his history, it was a tall order.

  Restless, he rose from his seat. There were a few minutes before the ladies’ competition started. He could use a bottle of water and maybe, a giant pretzel. Eli might like a bite.

  On his way to the concession counter, he passed the credit card sign-up booth, where the friendly blond worked. She fluttered her fingers in a wave. “Enjoying the show?”

  It was a competition, not a show, but he didn’t correct her. The average American didn’t know shit about figure skating. He walked over. “Sure. Will you see any of it?”

  “Just up there.” She tilted her head at the TV mounted above the corridor, then leaned forward, to give him a nice view down the deep V of her tight red t-shirt. “I’m CiCi.”

  “Daniil.”

  “Dah-neel. That’s a nice name. Different. I’m Deena.” The dark-haired girl had joined her friend at the counter. She glanced toward the blond who nodded, then turned back and smiled. “Hey if you’re not busy tonight, a bunch of us are going out to a bar to celebrate CiCi’s birthday. You should come.”

  He smiled. “That sounds like fun. I think I will.”

  Just what he needed to get his mind off Tabitha Turner.

  But once he settled in to watch the ladies’ event, she was back on it. Only because he wanted her to skate well. He doubted that she liked sitting in second place behind Machiko Furakawa, who was making her International Series debut. A good skate today would put Tabitha atop the podium where she belonged. Even if the International Series didn’t directly impact whether a skater made it to the Winter Games, every win made the next one easier.

  Likewise, a loss could shake a skater’s confidence and jeopardize the entire season.

  The first four skaters were newer, lower-ranked competitors. American Antoinette Curtis was popular in Chicago and fed off the crowd’s energy. But poor fundamentals cost her points and made her overall presentation look sloppy. Ilya, who noticed if one of Daniil’s fingers wasn’t correctly positioned, shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Good coaching could correct that and Daniil hoped she had it. Antoinette had potential to be a great skater. Her time would come, but this season belonged to a woman who’d been working half her life for a chance at gold.

  Daniil’s pulse quickened as the top four skaters took the ice. Tabitha, Katia, Machiko and Chinese skater Ping Tsao warmed up to pop music. Down in the reserved section’s first row, a middle-aged redhead and two women closer to college-age —a black-haired Goth and a pink-haired Anime fan— waved to Tabitha. She acknowledged them with a hint of a smile, but didn’t look Daniil’s way. He tried not to be disappointed.

  Fourth place skater Peng Tsao fell during her opening combination jump, which all but assured she would finish off the podium. Katia’s Romeo and Juliet was not only clean, it was one of the strongest performances of her career. It put her in first place, at least until the final two skaters performed.

  There was a ripple of excitement as Tabitha skated out. Fans were eager to see the reigning U.S. ladies’ champion rack up her first win on the way to gold in Grenoble. Her light blue dress, fastened at one shoulder to suggest a Grecian princess, fluttered. Her wild waves were subdued into a tight sleek bun. Reaching center ice, she skated slowly, hands on her hips and head lowered, preparing. She assumed her opening pose, head bowed.

  As the dolorous music began, she lifted her hand to shield her eyes, searching in vain for a lost loved one. Woodwinds underscored the singer’s mournful aria, and Tabitha leaned in for her first jumping pass. Feather light, she floated through the air in a flawless triple Lutz, and after a surefooted landing on her left blade, she executed a perfect triple toe. Applause rippled through the arena. So far, so good.

  The spins and footwork which followed were clean. Tabitha’s facial expressions as the grieving Antigone were somber, but the program was just as he’d heard Misha describe it, distant.

  The first triple axel came about a third of the way into the four minute program. Traveling forward on her right foot, arms and left leg behind her, she swung them forward, to propel herself into the jump. But as she rose, Daniil could tell that her positioning was slightly off, and in the middle of her third rotation, she tilted too far over. As she came down her landing blade slid off the outside edge.

  His stomach clenched as he willed her not to fall. Come on, baby. Hold the edge. Fight for it.

  For a moment it looked like she would be okay. But a bad landing would have its way as he knew too well. Her balance failed, and her blade skidded. She tumbled onto the ice.

  She was only down a moment before she was back on her feet and resumed her program as if nothing had happened. Daniil wiped his damp palms on his jeans. Tabitha was a pro, she’d be fine.

  The rest of her elements were clean, and in the Kiss and Cry, she exuded confidence, just as she’d been coached to do. “Smile like you meant to do that!” Daniil could almost hear Anton talking him up after a much worse performance three years ago, in the Helsinki Cup. He’d come back and won, but only because Misha, who’d been in first place, had thrown the competition, in a bizarre circumstance not likely to happen here. Tabitha’s mistake hadn’t been fatal, and if her artistic scores were high enough, it shouldn’t matter. Still, it wasn’t the way any skater wanted to start a season as important as this.

  Then came the scores. Daniil caught his breath. Tabitha remained in second place behind Katia.

  Everyone in his section applauded wildly for Katia, and though he cheered for his teammate, he ached for Tabitha. As Machiko Furakawa skated out, Daniil hoped yesterday’s stunning performance was an anomaly and that today, she’d skate like the inexperienced fourteen-year-old she was.

  No such luck.

  Skating to music from “Phantom of the Opera,” the tiny teen flitted with amazing speed, nailing jump after jump, even a crazy-difficult triple-axel half-loop triple-flip combination. Machiko’s performance earned her a standing ovation, the highest-ever score for an International Series debut... and the gold medal. Katia took silver. And to everyone’s shock, Tabitha Turner came in third.

  America’s golden girl wasn’t invincible.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ON THE PODIUM, TABITHA BENT forward to accept the Star Spangled Skate bronze medal. A photographer was recording every reaction, so she smiled, and hoped it looked genuine.

  She’d lost a medal she’d expected to win. A medal everyone had expected her to win. At the start of the most important season of her career, she’d fallen short.

  Just like last
time.

  No! No! Don’t think that way. Peter says it’s not the end of the world. Believe him.

  One shaky skate didn’t necessarily doom the entire season. She still had the next International Series competition, the Series championship in Barcelona, and U.S. Nationals. This had no direct impact on Grenoble. But if she’d had her preference, she would stand where she’d stood last year, and the year before that.

  The place where Machiko Furakawa stood now.

  The bronze medal rested against her pale blue dress. Smile frozen in place, Tabitha shook hands with the three skating officials who congratulated each winner. The youngest official had still been competing when Tabitha began her rise. How had she felt losing to younger, hungrier skaters, and knowing that her lifelong dream of skating in the Games would die unfulfilled? When did she first realize that her days atop the podium were behind her?

  The white and red Japanese flag rose above the ice, with the Russian and American flags on the right and left. As Japan’s national anthem played, Machiko mouthed the words. Happy tears glistened on her cheeks. Tabitha wondered if the skaters down in the locker room could hear the medal ceremony.

  She never wanted to find out.

  A press conference followed, and Tabitha did her best to be both confident and contrite. “No, it wasn’t my best performance,” she said, echoing the reporters’ foregone conclusion. “There are things I’ll be working on, but it’s a long season, and I’m looking forward to my next competition in St. Petersburg.”

  Afterward, Peter embraced her and Tabitha released a sigh of relief. He put a comforting arm around her as they walked, and spoke in a low voice. “Don’t take it too hard. What’s important is that you medaled. The only way to go is up. We’ll get back to LA Sunday night, you’ll get a good night’s sleep, then Monday afternoon we’ll work on the axel. Your take-off wasn’t good, but a few sessions with the jump coaches and you’ll have it back.”