Shining Through

by Elizabeth Harmon

  “But you made them too. You missed out on things, like we all have. You gave up ice dance to skate in a discipline you liked less.”

  “Who said I liked it less,” she snapped, even though it was true. “Anyway, it was a long time ago. What matters now, is this season. When I didn’t make the team for Oslo, and stayed in another four years, Fiona, Peter and Samara were totally on board with it. If I win the gold medal, then I can do something for them.”

  “Such as?”

  “Give Peter the professional recognition that’s eluded him his entire career. I’ll land endorsement money that will pay for my sister’s education, provided she hasn’t flunked out by then. And I can buy my mom some land near her family, back in Missouri. She left home when she was young, but her heart’s still there. I want her to have a place that’s her own, so she’ll always have a roof over her head. No matter what... passion... she pursues.”

  “What about you? What passion do you want to pursue?”

  “I have no idea. That’s something other people do. Not me.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem.”

  Where did he get off, criticizing her for being cautious and responsible? “There’s no problem! I do what needs to be done. I’m practical and careful. There’s not a damned thing wrong with that.”

  She tossed the skate in her bag, with a little less care than usual, in a hurry to leave the rink. But Daniil gently put his hand on her arm, stopping her. “I didn’t say there was,” he said, then rose, and hoisted his own bag over his shoulder. “Come on, we worked hard today. Time for a little indulgence.”

  “No. I’ve indulged enough. I have things to do. I need to get back, and—”

  “There will be plenty of time for whatever you think you must do. But right now, is something else you must do.”

  She sighed. “Fifteen minutes. Then I’m heading back to the hotel.”

  He took her hand, and they walked into the park beside the rink. Warm afternoon sun bathed the footpath with dappled golden light. She hoped he wouldn’t try to talk her into jogging. She hated jogging. Instead, he stopped at the playground and dropped his skate bag beside the swing set.

  “I thought you were joking about the swings!”

  “No joke.” He took a seat in a swing and held out his hand inviting her to take the one beside it. “Nothing against the law. No calories and you can’t get hurt. Not badly, anyway.”

  “I feel ridiculous,” she said, but trudged over, and sat down in the rubber sling seat.

  “But you’re doing it anyway. That’s progress.”

  He pushed off from the ground, pumping his legs backward and forward. She stayed closer to the ground, so he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of thinking she enjoyed this. But as he gained height, her natural competitiveness kicked in. She propelled herself higher and higher until she was neck and neck with him. As they approached the top of the forward arc, he looked over and grinned. “Now jump!”

  “Are you insane?”

  He laughed, and stretched out his legs, no longer pumping but enjoying the ride as his swing slowed. “Not insane. You’re right; we don’t want to risk injury because of a bad landing. But it was fun, even if you feel ridiculous. And you aren’t mad anymore.”

  She slowed down too, letting her feet brush the woodchip covered ground. He went to their skate bags and returned with their water bottles. She opened hers and took a drink. “I wasn’t mad. I just don’t like being criticized because I was never free to chase every shiny new thing that comes along. Someone had to be the grown-up.”

  “Because your mom and sister had all those bad experiences?”

  “That’s part of it. In my life, there’s been no shortage of drama. Only a shortage of money. I handled it the best I could, but I wasn’t always successful.”

  “It’s hard to think of you not being successful at something.”

  She shrugged and glanced down at her left hand. The red polish had chipped away on her index finger. “Well, I wasn’t.”

  “Tell me what happened. I can keep a secret.”

  She thought of his neglected social media pages and realized that it was true. He wasn’t the type to gossip or over share. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “It’s not a secret. Peter thinks it shows how driven and committed I was to skating. But I don’t like to talk about it. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

  “Because you didn’t have money? That’s no reason to feel ashamed.”

  “Says the son of the billionaire and the supermodel.”

  “Do you think I’d look down on you? I’m the last person who should judge anyone. Tell me what happened, Tabitha.”

