“Yeah, I just need a few minutes.”
Inside the locker room, I dashed into one of the metal stalls and rooted with the flimsy lock until it latched. A cry escaped my lips, echoing off the tiled walls, so I covered my mouth with my hands. Tears poured from my eyes and trickled between my fingers.
Sergei was right, but listening to him berate me had stung my heart. The same voice that expressed affection to me every day had scolded me as if I was a disobedient child.
After a few minutes of body-shaking sobs, I repaired my splotchy makeup and met Chris in the corridor. He informed me Claire and Brandon had won, and we’d dropped to fifth place. An ABC reporter requested a television interview, so we pulled out our best media phrases.
“I just didn’t have my legs under me today,” I said.
“We’ll learn from this and won’t make the same mistakes at the Grand Prix Final,” Chris stated.
Chris took the lead and answered most of the questions from the print journalists, deflecting the attention from me. I thanked him and sighed with relief when we finally escaped the media and boarded the bus to the hotel.
Sergei looked up at me from his spot near the front, but I continued down the aisle. Chris followed me to the back of the bus and shared my seat.
“I’m so sorry about tonight,” I said.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I let you down,” I said, leaning my head against the seat. “I let everyone down.”
He tapped my thigh. “It’s happened to all of us. Don’t be so hard on yourself, and try not to take what Sergei said personally.”
I squirmed and faced the window. Sergei seemed to have no issue compartmentalizing his feelings. How was he going to react the next time we were alone together? Would he act like nothing had happened tonight or would his anger spill over into our relationship?
In the hotel elevator, I positioned myself on the far wall from Sergei and let a group of people fill the space between us. The doors opened on my floor, and Sergei trailed behind my rolling bag.
I peered at him. “This isn’t your floor.”
“I want to talk to you.” His tone sounded much less severe than earlier. “Em, you’re one of the most competitive people I’ve ever known, but you have to channel that in the right direction. I know how badly you want to win, but you’re not going to get there unless you put your focus on being the best skater you can be.”
“I know, and I’m trying my hardest to do that.”
“Well, you didn’t try very hard tonight. You gave nothing to the program, and you’re too good to be pulling that crap. The judges remember–”
The elevator chimed, and a pair of Chinese ice dancers stepped out. The dainty girls paid no attention to Sergei and me as they chatted and meandered down the hall.
Sergei waited for silence. “The judges remember that kind of stuff.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” I shrugged in frustration. “I’m sorry I screwed up.”
“I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to show me from now on you understand what I’m telling you.” His volume level rose with each word.
“I understand what you’re telling me, but I don’t get why you’re still so mad.” My voice grew louder, too.
“You know the one thing I won’t tolerate is lack of effort. You could fall five times, but as long as you put your whole heart into it, I’m not going to be angry. You go out there and go through the motions, which is what I saw you doing, then we have a problem.”
I kicked a nonexistent piece of dirt from my bag. “I had a bad night, okay? I’m human.”
“That’s not acceptable. There are no excuses for giving up.”
I gave him an unwavering stare. “You can be sure it won’t happen again.”
“It better not.”
Our eyes stayed locked on each other, neither of us uttering a word. Normally, a lingering look between us inspired a breathtaking kiss. But this look spoke of determination not desire.
“Is that all?” I asked.
Sergei’s shoulders relaxed and his jaw unclenched. “I have to do my job, Em.” He dropped his voice. “I don’t think we should have dinner tonight.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you punishing me?”
“You think I would . . .” He gaped at me and shook his head. “I just think we could use some space.”
So, he’s too agitated to be in the same room with me. Well, if he’s going to lecture me again, I don’t want to be alone with him either.
I gripped the handle of my bag tighter, straining my knuckles. “That’s probably a good idea.”
****
On the way to lunch the next day, I checked my cell phone for the tenth time and frowned as I shoved it in my purse.
“Why don’t you just call him?” Aubrey suggested.
“Because I’m afraid of what he might say.”
We strolled up to the hotel restaurant and waited at the door for the hostess. My eyes swept the room but didn’t find Sergei.
“Do you think he’s having second thoughts about getting involved?” Aubrey asked.
The hostess greeted us and led us to a booth. I pulled the phone from my purse and set it on the table.
“I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I have a bad feeling.”
A thick row of plants sat on the divider between our booth and the adjacent one, and a deep voice carried through it. “The veal with the roasted potatoes.”
“That’s Viktor,” Aubrey whispered. “Watch what you say.”
A female followed with her order, and I scrunched my eyebrows. “Who’s that?”
We listened longer and determined the woman was Sylvia, another ice dance coach. After giving our orders to the waitress, the sound of my name jerked my head toward the greenery.
“What?” Aubrey asked but I shushed her and scooted closer to the divider.
“I couldn’t believe how they skated,” Sylvia said. “I’ve never seen Emily look so off.”
I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my forehead. My meltdown was probably a hot topic among many.
“Sergei obviously didn’t have them ready,” Viktor said. “His lack of experience is showing. He’s getting all the credit for Emily and Chris’s success, but they had the technical goods before they came to him. He’s had more luck than anything.”
