Medal Up

by Nicole Flockton

  And she didn’t stab Bohdan through his frozen heart with an ice pick.

  • • •

  She was still pondering how to thaw Bohdan at dinnertime. Last time she ran into him, he was talking to one of the Canadian coaches. If he preferred to talk skating with some middle-aged former champion rather than celebrate with his partner, she wasn’t going to hang around pathetically hoping for him to notice her. There had been several medal wins among the Australians, and when she’d been invited to celebrate at the American Burger Palace in the main athletes’ village, she didn’t hesitate. Being on the team was a big part of the Olympic experience. Brady had won gold on the second of his events, but there was no sign of him either.

  “Has anyone seen Bohdan? He was supposed to join us.”

  Belle looked up from her meal at Simon’s question. “I haven’t seen him since practice.”

  It was odd that he hadn’t turned up if he’d said he was coming. She’d assumed he was just avoiding her as usual. She checked her phone, but there was nothing. Bohdan was usually punctual, and if he couldn’t come, he let people know.

  She looked around the restaurant. Neil Swayling was there with a pair of female athletes from one of the European teams. Not ones she recognized. They looked like they were making a night of it, if the girls’ wandering hands were any indication. Neil was lapping it up. At least one of them wasn’t Dani.

  Stop it.

  Bohdan was right. She wasn’t responsible for everyone else’s choices. But it was worrying that Bohdan wasn’t here.

  Unless he had a good reason. Maybe a female reason. He was always swamped by women at events. With all the unresolved tension between them, maybe he’d decided to release it with one of the willing women. Ones who weren’t complicated by being his skating partner, who he had to see every day. What happens in PyeongChang . . . It wasn’t her business if her skating partner chose to skip a meal with his teammates for a better option.

  She pushed away her plate. The food was good, but she wasn’t hungry. Not anymore.

  He’d had the nerve to remind her about having an early night before the finals tomorrow. Anger churned her stomach. With the way he’d been running hot and cold since they arrived, it would be just like him to forbid her to have a late night and still go off with someone else for his own pleasure. If he arrived tired and under par in the morning, she would kill him.

  Except, it wasn’t really like him. He was all about the skating. He wouldn’t do anything to risk his chance of an Olympic medal. Their chance. He’d said the possibility of gold was slim, but he was hopeful of silver or bronze. Studying the competition form was part of his strategy, and a couple of times they had stayed to watch the practice sessions of some of the favorites. Not that Belle and Bohdan were among the top picks. One of the reporters had called them a “dark horse couple,” citing gold-medal wins in the past, both single and in pairs, but added that the recentness of the current partnership made it hard to gauge how they would perform.

  Dani came into the restaurant with Davo, craning her neck to find the group. Dragging the speed-skating champion behind her, she plowed across the room. “Can we join you?”

  There was a flurry of movement to fit an extra place at the table near Belle.

  Belle pushed back her chair. “Take this one. I might go and see where Bohdan is.”

  Dani smiled gratefully. “Thanks. But won’t you be coming back?”

  “By the time I get to the village, it will probably be too late to return anyway. I’m skating in the morning.”

  There was a general nod of understanding. For all that they were enjoying themselves, the real purpose of being here was never far from anyone’s thoughts.

  • • •

  Pausing outside Bohdan’s door, Belle hesitated to knock. What if he wasn’t alone? That would be humiliating. For her. She had no idea what Bohdan would feel being caught with someone.

  Not my business.

  Yes, that would be his attitude. She could hear the faint sound of a male voice through the thin door, but it didn’t sound like Bohdan. The rhythm of the barely heard speaker was more like a newsreader. At least it wasn’t music. That would indicate something a little more romantic than watching the news.

  Sucking in a jagged breath, she rapped sharply on the door. There was a long moment in which she waited for a response that didn’t come. She raised her hand to knock again, but the door opened. Bohdan stood in the semidarkness of a room lit only by the screen of his laptop. He was half behind the door, so the light from the corridor didn’t strike him, leaving his tall frame silhouetted against the flicker of the screen.