  She stared at the ground and kicked up woodchips. If nothing else, it would prove she wasn’t still pining over ice dance and that skating had mattered to her. It still did. He’d promised not to judge her. This would prove if she could trust him. If he laughed or belittled her, she’d know the person he really was. And if he didn’t?

  That was trouble of a different sort.

  The shouts of kids running and playing took Tabitha back to that awful day. She could recall every detail, from what she’d worn to school, to the gross cafeteria pizza she’d eaten for lunch. Even twelve years later, the Ice Queen had never vanquished the Scholarship Girl.

  “Because of money, my early training started and stopped a lot. But when I was eleven Fiona worked part time at the rink to cover the cost. For the first time, I was making real progress. I had all my double jumps and my coach thought I was ready to compete. Then one morning, Fiona told me she’d lost her rink job. I knew it was because she’d flirted with the rink owner’s husband, and that once again, I’d have to quit skating.”

  “By lunchtime, I was practically sick. I sat in the school cafeteria, eating the lunch I got for free because we were poor, furious that Fiona’s screw-up meant the end of my skating. I realized that no one would save skating but me. I walked out in the middle of the school day and caught a bus to the rink.”

  “Just like that?” He sounded impressed.

  “Yep. I marched up to Diane, the rink owner, and told her I had to keep skating. I said I would take over Fiona’s job in the snack bar, and stay after the rink closed and clean every night until midnight if that was what it took. Diane shook her head and said no.”

  “That was when I lost it. I threw myself down on the floor at her feet, and screamed and cried, and even threatened to jump in front of a bus. People were staring, and Diane was this close to calling the police. Then Sheila, an instructor who liked me, calmed me down. She said she would find a way for me to keep skating.”

  “And that was Olga Zelanskaya?”

  “First it was scholarships, but with money to train, I gave it my all. Since I was almost in my teens, I had a lot of catching up to do. But I started to win. Sheila worked to place me with a coach who could take me to the next level.”

  “But everyone passed.”

  “Everyone except Peter Flanagan. Once he offered me a place in his training group, he brought me to Olga, who had helped other skaters. At sixteen, I won junior nationals; at seventeen, I made the jump to senior level. Except for blowing my shot at the Oslo Games, it’s been a good run.”

  “I’ll say it has,” Daniil said, shaking his head. “There’s not a thing in that story to feel bad about.”

  “I made an enormous fool of myself. People at the rink talked about it for weeks.”

  “You were a kid about to lose something you loved, through no fault of your own. Once you had the chance to skate, you worked hard and never looked back. That’s reason to be proud, not hide behind fake perfection.”

  “Perfect people don’t have public meltdowns. But, perfection is exhausting. Peter has concocted this public image for me that’s so far from my reality, it’s almost funny. Not to mention impossible to live up to. The Antigone program is an extension of my pre-med at Harvard alter-ego.”

  “That explains why you don’t like it very
much. But you don’t need to be perfect with me. I’d rather know the real Tabitha, with freckles, curly hair and a crazy life.”

  “Even if the real Tabitha is a scared mess who feels like she’s barely keeping it together?”

  His smile was genuine and reassuring. “Join the club. Even with so many advantages, I screwed up my life trying to get the attention of people who didn’t give a damn, anyway. I wasted years being angry with a mother who left me with a father who never even wanted a son. While I was fighting against something, you were fighting for something.”

  She let the words turn over slowly in her mind. Not only had he not ridiculed her, or looked down on her humble background, he saw her struggle in terms of her victory. She had been fighting for something, and against daunting odds, she’d triumphed. The realization warmed her down to her soul. She sat a little straighter.

  It also made her see him a bit differently. Wealth hadn’t erased the hurt of being unloved and unwanted. “It hasn’t been easy for you, has it?”

