Shining Through

by Elizabeth Harmon

  “And we have each other’s back, no matter what.”

  The reporter smiled. “These secrets sound interesting. Rumors have been circulating about you two for months! The mountainside look-out at the base of the torch would be the perfect spot to present Tabitha with the diamond of her dreams.”

  Brett’s answer was coy. “When it happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Following the interview, there were still three hours before their flight, so Tabitha stepped outside, eager to get away from the camera people and from Brett. She crossed the street to stand beside the canal that ran through the middle of town. In the distance, the snowcapped peaks were blinding white against the late afternoon sun. She dipped her hand into her pocket. It was probably safe to look at Daniil’s picture again.

  “So what does he have to say?” Brett’s voice behind her made her jump.

  She tapped the photo to close it. “Just that he’s looking forward to seeing me.”

  “I’m sure he won’t leave your room all weekend, which means I won’t leave mine. A damn shame, considering that Sergei is in London.” He heaved a sigh. “So close and yet so far.”

  She shoved the phone back in her pocket. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

  He scowled. “What way is that?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, checking for TV people. No one there. “I wish we didn’t have to lie about everything. I wish we could be free to love who we wanted.”

  Love. She hadn’t meant to use the word, yet there it was. And it was what she was starting to feel for Daniil.

  Brett grunted. “Ironic word choice, considering you are free to love who you want.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the canal, wearing a blank unreadable expression. “Let’s take a walk before we fly out. It might be my only chance to see this place.”

  They followed the embankment which ran along the River Isere. Traffic streamed by, and a line of bubble-shaped cable cars traveled above the river to a fortress perched on a hill overlooking the city.

  As they walked, Brett said nothing. He wouldn’t even look at her. Things between them had changed. The loss was sharp, and painful. She had to make this right. “Hey,” she said, stopping him. “You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. Daniil won’t say a word, and I never mentioned Sergei’s name.”

  “Is that what you think this is about?”

  The snappish question took her aback. “Isn’t it? You’ve been mad since we got back from Vancouver, and I told you that Daniil knows. I get it, I broke a confidence and I hate what it’s done to us. What I meant, is that I wish you didn’t have to hide any longer.”

  “That’s a funny thing to say, given you’re hiding, too.”

  “To protect you!”

  He snapped his head toward her and folded his arms. “Sorry, Tabs. But I’m not the only one you’re protecting.”

  At first, she thought he was referring to Sergei, but with a stab of cold clarity she understood. “You think I’m doing this to protect myself? That’s ridiculous!”

  He stopped and turned toward her, color rising in his face. “Then why don’t you come clean about your relationship with Daniil Andreev? You just said you wished we didn’t have to lie about everything. Let’s go back in there and tell the diamond people one of their happy couples just broke up! Then you can spend the weekend frolicking all over Paris with him!”

  “I can’t do that!”

  “Right,” Brett said. “Because deep down you know this guy is bad news and he will break your heart.”

  “No! You have it all wrong!” But her heart told her otherwise.

  Though she hated to admit it, Daniil’s dicey reputation and oligarch father troubled her. As long as he stayed tied to Nikolai Andreev, he’d continue lashing out at his father and in turn, sabotaging himself. If he got into trouble again, it could ruin him. If she got too close, she risked being pulled down too.

  The closer she and Daniil had become, the more she was plagued with memories of all the men she’d watched come and go throughout her life. Midnight moves to motel rooms. Her little sister weeping in plastic mouse ears. Her eyes stung as she recalled the most heart-wrenching moments from the whole wretched scrapbook.

  You’ve learned to expect the worst. I want to be different.

  Daniil had promised she didn’t have to be afraid anymore and that he wouldn’t let her down. Yet, she struggled to believe it was true. If she acted like Daniil’s promise meant nothing, and that she didn’t trust him, how could she expect the same from Brett?