  “Can I come in?”

  He moved back, farther into the gloom, a silent assent.

  Even for him, that was unusually reticent. She stepped inside, and he closed the door, the lock snicking into place. He waved at one of the beds, and she sat down, dropping her jacket on the luggage rack at the end. He sprawled alongside her, his gaze going to the laptop. This whole silent thing was way awkward. She strained to see his face properly, but the pale light from the laptop gave only a hint of ruffled hair over angular features, his nose, and stubbled jaw above a bare muscular chest and low-slung track pants showing shadowed abs.

  She stared at the screen, focusing on the newsreader and the string of type across the bottom. “Another shooting in a school?”

  “Tak.” His voice had a raw sound, husky and strained. “Yes.”

  Belle watched his hands kneading the fabric on his thighs. “You’re upset. About the shooting? They have them all the time in the States.”

  “I know. It is why I could not live in such a place.”

  “But you’ve been there for competitions.”

  He shifted slightly, his knee brushing hers. “I was offered an opportunity to partner an American girl. I could not.”

  The rawness was easing, but his accent seemed stronger. “Instead of coming to Australia?”

  “Before. They are good people. Very kind. But I could not watch this on the television every night.”

  “Why are you watching now?”

  “There was a feature on the U.S. skating team. The news came across the feed at the bottom while I watched.”

  “You don’t usually watch the news?”

  “No. But how can you avoid it when you live in a country where it happens every week? Maybe not always schools, but something. So I come to Australia.”

  A tightness in her chest made it hard to breathe. He hadn’t particularly wanted to partner with her. She had been the default. She turned back to watch the screen. The newsreader had moved on to politics, and Bohdan leaned forward to mute the sound.

  “You didn’t want me. It was only that you didn’t want to go to the United States.”

  “No. I was very happy to come to Australia and be your partner. I considered we could work well together.”

  His tone was flat, his eyes still flicking to the laptop, reading the newsfeed scrolling along the lower edge. The shooting item popped up again, and he hissed. A pained sound that echoed the jerk of his body.

  Almost afraid to intrude, Belle reached out to rest her hand on his. It twitched under her palm, but he didn’t withdraw. “I’m so sorry, Bohdan.”

  “Always it makes me remember. All these years, you would think the pain would stop.”

  “Is this about your family?”

  His hand shifted to grip hers, drawing her closer. “Please do not mind. I want only to hold.”

  It was unexpected. A little scary. Her instincts warred against believing he wanted her and the sure knowledge he was hurting. Her compassion won.

  Belle melted into his arms, letting him pull her head against his chest. She could feel his heart beating under her cheek, the warm flesh smooth against her skin. His arms wrapped around her, one hand lightly stroking her arm through the thin fabric of her sweater, the other tangled in her hair, loosening the ponytail. Enveloped in him, she inhaled the scent of his freshly sho
wered skin, the touch of his hands strong yet a little shaky.

  It felt right.

  • • •

  Only the sound of soft breathing and the brush of his hand against Belle’s arm broke the silence in the room. Bohdan couldn’t bring himself to speak. His throat was too raw. He doubted he could get the words out without breaking down. From somewhere along the corridor came the faint thrum of music. People were coming back from dinner.

  “Will your roommate be back soon?” Her breath whispered against the heat of his skin, raising goose bumps.

  His snort lifted his chest in an abrupt movement that brought her breasts against his ribs. She was so damned welcoming. If only he could climb inside her and never come out. He focused on her question, dismissing his body’s reaction.

  “I doubt it. Neil hooked up with a skier from Germany. Perhaps more than one. He does not sleep here since the first night. He comes only in the morning to shower and change.”

