EPILOGUE
FOUR YEARS LATER
LIAM
“And you said you’d be dead before you wore a costume like that.”
I look down at the teal bodysuit I’m wearing complete with thousands of sequins. I’m a human fucking disco ball.
“Skating for the United States of America,” booms the announcer’s voice, “Liam and Viktoriya McCallum.”
Viktoriya squeezes my hand. “Are you ready?”
I look out over the Beijing Olympic ice rink. It’s a full house out there. “Always,” I smile, the two of us skating out onto the ice.
Who knew you could become a world-class figure skater in the space of four years? That is why the crowds are here, to witness either my glory or downfall. When Viktoriya first floated the idea to me, I thought she was crazy, but once I gave it a chance, I could see why she loved figure skating so much—the freedom, the expression of movement. It came back to me fast. No one thought this was possible… except Viktoriya.
We skate to Photography by Ed Sheeran tonight, the same song we made love to almost four years to the day. I thought I would be nervous, but we skate effortlessly, completely one. I position myself for the first jump. We leap together and land solidly, the stadium erupting with applause.
Viktoriya’s smile can’t get any wider as we move through the middle of the routine.
I turn and increase my speed. What I’m about to attempt will make or break us, a move that has never been landed in competition history before.
“You can do it,” whispers Viktoriya, positioning herself.
Fucking own it.
I plant my skate hard and push for maximum rotation, the five spins, the quintuple Lutz, blurring by before I’ve landed, safe and sound, back on the ice.
If the applause was rapturous before, it’s damn near deafening now, but we still have the ending to come.
I take Viktoriya around the waist, nuzzling into her neck and whispering, “I love you,” as we come into the final spiral, ending together on the ice, and I can’t help but kiss her as the cheering continues.
*
It’s snowing in New York. Helena and Viktoriya are sitting on the sofa with a flute of champagne each. It’s the first chance we’ve had to celebrate since we’ve been back.
Max, our three-year-old, is holding my gold medal. “Is it weal?” he asks.
I take the medal and bite down on it. “Seems so, bud.”
I hand it back, Max biting it himself, a quizzical expression filling his pudgy little face.
It has been absolutely non-stop since the Games with press engagements, meetings with sponsors, and senators—everyone keen to get in on America’s new darling couple. I’ve even had a few of the hockey boys on the phone, Paul the first to congratulate me… on how good my ass looked in those tights.
The boys took gold again easily in hockey this year given Russia was banned from the Winter Games. Bogdan and half of the Russian team were caught doping, whisked away to who knows where by the Russian government in the fallout—not that either myself or Viktoriya care. We’ve got a little person on our plate, and we couldn’t be happier.
Conceiving proved difficult at first… not for want of trying, of course. The IVF helped, Max born on Christmas day, our own special miracle. We bought this apartment the following week.
Viktoriya was able to get a special visa for Helena following a strong performance at the World Championships, permanent residency for them both. Even her accent has started to wane a bit.
As for our sex life… Every time I see Viktoriya I want to take her to bed. Her baby bump came and went almost as quickly; I was kind of disappointed. I’ve never seen a woman so attractive as Viktoriya in motherhood, the ‘glow’ everyone talks about and the general air of giddiness that surrounds her. Everything is new and terrifying, exciting and anxiety-inducing in equal measure. It’s incredible.
I love being a dad, too—a shelf full of daycare craft surprises Max has made me I treasure more than anything. It’s tough at times, with the travel and training, but we’ve made it work, Helena also doubling up on her role of occasional babysitter. She raises her glass. “To the best skating pair since Torvill and Dean.”
Viktoriya raises her glass, watching me from across the room. “To us.”
*
It’s cold on the roof of our apartment building, but the sky’s clear. Unlike Pyeongchang, there are few stars in the sky, the light from the city drowning them out.
I watch Max on the baby monitor sleeping soundly two floors below.
Viktoriya’s hands snake around my waist. “I can’t believe you still have that thing.”
I slide the monitor back into my pocket. “I guess I don’t want him to grow up.”
Viktoriya laughs at my ear. “That’s what kids do, you know.”
I spin around and reach for her ass, drawing her against my hardness, and I’m always hard for her, now more than ever.
She’s perfection.
“Kids? Plural?” I suggest.
She rolls her eyes. “You just want more sex.”
I slide a hand down the front of her pants and find her wet. “Making babies is what we were designed to do.”
I kiss her hard, sliding a finger into the warm grip of her pussy, the butt of my palm against her clit.
She breaks away to my shoulder, panting against my jacket. “We’re out here in the open, you know.”
I look around. We’re in shadow, few buildings taller than the one we stand on, and shielded by a wall to our left, but the thrill remains. “Just like Pyeongchang,” I muse, adding a second finger and enjoying the way she bears down against my hand.
Her own hand runs down the front of my jeans, all the way to my balls.
“And just like South Korea,” she says, “I expect you to make me scream.”
I draw my hand away and push her hard against the wall.
Before me is a miracle, the woman I never thought I would meet. I am whole when I’m with her. I am nothing without. She is my everything.
“Challenge accepted,” I smile.