  They crossed a bridge over the river, and Tabitha paused in the middle. Overhead was the cable car line. The higher the little bubble-cars rose, the more the wind rocked them back and forth. But they still held fast, traveling along the cable until they reached the top.

  In Vancouver, she’d rocked her safe existence and taken chances by stepping outside the safe and familiar. Daniil’s encouragement had helped her do it. Though he looked edgy and dangerous, he was kind and caring. Even as he pushed her to spread her wings, he understood her past hurts, and had sworn he was different. The real question was whether she could be different.

  “I’m not afraid of Daniil. He’s a good man, and I trust him.” Then she added, “As much as I’m able to trust anyone.”

  “Then what is it?” Brett asked in a gentle voice. He sounded more like the friend she could always lean on.

  “What if I try to change and love him the way I want to, but I can’t? And it only ends up driving him away?” Her throat tightened and the words felt thick.

  “Falling in love is a risk,” Brett said. “There’s always a chance you’ll get hurt. The only way around it is to not love at all.”

  “But if Daniil and I go public, and it falls apart, then everyone gets to watch. I’m not ready for that.”

  Especially since it was all too easy to imagine it happening.

  But going on like this wasn’t what she wanted either. It had driven a wedge between her and a dear friend, and that had to change right now. “I want you to know him, Brett. I want you to see the good in him that I see.”

  He gave a tight smile. “So I get to be your fifth wheel in Paris?”

  “No,” she said, warmth filling her. “I want you to invite Sergei to join us.”

  ~

  The men’s short program competition was about to start as Tabitha and Brett scrambled from the cab and dashed inside.

  Hand in hand they wove their way through the crowded arena concourse. Tabitha had to take tiny steps in her red stilettos, a bad shoe choice if there ever was one. She should have known they’d have to run.

  Good thing Sergei had already arrived to grab seats.

  Brett glanced down at his phone. “He says he’s in Section A, row 10. This way,” he said, tugging her hand toward a nearby gate.

  Inside, the men’s competitors were on the ice for their warm-up, practicing spins and jumps to the pop music blasting through the arena. A few rows from the front, in the first section to their right, a tall guy in a jean jacket waved.

  Brett beamed. Tabitha squeezed his hand. It had taken some persuading, but he relented and asked Sergei to catch a flight from London where he’d gone to meet with a Canadian sports agent interested in representing him in the West. Tonight, they would be a threesome in the audience and tomorrow a group of four friends out enjoying the city.

  “If nothing else, Andreev can’t blab about Sergei without people being suspicious of why they were on a double date with us,” Brett had muttered.

  Sergei Fetisov was broad-shouldered and handsome, with wavy brown hair and a bright smile, accented with dimples. If his hockey skills matched his looks, he had a promising career ahead. He greeted them both with hugs, and though his English wasn’t as good as Daniil’s, she could understand him with no trouble at all.

  “Gorgeous!”

  She appreciated his compliment. She’d dressed in skinny jeans, a black sweater and red heels in the Gren
oble airport restroom, while Brett was on the phone with Sergei. “Thank you. Spasiba,” she said, using a word she’d learned from Daniil.

  It was still hard to believe everything had come together.

  But it had, and now here she was, with her best buddy and his new love, about to watch the man she loved compete.

  Damn, this felt good.

  Spectators were still filing in, so Tabitha, Brett and Sergei remained standing to let others pass. Down on the ice, Daniil sailed along the far side of the rink, wearing his somber “Moonlight Sonata” costume. But his skating was anything but somber. His upper body moved in time to the song that was playing, Justin Timberlake’s “Can’t Stop the Feeling.”

  As he came around past their section, his eyes locked with hers. His smile grew wide and he rocked his hips in a very sexy way. Smiling back, Tabitha did the same.

  Brett gaped wide-eyed at her impromptu boogying, and leaned in, mirroring her moves. Sergei watched them for a moment, then joined in. The three of them—- actually four, counting Daniil, were caught up in the joy of the moment. In the row in front of them, three young girls rose from their seats and danced too. As people realized who they were, many whipped out their phones to record America’s Ice Queen shakin’ her booty on a Paris Friday night.

