Shining Through

by Elizabeth Harmon

  “You really think it’s that simple?”

  “Absolutely. You are the strongest technical skater I’ve ever coached, and eight weeks is plenty of time to get ready for St. Petersburg. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Tabitha wanted to feel Peter’s assurance. Except for the fall, which could happen to any skater, no matter how skilled, her performance hadn’t been that bad. Peter believed a better take-off would fix the problem. But she knew the problem went deeper than her take-off technique. She hadn’t captivated the audience like Machiko. She only wished she knew what to do.

  ~

  “Smile!” At the post-competition reception, Tabitha leaned close to Katia and Machiko. The new Star Spangled Skate gold medalist captured the thrilling night in a selfie. The phone’s camera clicked. Machiko glanced at the photo and nodded. “I shared.”

  “Wait, can I see?” Tabitha began, but her words were lost as a swarm of hugging and squealing fans and teammates surrounded Machiko. Tabitha turned to Katia Filipova. “I hope the picture wasn’t too awful.”

  “With selfie, who can know?” Katia offered a wan smile, and then disappeared into the crowd that filled the luxurious private suite on the arena’s top level.

  A short distance away, Mary Anne Devore, a 1970’s two-time World medalist stood with a group of middle-aged women. None appeared happy. Obliged to at least say hello, Tabitha greeted them. Mary Anne, a petite but formidable woman in a fur coat that looked too heavy for the still-balmy weather, offered chilly congratulations. Once more, Tabitha felt like crap.

  She posed for another picture with an international figure skating VIP whose name she couldn’t recall. When the woman wandered away, Tabitha looked around, desperate to see a friendly face. Peter chatted with Mia Lang. Samara and her friend Xtina had taken off after the competition and were probably upstairs enjoying movies and room service. That and a nice long bubble bath sounded like utter heaven. Unfortunately, the party had just started. She couldn’t leave yet. As always, skating obligations outweighed everything else. This is what you’ve always wanted, remember?

  Near the appetizer buffet, Fiona was talking with Ilya Zaikov, her posture angled, her smile bright. When she touched his sleeve and leaned in close, Misha’s widowed father smiled, but appeared slightly uncomfortable. Tabitha had to look away. Did her mother have to flirt with every man she met?

  Then again, if Daniil Andreev had been here, Tabitha would do the same. Even though she knew it was a terrible idea.

  She’d noticed him in the audience Friday and Saturday night, though she’d tried to put him out of her mind. Talking with him at the practice rink had felt so good—-too good. But after seeing her mom and sister cope with chronic heartbreak, Tabitha knew it was best to steer clear of a man with a reputation for trouble.

  It seemed like such a simple thing, and she’d resolved to do it. Then she’d come off the ice after the free skate, lower than low, and saw him applauding as if she’d turned in the skate of her life. His unwavering support had meant the world. She sensed that if he were here, he’d know exactly the right words to say. Too bad there was no sign of him.

  Peals of laughter rose from a nearby table. Machiko and her friends huddled around a cell phone, cracking up. Could the selfie be that bad?

  An unflattering photo going viral was exactly what she didn’t need right now. The horror was best viewed in private, so she stepped into the almost-deserted second room of the hospitality suite, and pulled out her phone. The bartender approached. “Sparkling water, please,” she said, and shifted her focus back to her screen.

  “After a tough day on the ice, she’s hitting the hard stuff.”

  Daniil Andreev leaned against a tall table, a few feet away. Dressed in skinny jeans, a black leather jacket, and with smudged liner around his eyes, he looked like a member of Green Day who’d wandered into the wrong party. He reminded her of a British punk-rocker Samara liked. Though Tabitha wasn’t a fan of Harry K’s music, she couldn’t deny there was something seriously sexy about the guy. There was something seriously sexy about Daniil Andreev too. Damn him.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, angry that the mere sight of him brought flushed cheeks and noodle-knees.

  He came and stood beside her at the bar. His dark eyes looked that much darker because of the smoky color surrounding them. His lashes were so long, she wondered if he was wearing mascara too. Regardless, it took nothing away from his masculinity. It took guts and confidence to carry off the look. Daniil had both.