I gawked at Aubrey. “Did you hear him? He acts like Sergei hasn’t taught us anything.”
“I don’t know,” Sylvia rebutted. “Emily used to be a head case, and she’s skated much better under Sergei.”
“She looked like a head case yesterday,” Viktor commented.
That wasn’t Sergei’s fault.
I slid back to the open end of the booth. “I don’t wanna hear any more.”
“You know how Viktor is,” Aubrey said. “He finds fault with everyone.”
I propped my elbows on the table and held my head in my hands. Besides embarrassing myself with my pitiful performance, I’d made Sergei look bad. What a fine showing I’d made as a newly crowned national champion.
My phone sang its melodic tone, and I snatched it from the table. Sergei’s name stared at me from the screen. I gulped and answered, “Hey.”
“Are you busy?”
“I’m at lunch, but I’ll be done soon.” I doubted I could eat much.
“Can you come by then?”
“Sure.”
Aubrey mouthed, “Sergei?” and I nodded as I hung up the phone.
The sandwich I ordered sat half-uneaten when Aubrey and I left the restaurant later. We parted ways in the elevator, and I crossed and uncrossed my arms while waiting for Sergei to open his door.
He didn’t greet me with a hug or a kiss, the first bad sign. The second came when I stood near the window and he stayed near the door, leaving what felt like a mile between us.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” he said. “And if we’re going to make these two very different relationships work,
we’re going to have to find a way to separate them as best we can. I think when we’re at competitions we should keep things strictly professional, so all our focus can be in one place–me as the coach and you as the skater.”
“That sounds reasonable, but it’s not like we can flip a switch and turn off our feelings when we’re here.”
“I know it’s not that easy, but I have to concentrate one hundred percent on being your coach when you’re competing. If we sneak around and see each other, I think the situation will be more complicated.”
Through the large window I viewed the appropriately gray afternoon before turning back to Sergei. “If I hadn’t messed up yesterday, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Sergei crossed the room, shortening the distance between us. “Probably not, but it would’ve come up at some point. If I have to be tough with you, I need to do it without worrying if I’m hurting your feelings. That’s the way it has to be if I’m going to do my job the best way I know how.”
“You didn’t seem too worried when you were lecturing me.”
“I’m not going to apologize for what I said because you needed to hear it. Maybe you think my expectations are too high, but when I see talent like yours . . .” He paused and wet his lips. “You’re so good, Em. The way you move across the ice . . . you have this incredible, graceful power. Sometimes when I’m watching you, I get so mesmerized I forget I’m your coach.”
A ray of warmth broke through the gloomy fog around us. It touched my heart and sent a tingle down my spine. My voice stuck in my throat. “Really?”
“That’s why I was so frustrated with you yesterday. It killed me to see you skate with so little life. I want you to understand how much better than that you are.”
I responded with a steady nod. “I do. I don’t ever want to disappoint you or Chris or myself like that again. And since I won’t let it happen again, I don’t see why we can’t still spend time together.”
“The stress of competition could come between us, and the last thing I want is to fight with you.” He came closer to me but kept his arms at his sides. An invisible force field existed around me.
“I don’t want that either.” I chewed on my lip. “So, I guess I should go, then, since I shouldn’t be here.”
I started forward, but Sergei blocked my path. “It’s not that I don’t want you here. My feelings haven’t changed,” he said softly. “I just think we need this separation.”
He moved aside, and I trudged to the door. Sergei followed me and scanned the hall, while I lingered inside the room, waiting for a show of affection that never came. Sergei’s sad eyes watching me leave was the last image I saw before I walked away.
Chapter Sixteen
I tapped my foot and checked the clock behind the hotel registration desk. Chris was never late, and he knew how anxious I was for our first Grand Prix Final practice. Had he set his alarm wrong? We’d both synched our watches with Tokyo time when we’d arrived the previous day. I paced the length of the narrow lobby and dialed Chris on my cell phone.
“I was getting ready to call you,” he said, his voice tight and raspy. “I’m burning up. I hope I don’t have the flu.”
“Oh no.” I dropped into the nearest chair. “I knew you weren’t feeling great last night, but I thought it was just a cold.”
“I feel like someone’s sitting on my chest.”
“You sound terrible. Have you called Dr. Parker?” Our team doctor took care of all our aches and pains, from a case of the sniffles to broken limbs.
“He’s on his way. I already talked to Sergei.”
“Let me know what the doctor says. And call me if you need anything.”
I slunk down in the chair and blew out a long breath. We had two days until the short program. Would that be enough time for Chris to regain strength? The Grand Prix Final’s unique format, requiring two long programs in addition to the short, could be problematic for someone not in top condition.
I went upstairs and soon received Chris’s diagnosis–a respiratory infection that required antibiotics and rest. With Chris quarantined to his room and Sergei keeping his distance from me, I spent the next few days hanging out with some of my American teammates, singles skaters I knew casually from other competitions.