  Tabitha didn’t mind. She was too busy having fun.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “I DON’T THINK THIS LOCKER room has changed since I skated here back in ‘79,” said Ilya, as he took a seat on a couch with cracked vinyl cushions.

  “How did you do?” Daniil made a final check of his costume. Black t-shirt, studded wristbands and fingerless gloves. The stylist had spiked and tousled his hair with enough product to keep it from being whipped around by the centrifugal force of quad jumps. She’d brushed his face with sweat-proof theatrical make-up so he wouldn’t look washed out against the white ice. Now for his eyes.

  Ilya furrowed his brow and then chuckled. “You know, I don’t remember. Believe it or not, a day will come when other things leave a bigger mark on your life than skating.”

  “Today is not that day,” Anton said, as he came in with croissants and tea for himself and Ilya. Though the words were stern, his tone wasn’t. Their air-clearing talk in Vancouver and being back in Lake Shosha with Carrie and their daughters had restored Anton to his good-natured self. The croissants looked good, but Daniil never ate more than a protein bar before a competition. “You skated well last night, but Tanzo Okuta’s free skate will be tough to beat.”

  Daniil glanced over his shoulder to see if Okuta was close enough to overhear. Though they were speaking Russian, the skater could still hear his name. The only person close enough to hear them was the English teenager who’d taken a bad fall last night. He wore headphones. “After the short program, I’m only three points behind Okuta. If I skate as well today, second place could become first,” Daniil said.

  From his skate bag he dug out the black drawstring pouch that contained his liner pencils and brushes. The stylists never got it messy enough, and since he wore the liner every day, why not do it himself? The tip of the kohl pencil was too soft, so he gave it a quick twist in the sharpener. Leaning close to the mirror, he drew a dark line along the inside of his lower eyelid.

  Behind him in the mirror, Ilya looked away. The sight of him sticking a point so close to his eyeball disturbed people, but rocking the look was worth the pain. He blinked to clear the moisture from his irritated right eye and then started on the left.

  “Still,” Anton said. “The fact Domachev choked at Cup of China last week only helps you. When you were neck and neck, Bogdanov could have awarded him a place on the national team over you. But if you make the International Series finals while Domachev doesn’t, your World ranking will be high enough to earn your ticket to Grenoble. Provided you don’t give the Federation of Sport new reason to disqualify you.”

  “Which we know you won’t,” Ilya said.

  “Tonight, I have a quiet evening planned. You won’t even see me.” Liner finished, Daniil used his fingertip to smudge the kohl, and then reached for the black and silver tube of mascara.

  Anton leafed through stapled pages that detailed each competitor’s short programs and scores. “With your short program score of 102, you’re in excellent position to finish first or second. Then you’ll have lots to celebrate with Tabitha Turner.”

  Daniil paused brushing the lashes on his right eye. “You know?”

  Anton chuckled as he continued to study the protocol sheets. “She was here last night with Brett Stafford, the world’s most understanding boyfriend.”

  “If that’s what he is,” Ilya said, sipping tea.

  “Not that it’s our concern,” said Anton. “Only you are. And last night you were asleep in your room where you belonged.”

  “Tabitha’s a skater, she understands about the night before competition,” Daniil said.

  “There is that, at least,” Anton said, resigned. “Because love, or whatever you feel for her, doesn’t wait for the end of the skating season.”

  Love. The word had leaped into his head last night when he saw Tabitha in the audience. He’d never been in love. He wasn’t even sure it existed. But love had chosen him, and despite everything, he had fallen in love with Tabitha. With that question settled, a bigger one loomed. Did she feel the same?

  Thinking about it drove his normal pre-competition nerves into the stratosphere.

  So put it out of your head. Get out there and throw the shit down. Give Tanzo Okuta something to worry about.