  “Nothing bad, I promise. Congratulations. I enjoyed your program today.”

  Tabitha shut off her phone. “I’m glad someone did.”

  “I’ve been where you are.” He spoke in a quiet voice and leaned closer. She caught a whiff of Polo Black. He would have to wear her favorite men’s fragrance. “Not only are you disappointed for not skating as well as you hoped, you feel you disappointed others.”

  “Peter isn’t worried, so I’m trying not to be.” She tried to shrug off the hurt. “No one said this season would be easy.”

  “Are any of them?”

  His penetrating gaze searched to see behind her public face. Too bad for him, she was a pro at keeping it hidden. She stirred the ice in her drink and offered a careful smile. “I didn’t realize until yesterday that we shared a choreographer. Have you worked with Misha long?”

  “Just since this season. Before, I worked with Adrian Bakunin, but he’s doing less choreo these days, and more travel with his... friend.”

  “Valentin Egorov.”

  “You know him?”

  “We have a mutual friend in LA.” Egorov was the former pairs partner of Tabitha’s mentor, and though Olga said nothing derogatory, Tabitha suspected she didn’t approve of his long-time love affair with the handsome choreographer. Supposedly, a lot of Russians felt that way. Was Daniil one of them? “Why? Is Adrian’s relationship a problem for you?”

  He shrugged. “Other than missing my favorite choreographer, no. Live and let live, I say. Is it a problem for you?”

  “Of course not. Live and let live.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her second snappish response. She wasn’t usually like this, and jelly-knees or not, rudeness wasn’t called for, especially when he was trying to be nice. “You said you’ve been where I am. How did you deal with it?”

  “I used it as motivation to prove everyone wrong and did what I had to do to stay in the sport. Even things that hurt my pride.”

  This sounded intriguing, though it was none of her business. “Like what?”

  “Like training in Lake Shosha, instead of Moscow or Petersburg.” His casual shrug suggested there might be other things, but pushing for more seemed rude. Nor was she sure she wanted to know. “Anyway, three seasons ago, everyone thought my career was over. Everyone except me. Now, I’m on the verge of making it to Grenoble. Whether I get there because of bronze medals, or gold, I’m there just the same.”

  Samara, who often told her she put too much pressure on herself, had said the same thing. But Tabitha’s entire career had been about succeeding against the odds and you didn’t do that without striving for perfection. “Until today, not making the team was just this vague notion I tried not to think about. Now it feels like something that could really happen. But I can’t let it. I’ve worked too hard to fail now.”

  “You aren’t going to fail.”

  He spoke slowly, enunciating each word. His tone was gentle, but insistent. He believed in her, and she felt bolstered by it, even if she didn’t share it. “You sound so sure.”

  “I am.” His gaze held hers, and a spark of attraction flew between them. “Will you be in Vancouver for the Maple Leaf?”

  “I hadn’t planned to be,’ she said, tearing her gaze away out of fear he might see the effect he was having.

  “Too bad. I always skate better when I have a friend in the audience.”

  It was an obvious line, and she wouldn’t let herself fall fo
r it, even if his cocky grin made her nerves tingle. “You must be pretty desperate for friends if I qualify after one day.”

  He propped his elbow on the bar and leaned closer. “Maybe I’m a good judge of character.”

  Tabitha chuckled, and it came out lower and throatier than usual. “Or maybe you’re just a character.”

  God, it sounded like something Fiona would say. But his tilted grin said that he liked their flirting, and the scary thing was, she did too. Rather than continue to agonize over her bad performance, she let herself luxuriate in his sexy presence, which was better than any bubble bath. For the first time today, her smile felt real.

  At least until two young women approached, dressed in red uniform shirts that bore the logo of a major credit card company. The blond’s shirt must have shrunk in the laundry and was much too tight for corporate standards. “Hi Daniil,” she said.

  “Happy birthday, CiCi.”

  Tabitha’s smile slipped. How did he know this chick’s name, or her birthday?

  Daniil touched her arm. “Deana and CiCi, meet U.S. ladies’ champion Tabitha Turner.”

