Life on the Edge

by Jennifer Comeaux

  The other patients in the emergency room regarded me with curiosity as I still wore my heavy makeup from the competition and my hair shone from the glittery hairspray. I sat between Dr. Parker and Sergei, listening to the babble of Japanese around us and wrinkling my nose at the pungent antiseptic odor.

  After a short wait, a petite nurse brought me to a small curtained area, where a technician took images of my wrist. Dr. Parker waited outside for the attending physician, and Sergei came in when the technician left. He pulled the green curtains tighter and placed a soft kiss on my forehead.

  “How’s the pain?” Worry resided in his eyes.

  My lips formed a tiny smile. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

  He skimmed his fingertips along my swollen skin, and for a moment, the throbbing sensation disappeared, supplanted by a deep yearning to pull Sergei against me.

  The curtains flew open as the two doctors entered, and Sergei backed away.

  “You have a mild sprain,” Dr. Parker said. “We’ll get it wrapped and then talk about treatment.”

  “Will I be able to skate tomorrow night?”

  The doctor scratched his gray-bearded chin. “We’ll have to see how the swelling looks tomorrow and how you feel.”

  I straightened my spine and glanced at Sergei. He’d said he wanted to see “more heart.” If Chris could skate through illness, then I could skate through pain. I was going to show Sergei just how much heart and desire I had.

  ****

  Between icing my wrist and keeping it elevated, I didn’t get much sleep. I’d lucked into a single room, so I had no roommate to bother during my restless night. By morning, the swelling had decreased, but my wrist ached as if someone had twisted it with a wrench. Dr. Parker looked at it before practice, and I held my breath, waiting for his opinion.

  “Test it off the ice first to see if it’s strong enough for the lifts.”

  I exhaled and smiled. “Will do.”

  With my arm rewrapped in a tight bandage, Chris and I walked through our free skate backstage at the arena. Sergei hovered nearby, observing with a keen eye. Chris took my hands and swung me up into the lasso lift, the one that required the most strength. I grimaced as my right arm burned, supporting all my weight, but I maintained my upright position without wavering.

  “How did it feel?” Sergei asked after we finished the walk-through.

  “It’s sore, but I think it’ll hold me.”

  “We’ll do each lift once on the ice for practice.” Sergei rested his hands on my shoulders. “Let me know at any point if something doesn’t feel right.”

  We survived a shortened practice with no coughing spells or other disasters, and I retreated to my hotel room to apply more ice to my wrist. As I lay against a pile of pillows and watched the sole English station on the television, I thought how wonderful it would feel to be nestled in Sergei’s arms right then. Why’d he have to insist on the separation?

  My attempt to nap was unsuccessful, and I headed to the arena with a swirl of nervous energy. While Dr. Parker secured my wrist with a new dressing, I fidgeted on the exam table, anxious to show everyone the injury wouldn’t keep me down . . . anxious to show Sergei I could thrive under adversity.

  Chris and I charged onto the ice for the six-minute warm-up. He pressed me up into the lasso lift, and I balanced myself with my right hand clasped in his. My forearm wobbled, sending a wave of unease over me, but I kept my posture stiff and we completed the element.

  “That was a little shaky,” Chris said.

  I fingered the edge of my bandage. “I just need to lock in the grip better.”

  We skated around the two other pairs and into our second lift, a lasso with a change of position. I went up with the support of two hands but had to let one go and rely on my injured wrist to hold myself up. This time, the wobble escalated into a forceful tremor, and my arm began to collapse.

  “Down!” I alerted Chris.

  I dropped and latched onto his shoulders, holding on with all my strength. He slowed his motion and steadied himself to prevent us from both ending up on the ice. My feet, quivering from the close call, found the ground, and I patted Chris’s chest as a thank-you.

  We skated over to the boards to regroup, and Sergei leaned forward, hands spread apart on the barrier. “Em, if your wrist is too weak–”

  “It’s not.” I avoided his concerned gaze and inspected my flesh-colored wrap. “I think this should be tighter.”