  Today’s long program competition was a race toward 300 points, fueled by quad jumps. Both he and Okuta had four, including the Lutz, which was the hardest quad anyone was landing. Daniil would skate just before Okuta in the final warm-up group, along with competitors from China and Belgium.

  As usual, he didn’t watch the skaters who competed ahead of him, staying in the tunnels, headphones on, to pace through his program. Before it was his turn to skate, he came out in time to watch the Belgian skater who had been in third, pump his fist. Josef Dupree had jumped into first place, though if Daniil had his way, he wouldn’t stay there long.

  “Skating for Russia, Daniil Andreev.”

  Polite applause and a smattering of boos from Josef Dupree fans greeted Daniil. He ignored it, and at center ice, faced the judging panel. The television cameras were on him, but Daniil didn’t smile. He was already in character. Slowly, he drew cold air into his lungs. The deep breaths calmed him and gave him power. Daniil’s heart pounded, as he focused on his black boots against the white. On the ice, he could do amazing things.

  A hush fell over the crowd. Then came the heavy, ominous opening notes of “Radioactive.”

  Against a murky minor key melody, and dark lyrics that told of a man in prison, awakening to a nuclear apocalypse, Daniil began his program. The opening choreo had him clawing his way out of the rubble, fear and rage infused every movement. Cross stroking backward, he built up speed for the first jump, a quad Lutz. In character, he pushed upward into toxic, contaminated air. High above the ice, core tight and arms wrapped close to his body, he spun through four blinding-fast rotations. Gravity dragged him down to land hard on his blade. The sliver of steel balanced his weight; his bent knee absorbed a force equal to seven times as much.

  The landing was solid. The crowd’s cheers were louder than the music. Daniil clenched his fist in celebration. One jump down, three to go.

  A journalist had once described him as a warrior on the ice, the most accurate description he’d ever heard. For much of his life, he’d been at war. With the parents who’d used him as a pawn, and the schoolmates who ridiculed him. With the hockey coach who dismissed him and his sport as unmanly. With the skating establishment that shunned him as a troublemaker.

  But instead of letting rage consume him, he’d mastered it. Channeling it into compelling skating was his ultimate triumph.

  The program barreled toward its conclusion, with intric
ate footwork and challenging spins. As the music built toward its climax, he went into his last jump, a quad toe. A final choreography sequence transitioned into a combination spin performed in front of the judges. He came out of it, chest heaving, and sweat beading his brow. Heat radiated from his body, even in the cold air.

  There were times when everything just went right. Today had been one of them. Applause swept over him, a wave of appreciation that swamped national bias. He’d channeled darkness and pain into something that touched others. At last he could smile, and raised his arms to acknowledge the audience, who were on their feet. Fans shook flags and tossed plastic flowers. As he skated off, he blew a kiss toward the right side of the rink where Tabitha, seated between Brett and Sergei Fetisov, applauded and blew a kiss back.

  As he came through the gate, his coaches hugged and congratulated him. A rink assistant approached with a towel, water and a plastic rose that someone had tossed onto the ice. As he walked to the Kiss and Cry, Tanzo Okuta continued his warm-up stretches, but wouldn’t even look at him.

  His final score of 302.77 would earn him at least a silver. Even if Okuta won tonight, Daniil wasn’t worried. He’d qualified for the International Series Championship and had momentum going into Russian Nationals.

  Four years ago, the skating world had written him off, but today, he’d triumphed beyond what he, or anyone else, expected. Best of all, the woman he loved was here to share it.

  He couldn’t wait to see what was next.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  IN HER ROOM AT THE Marriott Rive Gauche, Tabitha stepped away from the window. Paris was waiting outside. Downstairs, so was Daniil.

  She turned to face the king sized bed and brushed her fingers across the silky white spread. She closed her eyes and pictured them naked, wrapped in these sheets and each other. Her heart thudded, and for the hundredth time, she wondered if she had the nerve to go through with it.