  The taller girl tossed back her long dark hair. “We saw you skate today. Too bad you fell.”

  “But at least you tried,” added the blond. “I mean, ice skating’s really hard! I always fall when I go.” She turned to Daniil. “We came to see if you wanted a ride to the bar?”

  So he had plans with these two. Marvelous. She should have known.

  “No thanks. I have to wait for my friend Ruslan, who is still busy with the fans, so we’ll come in a cab. Tell me the name?”

  “The Pour House.”

  Daniil tapped his phone a few times. “Found it.” He turned to Tabitha. “Maybe you would like to come too?”

  Deena cast a withering glance at Tabitha’s sparkling water. “You probably wouldn’t like it. It’s not really an ice princess kind of place.”

  Tabitha stiffened, less angry at the brunette’s rudeness than at the fact that what she’d said was true. She was an ice princess, or rather, an Ice Queen. She didn’t belong in the same world as these two. Or Daniil. Right then, she wanted nothing more than to get the hell back upstairs. She’d done her duty. Now it was time to leave. “Nope. I’m sure it’s not my kind of place at all.” She set her half-finished drink on the table and turned to Daniil. “Nice chatting with you. Good luck in Vancouver.”

  Without another word, Tabitha headed for the exit.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  UPSTAIRS, THE ROOM WAS EMPTY. Samara and Xtina weren’t here, but that was a relief. Tabitha threw herself on her bed and closed her eyes. If only she could forget this awful day and Daniil Andreev.

  No such luck.

  It was bad enough that her skating had been subpar, but now she was jealous! She, who always played it safe, and knew that if she ever let a guy get under her skin he would be nothing like Daniil.

  He wasn’t her type at all. Okay, he was good looking, she’d give him that. Make that great-looking with male model-perfect features, a killer smile and those gorgeous dark rock star eyes. A voice flavored with an accent as sexy as sin. He had a body to die for. He was muscular, but not bulging. Lean and hard, in the way male skaters were. Lean in the way Tabitha liked. If she paid attention to such things.

  Arrgh. Of course she paid attention to them. Even if she was Little Miss Wholesome who could count on one hand the number of guys she’d kissed. But Daniil wasn’t wholesome. He was edgy. He was intriguing. And now he was off with two girls who were hot, willing and no doubt, a much better time than Tabitha.

  She kicked off her shoes and settled in for a night of TV, flipping through channels. There was The Sound of Music, with Julie Andrews as a singing nun, falling for a man she had no business falling for. There was Grease, which she’d watched dozens of times with her mom and Samara. If her sister’s varied career had earned her the role of Beauty School Dropout, Tabitha was prim and proper Sandy. There was figure skating, too. She could watch her crappy program and Machiko’s perfect one. What had Daniil’s little blond friend said? “It’s good that you tried.” Tabitha sneered, and kept scrolling through channels finding nothing, until—

  Oh my God, they have porn.

  She’d never seen one. Wholesome types who didn’t drink, swear or rat their hair didn’t watch movies like this. But she was stuck here, so why the hell not?

  Backstage at some rock club, a bleached blond with too-plump lips, a fake tan and huge boobs sat atop a black amplifier. Her cut-off blue jeans were so short the pockets stuck out, and her tiny white t-shirt looked ready to rip under the strain. A dark-haired dude in black leather pants and guyliner— seriously?—loomed over her in a way that was kind of menacing and kind of hot at the same time.

  Tabitha scooted closer to the TV.

  He ran his hands over Blondie’s thighs, then her crotch, and lifted her t-shirt to let her melon-sized breasts bounce free. He latched his mouth over her nipple; she writhed against the speaker. Tabitha writhed too and deep in her core, a pleasant weight settled.

  Blondie moaned. “Oh Rod, I want you to fuck me so fucking hard.”

  Rod—what else would his name be?—stopped sucking long enough to grunt out his lines. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard Baby, your pussy’ll fucking scream for fucking mercy. You’ll beg for my cock, you wet, horny bitch.”