  “Em, look at me.”

  My eyes met his, and he angled further toward me. “If you can’t be completely secure in the air, it’s too risky to skate. You need to listen to your body.”

  I set my jaw. “I can do this.”

  His lips pursed in response, and he pointed at Chris. “If she’s loose on the first lift, even a tiny bit, I want you to stop the program. Understood?”

  Chris nodded, and we finished the warm-up with easy stroking to keep our legs warm. As time expired, I rushed off the ice to find Dr. Parker, and he adjusted my bandage.

  I can do this

  , I repeated over and over.

  We were second to skate, so I didn’t have much time to become anxious. Just like in the short program, our opening elements presented no problems. But the first lift was moments away, and if I wavered a centimeter, Chris had to follow Sergei’s demand, and we’d be out of the competition.

  I rose above Chris’s head and locked my arm into an immovable pillar. The strain pulled all the way from my abdominal muscles, stretching my pain tolerance to the maximum level. I dove deep inside my mind, searching for a tranquil place to block out the discomfort. With pinpoint concentration, I remained still and balanced myself without a single twitch.

  Heart and desire.

  In each of the remaining two lifts, I zoned in with the same focus and achieved my desired position. The rest of the program passed in a blur as the other elements seemed easy in comparison. At the end, Chris and I shared a long hug and matching sighs of relief.

  “We made it through,” Chris said.

  “But we still have another program to skate,” I moaned.

  He shook his head. “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”

  Sergei wore a wry smile in the Kiss & Cry, and he squeezed me to his side. “You made your point.”

  “I told you I could do it.”

  His smile diminished, and he cinched his arm around me. “If anything had happened . . .”

  The weight in his voice showed how worried he’d been. I faced him with my hand over my heart. “I had it all under control.”

  With our impressive performance, we moved up one spot to fourth place, meaning we’d compete against the third place team for the bronze medal in the “Super Final” round. In third was the top German pair, a team we’d beaten in Paris.

  I liked our chances . . . provided our bodies could hold up one more day.

  ****

  In our head-to-head battle with the Germans, they skated first, so Chris and I heard their scores as we waited on the ice for our introduction. They earned 5.6’s and 5.7’s, marks we could surpass with a clean performance.

  All the skaters were using old programs for the final round since no one had time to create new ones. We’d retooled our La Boheme free skate from the prior season with some changes to the lifts and jumps, but we hadn’t spent much time practicing the revamped program. Relying on muscle memory was vital, and we didn’t have that luxury, adding an element of uncertainty to my usual nervousness.

  Because I had to think through the program as if it was new, the lingering soreness in my wrist moved to the back of my mind. We took our time with each step of the choreography, slowly building momentum, but halfway through the performance, fatigue snuck up on me. I bent my knees, but I couldn’t generate the speed I needed. My sleep-deprived body wailed.

  I breathed deeper and pumped my legs harder. Beside me, Chris whispered, “Almost there,” and I found an untapped source of energy which carried me t
o the end.

  Chris gave our final pose such enthusiasm that he lost his balance and went down on one knee, almost dropping me onto the ice. We both burst into laughter and continued chuckling through our bows. Such an ending summed up all the calamities of the past week.

  I collapsed into Sergei’s arms, not wanting to leave their warmth and comfort, but we had to sit and listen to the marks. Chris bumped my elbow as each 5.7 and 5.8 flashed on the scoreboard. I rocked back and forth on the bench, holding in my excitement until we received confirmation. Our scores were lined up against the German team’s, and we had higher numbers across the board. The bronze medal was ours.

  Chris and I jumped up at the same time, and he picked me up and twirled me around. Sergei joined us for a group hug, and I sniffed back tears. We’d scratched and clawed our way through the competition, proving we belonged with the top teams in the world.

  After we answered the media’s questions with lots of smiles, Chris ran to the locker room to call Marley, who would be waking up for practice at home. Sergei motioned me away from the jumble of people backstage and gently closed his hands around my arms.