  “It’s getting better. I’m more committed to my skating than I ever have been. Ilya inspires me because he’s overcome struggles even worse than mine. I look at Anton and Carrie, and see it is possible to love someone in the right way, and for children to grow up knowing they’re loved too. That’s the sort of life I want someday.” He smiled self-consciously. “With the right person.”

  Startled, she blinked. He couldn’t mean her. They hardly knew each other. Then again, weren’t they trying to change that? What she’d seen so far, she liked a lot. She wanted to know him more.

  Her gaze fell on the colorful images inked on his skin. Waves and water covered his left arm. On the right forearm, a 1940’s car drove on a moonlit road. On the side of his hand, just below his thumb, was a simple outline of a figure skating blade.

  “I like that one,” she said, brushing her finger-tip across it. “The artist even got the toe pick right.”

  “Of course she did. She’s Russian,” he said with a measure of pride. “People there know about figure skating.”

  Bolder, she took his hands in hers and turned them over to study the words inked in English on his knuckles. LOVE on the right. HATE on the left. “I’ll bet you didn’t get these done in Russia.”

  “London, five years ago, when I went to watch my mother marry the duke she just divorced.”

  “Did you get them to make her mad?” The idea brought a subversive little thrill.

  His laugh was deep and rich. “I did it because of the character in the Blues Brothers. It’s one of my favorite movies. The fact it made her mad was just a bonus.”

  Letting her guard down, she laughed too. “Well, at least your mom had the sense to marry a duke. The best my mom can do are a bunch of clowns.”

  “I thought you were a rock star’s daughter.”

  “That’s Samara. And Jason was no prize, believe me.”

  “You’re lucky though, even if you don’t see it. You have a close family who is always in your corner. They love you, and you love them. I envy that.”

  She never thought of her life as worthy of envy, especially from someone who’d grown up with everything. She gazed into his eyes, wanting to kiss him. But she held back. That was something Fiona would do. Or Samara. This was too new, too fragile. And she’d already set the ground rules. She couldn’t very well turn around and break them after one day. It was better to take things slow. Be careful, just like she’d promised Olga.

  In the meantime though, there was no reason not to enjoy being with him. She lifted her water bottle in a toast. “To crazy families.”

  He smiled. “Something else we have in common.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TABITHA WASN’T SURPRISED THAT DANIIL nailed the Back Cross Rolls they worked on the next day. The day after, she taught him a dance sequence.

  By the end of the weekend, the program she’d choreographed to Jeff Beck and Joss Stone’s cover of “I Put a Spell on You,” had come together. It was the first complete program she’d ever created, and unlike any she’d ever skated, fusing ice dance and free style elements.

  The dance moves she and Daniil performed together were simple: the blues pattern she’d taught him, which they ended with a lunge. Then they went into a twizzle sequence as much in synch as two singles skaters could manage. When it was over, he left the ice and she skated on alone.

  Just as the program was unlike any she’d ever skated, so was the character she portrayed.

  The hot, greasy guitar licks, straight from a late night dive bar no ice queen would set foot in, inspired the story of a woman consumed by desperate want. She was like the free-spirited character in “Someone New,” but with a dark, dangerous edge. This character wasn’t looking for someone new, she wanted only one man and she couldn’t have him. Tabitha hadn’t settled on the reasons, but the plot line mattered less than the character’s unhinged emotions. She danced on the edge of reason, flirting with madness and ruled only by her heart, consequences be damned.

  It was a tale that could only end in heartbreak. But didn’t every love story?

  Though Misha and Anton were often with them at the rink, just as often, she and Daniil were alone, caught up in the thrill of what they were creating together. Days and nights flew past in a rush of experimenting and refining. Ideas gushed forth in a torrent and just as she’d settled on one, she’d discard it when an even better idea came along.

  The heady process helped her understand why Samara always seemed to be flitting from one thing to the next. Her sister wasn’t scatter-brained or distracted. This was how her creative mind worked. The difference was that Tabitha had never allowed herself to embrace her own creativity. Now that she had, she couldn’t imagine going back to the passive role she’d always taken in her skating.