  She seemed restless, tense under his fingers. The intimate mood was broken, and he should probably push her away. He shifted his grip, expecting her to take the hint and move. Instead, she tightened her hold, pressing against him. Snuggling. Such a fucking sweetheart.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  She twisted around to look up at him, her dark eyes liquid pools in the half light from his laptop. “It’s a little awkward.”

  How would she react if he asked her to lie with him? The laptop went into sleep mode as he debated asking, leaving them in darkness. The only light came from a gap in the window blinds.

  Her small hands pushed his chest. “You must be tired. Lie down and relax.”

  “You will stay?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer. He’d believed he wanted to be alone, but Belle was soothing syrup, warm and comforting.

  “Of course. If you want me?”

  He wanted her. Not that he wanted a pity fuck, which was about all he deserved at the moment. He’d been fighting this feeling from the first moment he’d seen her at the training rink in Brisbane. Her smile, the way her eyes had lit up. It had scared him into freezing her out. He’d spent the following months hovering on the periphery of her life, sucking in the warmth she exuded, watching the guards around his heart melting. Wishing. Hoping. Knowing that if he came too close, it would be impossible to resist. Only, he’d done his work too well. She’d kept her distance.

  Until now.

  Pulling her with him, he shifted to lie on the bed, turning his face away from the small sliver of light from the window. The moon must be out, or his eyes were adjusting. Maybe a little of both. He wanted her with him but not to see his misery. He tucked her face against his throat and inhaled her scent, redolent of shampoo overlaying her personal flavor. Sweet and floral. Not sexy, but it stirred him all the same.

  It took a moment to shift his brain into gear. He was going to tell her. Had to tell her. Maybe then she would understand. She had lost someone close. Knew pain and guilt. He couldn’t ask more of her until she understood who he was. Why he couldn’t give her what she wanted. The feel of her, warm and delicious lying half draped over his body, was fuzzing his mind. He cleared his throat, fighting against the tightness.

  “They were terrorists.”

  “Is that who killed your parents?”

  “And many more. They took over the school in my hometown. My parents were teachers at the school. My brother and sister, students.”

  She shivered in his hold, as if she saw where this was going. His mouth brushed her forehead, his poor attempt at comforting her for what was to come. Perhaps he shouldn’t be sharing this with her, laying his burden on her already burdened heart.

  She lifted her head and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Tell me. I want to know.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath, rubbing his slightly rough jaw against her cheek. It would mark her. He stopped the movement, resting his chin instead on her hair.

  “They killed over a third of the school, children and teachers. My parents. My siblings. Even my cousins did not survive.”

  “I can’t imagine what that feels like.”

  Her hand stroked across his chest, his nipples pricking and hardening in reaction. This was wrong, yet so right. He needed this physical reaction to know he was alive. To know she was with him. So close, as he had longed for her to be all these months.

  “I thought you would never understand, for your life was perfect. Now I understand it is not so perfect. You have lost a sister.”

  “You know how very imperfect I am.”

  His fingers quieted her, resting on her lips. “You were a child. It is easy to hate when you are a child. You don’t understand how it destroys until it’s too late.”

  Tears veiled her eyes, shimmering in the pale moonlight. “I learned.”

  “And now you must forgive yourself.”

  “Can you forgive? You must hate them. The terrorists.”

  “I did. But I hated myself more for surviving.”

  “How did you escape?”

  “I did not need to escape. I was not there. I lived in Moscow long before. I did not want to be a skater. It was seen as a betrayal of my family by some. They were all skaters. My parents, my grandmother. They were Olympians. But me, my brother, and sister were to be the first of our family to skate under our own flag.”

  Lifting her head a little, she studied his face in the flickering light from his laptop. “What did you want to do?”

  “I received a scholarship to the school of dance in Moscow.”

  “Ballet? That explains a lot.” She spoke slowly, as if putting together her thoughts. “I did ballet and gymnastics. I had to give them up when things got serious with skating. I loved the dancing.”