  Who talked like that? Were the Birthday Girl and Daniil saying stuff like that to each other? Did people really do it on amps, backstage? She could always ask Fiona though her mother’s wild groupie days weren’t something she wanted to dwell on while watching this.

  But it bothered her that she didn’t know. She had even less experience with rock clubs than she had with kisses. Three. One for each year she’d been in her twenties. And never backstage.

  Pathetic.

  Rod and Blondie were naked now, and Blondie took his enormous, well, rod, into her mouth. He thrust deep, grasping her hair in his hands. Tabitha couldn’t take her eyes off the screen.

  Then the room door opened. Samara and Xtina sauntered in and Tabitha lunged for the remote. Instead, she accidentally knocked the damn thing on the floor.

  “Holy shit! The World’s Oldest Virgin celebrates her bronze medal by watching porn!” Samara dropped her shopping bags and whipped out her phone to snap a photo.

  Flopped on her stomach, Tabitha groped for the missing remote. “Samara, if you post that, I swear to God, I will murder you!”

  “Instagram?” Xtina asked.

  “Not even Snapchat. Relax, Sis.” Samara tossed her phone to Tabitha, then retrieved the remote and took a seat at the foot of the bed. Tabitha scrolled through the photos. Thank God, the incriminating one was gone.

  Xtina joined them. She fished a large, colorful canister from one of her shopping bags, and scooped out a handful of caramel cheese popcorn as she stared at the screen. “Emo Boy kind of looks like that hot Russian guy we saw in the lobby.”

  Tabitha jerked her gaze away from the movie. “You saw Daniil?”

  Samara narrowed her eyes. “You know him?”

  Her face flushed hot. “He’s a skater. I talked to him at the reception.”

  “And?” Samara pinched caramel corn from the tin.

  “And nothing. He left and went to a bar with two women. Who look kind of like her.” Tabitha nodded at Blondie.

  “So you came up here to watch porn all by yourself.”

  “I know. I’m pathetic.”

  “No you aren’t! He is! I mean, he was talking to you, and then took off with a pair of skanks?”

  “It wasn’t like that. They were just employees from one of the vendor booths. And he invited me to come to the bar with them.”

  “But you said no?” Samara’s voice rose. “Why?”

  Tabitha sighed. “You wouldn’t understand.” They turned back to the TV. Rod and Blondie were going at it hard.

  “It’s not too late,” Samara said. “Do you know the name of the bar?”

  T
abitha nodded. “But one of the women said it wasn’t my kind of place. I’m sure she’s right. I’m the Ice Queen. The World’s Oldest Virgin.”

  “Hey.” Samara put a comforting hand on Tabitha’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re after something so much bigger than just hooking up with random dudes.”

  “And after you win your gold medal, the dudes will be there,” added Xtina.

  “I suppose.” It was small consolation for how lonely she felt tonight.

  Then Samara rose from the bed, and studied Tabitha, her brow knitted. “What if you went to this bar, not as you, but as someone else?”

  “Like in disguise? Are you insane? What if someone recognized me? They’d put it online, it would go viral, and I’d never live it down.”

  “No one will recognize you. Xtina was the best student in our class at Wilshire Beauty Academy. And even though I dropped out, I still do a kick-ass cat eye.”

  Her sister’s dark dramatic eyes were proof of that. Xtina dug a new anime wig from one of her shopping bags. She settled the synthetic electric blue hair piece on Tabitha’s head and arranged the heavy fringe of bangs over her eyes. “White shimmer lipstick?” Xtina asked.

  “Definitely,” Samara agreed.

  Tabitha rose and went to the mirror, pushing the stray locks that had escaped from her bun out of sight. Samara’s black leather jacket hung on the back of a chair. Tabitha slipped it over her silk blouse. With her hair hidden, and someone else’s clothes, she looked nothing like herself.

  The idea of venturing where she felt so out of place was terrifying. She turned back to her sister and her friend. “But I can’t just walk into a bar by myself and lure him away from the Sex Twins.”

  “We’ll come with you,” Samara said. “He has no idea who we are. We’re just women out at a bar. He’s a guy out at a bar. It’s the most natural thing in the world.”

  “Who knows what might happen,” said Xtina.