  Though she continued to polish her competition programs, it was this side project which captivated her. “Spell” wasn’t a program she would ever perform, but that wasn’t why she’d created it. This was a gift to herself, and to Daniil, who’d helped her find the courage to unleash and indulge this new, passionate side.

  Sunday afternoon, Tabitha skated beside him, lost in the music and immersed in this character who frightened and intrigued her at the same time. In hold, their bodies moved with powerful, seamless rhythm that propelled them down the long side of the rink. Daniil could now take the lead in their dance with such confidence and finesse it was easy to forget that he was just a beginner.

  If they meshed this well on the ice, how might they be off it? Like in bed?

  The tantalizing images that writhed in her subconscious all night, resurfaced. Consumed by dream-memories of his hands on her bare skin, she gazed into his eyes. She was caught in a shadowed place between their on-ice characters and real life, uncertain where one ended and the next began. She wanted to stay in his arms forever, but it couldn’t be. She’d choreographed what came next.

  Daniil’s gaze held hers and he nodded a quick signal he was about to release her for the twizzle sequence. The sensation of his hand on her lower back disappeared first. He slowed, so she could glide ahead, passing once beneath their still-joined hands. Then he let go, and she spun through twizzles, still sensing his presence, though she skated alone.

  When she came out of the sequence, he was gone.

  She glided backward, hands clutched to her heart, rising on her toe picks and then dipping low, in sinuous movements that embraced her whole body. She leaned deep into her edges. Edges he’d called sexy. The final guitar solo began, and she threw herself into a triple Salchow, then into a layback spin. Chilled air rushed over her face, and her hair flew out behind her. She finished the skate with her head down, one hand fisted over her heart. The other reached out for someone who was gone and would never return.

  Still breathing hard, Tabitha raised her head and pumped her fist in triumph. At rink side, Daniil applauded. “Passion wins over the Ice Queen,” he said, laughing as he skated out to join her.

  He wrapped
his arm around her shoulders in a loose hug that made her beating heart pound even harder. She embraced him, even though she was out of breath and sweaty. Unfazed, he smoothed his hands over the slick fabric of her leotard. “It was a tough fight,” she murmured against his shoulder. “The Ice Queen doesn’t go down easily.”

  “I wouldn’t expect her to. She’s a fighter.”

  He kept his hand on her back as they skated to the edge of the ice. Tabitha’s legs felt shaky, and she needed to rest before they worked on Antigone. Just a short rest, though, as their blissful time alone was about to end.

  Starting tomorrow, skaters would arrive to prepare for the upcoming competition. As nice as it had been to forget Mia Lang briefly, in a few days that would be impossible. Brett arrived Tuesday. Peter had already called to say he’d arranged a Thursday interview with Canadian TV. Daniil would be busy with press commitments and preparing for his competition. There would be no time for fun and games like “Spell.”

  They sat on their usual rink side bench and dined on a quick meal of carry out salad, with nuts and apples for dessert. Tabitha checked her messages and showed him photos of the garden Fiona had planted in the window sill of the new apartment. “Looks like home, even if they’ve only been there a few days,” he said.

  “We’ve moved so many times, we’re experts. Life will go back to semi-normal, until the wheels fall off again. Wash, rinse, repeat.”

  “But it’s made you who you are. And as beautiful as that flawless face you show to the world, I prefer the real person behind it.”

  Tabitha stirred her salad. Before meeting Daniil, she wouldn’t have trusted the compliment. Now she did, and that scared her even more. “It’s been nice to have a break from being perfect this week. And I’ve liked that we’ve been able to teach each other. You’re a natural coach. It’s something you should consider once you’re finished competing. Or before that if you needed to.”

  “So I could quit taking my father’s money?” He gave a short, knowing laugh. “Like anyone would want me as their coach. I’d have to stay out of trouble for good. Something I’ve never done.”