  “The way you skated tonight–that’s who you are. You have the fight and the fire to overcome anything. Always remember that.”

  I hugged him and then stepped back, but our eyes remained in the embrace, speaking the emotions we couldn’t physically express. We soon realized we weren’t looking at each other the way a coach and student would and quickly averted our gazes.

  Mine landed on Chris staring at us.

  He walked toward us with a hesitant gait. “I couldn’t get a signal on my phone. They said we’re gonna do medals in a minute anyway.”

  We were herded to the ice with the other medalists for the ceremony, and Chris’s excited grin returned. Maybe he hadn’t seen anything between Sergei and me? We were right on track with our skating as we approached the World Championships, and having Chris discover my secret could lead to a sudden and fiery derailment.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Across from the hotel, the neon orange lights of the nightclub beamed on the dark street, and the heavy bass of techno music vibrated the sidewalk beneath our feet. I paused in front of the club and tilted my head toward Chris.

  “I’m so tired. Tell me again why I let you talk me into going out.”

  He slung his arm around me. “Because we can’t have a party without you.”

  “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy? You still sound pretty hoarse.”

  “I’m not wasting my last night here. All I’ve seen of Tokyo is my hotel room and the arena.”

  “Well, somebody better catch me if I fall over from exhaustion on the dance floor.” The door opened and a couple exited, giving me a glimpse of the hefty bouncer inside. “The age to get in here is twenty, right?”

  “Yeah. We’re both legal here.” Chris grinned.

  We entered the club, and the Sumo-wrestler-lookalike positioned at the door eyed me up but didn’t ask for ID. Through the thick crowd, I searched for familiar faces, and two of our American teammates waved us over to the far end of the sleek glass bar. Above us, lights twirled on the ceiling and shone on a second floor with tables, also packed with people.

  After being outside in the chilly night, the warmth of the room felt good at first, but soon the humidity sank over me like a soggy blanket. I pulled the lacy neckline of my tank top away from my skin, where tiny beads of sweat had already formed.

  Chris beckoned the bartender and took care of my request for water. I set my cell phone on the bar and grabbed an empty stool, while Chris jumped onto the one next to me, swiveling in my direction.

  “So, what was Sergei telling you before the medal ceremony?” he asked. “You guys looked pretty intense.”

  I gulped and choked on my water. “Oh . . . um . . . he just reminded me I have the ability to fight through anything. You know, since I had some problems in Salt Lake.”

  “I think he was too hard on you last week. It’s like he expects you to be perfect all the time.”

  Chris doesn’t suspect anything.

  I bent my head and let my hair fall across my face so he couldn’t see me exhale with relief.

  “That’s because you hardly ever make mistakes.” I poked his arm.

  “Yeah, right.” He snorted and swigged his soda. “I’m the reason you’re wearing that bandage.”

  “No, you’re not. We both messed up. And you were dealing with a lot of issues at the time, like coughing up a lung, not being able to breathe properly–”

  He shook his head. “All excuses.”

  “And valid ones! You shouldn’t talk about Sergei being too hard on me when you’re always too hard on yourself.”

  Our friends waved for us to go dance with them, and Chris hopped off his stool. “You coming?”

  “Not yet. I need a few more minutes of rest.”

  “Only a few minutes!” he said as he headed toward the mob on the dance floor. I didn’t know where Chris had found his second wind, but lack of sleep from tending to my wrist had sapped my energy.

  Next to me sat a group of Russian skaters speaking their language, so I didn’t care that the pulsating music drowned out their voices. Oksana rose from her stool and slithered up to me in her skin-tight mini dress and stiletto heels, a cocktail in her hand.

  “Nice comeback today,” she said.

  I lifted one eyebrow. “Thanks. We were pretty happy with how we skated.”

  “You were happy with bronze medal?” she asked, a snicker to her tone.

  Ah, yes, there’s the condescension I expected.

  I sipped my water and gave her a closed-mouth smile. “Happy for now. So you shouldn’t get too comfortable.”