Our group explored the city, and I put my new digital camera, a birthday gift from my parents, to good use. Tokyo’s skyscrapers and bright electronic signs reminded me of Times Square in New York City. After touring downtown, we left the bustling streets and visited a Japanese landscape garden, where we enjoyed a peaceful walk among the koi ponds and meticulously manicured trees.
I met Chris for practice the morning of our short program, and he scrolled through the pictures on my camera with a frown.
“My first trip to Asia, and I spend it in my room.” His voice still resembled a heavy chain smoker’s, but his fever had broken.
“Maybe we can do some sight-seeing after our last event,” I said.
Chris coughed into his bicep, and his chest rattled like a clap of thunder.
“I should wear one of those surgical masks,” I joked.
We took the ice, and I smiled with each crossover, relishing the sting of the cold breeze on my skin. The two-day break had put extra spring in my legs. I flexed my knees and generated speed with the slightest push. Chris kept pace with my movements as we warmed up, and Sergei gave us instructions for our program run-through.
“Skip the jumps and the throw, but do everything else full out. Chris, you feel good?”
He inhaled and nodded. “I’m good.”
The music operator cued up our piece, and we performed the choreography as if we were being judged. Chris held me with his usual strong grip in the lift, but during our final element, the death spiral, his labored breathing struck my ears. He must’ve held in the coughs for two and a half minutes because the moment the music ended, he succumbed to a long spell.
We drifted toward the boards, and I patted the back of his black T-shirt. “Are you okay?”
He began wheezing and couldn’t answer me. As he bent over and put his hands on his knees, I shot Sergei a look of panic. He’d already signaled the medical staff, who quickly scooted onto the ice in their sneakers. Two paramedics held Chris’s arms and guided him to the exit while he continued to breathe in shallow gasps. I followed them to the boards and wrung my hands as they disappeared backstage.
“Stay loose,” Sergei said. “I’ll check on him.”
I stroked around and practiced the triple Lutz and triple toe loop, but my legs weren’t as steady as earlier. Being alone on the ice with two other pairs unnerved me. Especially since one of the other pairs was Oksana and Denis, who always reeled off their big elements right in front of me. I missed Chris’s calming presence and the comfort of his hand around mine.
Sergei returned rinkside, and I raced over to him as fast as my skates could take me.
“He’s breathing normally now,” he said. “They gave him oxygen, and Dr. Parker is monitoring him.”
I hopped through the ice door and covered my blades with their guards. “Will he be okay?”
“Doc’s going to check him again before the competition.” Sergei held my Team USA jacket open for me, and I slipped my arms inside. We walked backstage to the medical room, where Chris reclined on an exam table. A clear oxygen mask sat at his side.
He smiled between coughs. “You came to visit me.”
I lightly punched his arm. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I was testing you to see how much you’d miss me.”
“It sucked out there without you.”
His grin grew wider. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
We went back to the hotel, and the doctor paid Chris a visit in the afternoon. He declared my partner fit to compete, so I put on my game face and prepared to skate.
The enthusiastic Japanese fans greeted us with fervor as we positioned ourselves to begin our short program. Chr
is’s broad chest expanded and contracted, his tight black shirt stretching with the deep breath. I squinted up at the bright lights and prayed, Please, Lord, watch over us the next two and a half minutes.
We motored through the twist and the jumps, and I watched Chris for any sign of struggle. His eyes were set in concentration. As we sped backward into the takeoff for the throw Lutz, I heard a tiny wheeze behind me. Chris propelled me upward but with not enough air.
My blade landed on the ice, but I was tilted. A jolt of adrenaline hit me as my body anticipated the fall. I tumbled down, and my right hand slammed into the ice. A burning pain shot up my arm, causing me to gasp.
I gritted my teeth and wiggled my fingers as I stood up. Able to move them, I figured nothing was broken, so I nodded to Chris to finish the program. He gripped my hand for the death spiral, and my wrist felt like a log on a bonfire. I screamed on the inside but kept my forced smile intact through the remainder of the program.
Sergei waited at the edge of the ice door with his hand out toward me. I held my wrist close to my body, and Sergei circled his arm around my waist as we sat down in the Kiss & Cry.
“We’ll get you to the doctor in a minute,” he said.
He massaged my back, and I tried to focus on his touch rather than the ache spreading from my fingertips to my elbow. Chris started to say something but dissolved into another coughing fit.
“You okay?” I asked while Sergei handed him a bottle of water.
He sat up straighter, allowing more air into his lungs. After chugging the water, he panted. “I’m sorry about the throw.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. No apologies, remember?”
Coughs consumed him again, interrupting his reply. Thank God this isn’t live on TV back home. Our families would surely freak out if they saw our current state. I’d call my parents as soon as I found out the extent of my injury.
The fall put us in fifth place out of six teams. We hustled backstage after the last score was read, and Dr. Parker gave me a quick examination. He wanted an X-ray, so I changed out of my costume, and an event volunteer offered to drive us to the hospital. Sergei ordered Chris to rest at the hotel while he accompanied the doctor and me.
Life on the Edge Page 13