  “I also. But after . . . ” He expelled a breath, ruffling the hair on her cheek. “There was no one left. I left the school and went to Max. He helped me to become a serious skater.”

  He was a replacement, too. Like her.

  “Why didn’t you do ice dancing? Your ballet training would have been a help.”

  “There was never the right partner.” Something shifted inside his chest. But this wasn’t the time to talk of the future.

  “Did you skate under your own flag?”

  “Yes. I won gold at the Juniors when I was fifteen. I . . . ” His throat closed as the memories rushed back. That moment when he’d stood on the podium and there had been no family to see.

  No one but Max.

  His chest heaved, and he fought it.

  What is the point?

  Crying for his family, for a lost dream. Lost opportunities.

  “Bohdan? It’s all right. Truly, it is.”

  He swiped at his face, and moisture splattered her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb, his gut churning at the softness in her eyes. She could see him. See all of him. More than he wanted to reveal. He turned his face away, shame ripping his gut, but she wrapped herself around him, holding him tight so he couldn’t escape without hurting her.

  He stiffened, still fighting the waves of grief. Her hands stroked his back, soothing, as if he were a child needing comfort. As he had needed comfort all those years ago when the director of the ballet school had taken him into her office and told him of the attack on his town, his old school. As he had needed it when strangers had come and told him he would no longer see his mother and father or Marja and Mikael, ever again.

  As he had needed it, standing alone at the cemetery, surrounded by strangers, watching his family buried. Alone. As he had always been.

  Until Belle.

  He buried his face in her throat, his hands clinging to her, wrapped around her back, linked at her nape. She was so small, yet so strong. He could not fight any longer. Her touch made him weak, yet it did not matter. He let the sadness flow, washing through him, his throat sore as he cried it out. It seemed to go on for a long time, but always, he remained aware of Belle, tender and sturdy at the same time, a force against which his emotions beat. She remained with
him in the moment, her strength sustaining him. Finally, his chest rose and fell in a last paroxysm, he sucked in air, and his body stilled.

  Wriggling in his hold, Belle pulled a wad of tissues from her pocket and thrust them into his hand.

  “Here. To mop up with.” So matter-of-fact.

  He said something he hoped she couldn’t understand. But he took them and wiped his face anyway.

  She looked at him, not with pity, but with a warm understanding. “Should I leave?”

  He gripped her shoulder. “No. Do not go. Please.”

  “You don’t want to be alone?”

  Surely, she could understand that. The memories were overwhelming. “Please. Stay with me.”

  She settled back against him, her head on his shoulder. “All right. I’ll stay.”

  There was plenty of time. It wasn’t even nine o’clock, and her room was only a short elevator ride away.

  It was nice, lying together on the bed. The silence this time was more comfortable than awkward. So much emotion was grueling, and he had been fretting long before she’d come to find him. Her breathing slowed, even and deep. He was almost sure she was asleep, but he didn’t want to move to check. If he did and she woke up, she might leave. Closing his eyes, he listened to the rhythm of her breathing, soft and sweet against his bare chest.

  Chapter 9

  She must have slept. Bohdan hadn’t moved much, his jaw resting on her hair, one hand spanning her rib cage, his thumb light on the bottom curve of her breast. Their legs were tangled somehow, his muscular thigh between hers. Warmth radiated from his bare chest and through the fabric of his sweatpants. They lay like lovers in the aftermath of passion.

  His thumb began a slow stroke down the side of her breast and she held her breath, waiting for him to wake up and repudiate her. Even through the thin fabric of her sweater, heat bloomed where he touched. She had no bra, so there was nothing to slow her nipples’ immediate puckered response.

  Her breathing shifted. From nerves as much as anything. She’d never been in this situation before. Stolen kisses in the corridors of the rink back home had never involved full-body contact. Ridiculous to be so inexperienced at her age. Not that it would lead to anything. Bohdan was half asleep, most likely not even aware of who he was fondling.