  Behind her, Sergei and a Russian ice dance coach appeared in the crowd. The coach went over to his team, while Sergei came toward us. The colorful lights flashed over him, streaking his golden brown hair with splashes of blue and red. My skin tingled and I straightened up. Suddenly, I felt much more energized.

  Oksana moved close to Sergei and pointed her green cat-like eyes on him. Cocking her head, she uttered something in Russian, and I clenched my hand around my glass. Sergei backed away from Oksana and sat on Chris’s stool.

  “Thanks, but I need to talk to Emily.”

  I bit my lip to contain the grin, loving the fact he replied in English. Oksana sashayed back to her group, and Sergei began rolling up the sleeves of his striped button-down shirt. I found myself staring at his tanned forearms and imagining their taut muscles wrapped around my waist.

  “It feels like a sauna in here,” he said.

  “I know. I’m sweating just sitting here.” I put down my water and fanned myself with my hand. “So, did you really need to talk to me?”

  “No, I just wanted to get rid of Oksana. She asked me to sit with them.” He flicked his head toward the Russians and then treated me to a smile. “But I’d much rather sit here.”

  I couldn’t contain my grin now. “I didn’t expect to see you guys out.”

  “We finished dinner and heard everyone had come over here. I thought you were going to sleep?”

  “I got peer-pressured into coming.” I laughed. “You know Chris can talk me into anything.”

  “Well, I’m very glad he did.”

  Chris squeezed through the mass of bodies and yanked on my non-injured wrist. “You’re not going to sit down all night.”

  He guided me onto the dance floor, and I pouted at Sergei over my shoulder. A couple of songs later, I escaped for hydration. Sergei was still in the same spot, now watching a replay of the competition on the TV behind the bar. I asked him to order a fresh glass of water for me, and I pulled my hair up, twisting it in a roll. A few damp tendrils stuck to the back of my neck.

  Sergei passed me the water and drank in my appearance. Luckily, no one was paying attention to us as his eyes traveled the length of my body. Judging from his smile, he liked what he saw.

  “Your face is red,�
�� he said.

  I touched the glass to my flushed cheek. It cooled my face but not the heat I felt from Sergei’s appreciative stare.

  “I’m just really hot,” I stammered.

  Sergei’s smile widened, and he took a sip of his drink. “No comment.”

  One of the Russian coaches called out to Sergei and asked him a question I couldn’t translate. They started a long exchange, so I went upstairs to see if it was less stuffy. I found a pocket of space away from the tables and rested my elbows on the railing to watch my friends dance below.

  After a few minutes, I sensed someone behind me. My pulse quickened as Sergei’s woody cologne floated under my nose. Sergei mimicked my stance and stood close enough to me his forearm touched mine on the railing. The scene looked perfectly innocent, but no one could see the million sparks of electricity generated through that slight physical contact.

  “Do you know how bad I want to kiss you right now?” Sergei’s eyes wandered down to my mouth.

  I let out an exaggerated gasp. “Wouldn’t that be against your rules?”

  “The competition is technically over.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Can you get out of here soon?”

  My heart skipped a few beats, and I nodded.

  “I’ll leave first.” He stood up straight. “Meet in my room?”

  “Okay.”

  His lips drew into a slow smile as he walked away, leaving me to count the minutes before I could make my exit. I tapped my high heels on the wood floor, waiting for an entire song to play. When the music transitioned, I went downstairs and sought out Chris.

  “Hey, I’m going back to the hotel. You stay and have fun.”

  “It’s still early! You’re bailing already?”

  “I’m beat. I’ll see you in the morning!”

  I scurried away and couldn’t get out the door and across the street to the hotel fast enough. A light rain had begun to fall, but I danced so quickly between the raindrops I stayed dry.

  As I jumped into the elevator, I realized going to Sergei’s room in the middle of the night might send him a message I didn’t want to send. I’d always had a clear idea of when I wanted to experience my first time with a man. My ideals were very conservative, but I’d intended to adhere to them. However, Sergei had unlocked feelings within me I didn’t know existed.