THE MOST RECENT WINTER Olympics

Harbin, China

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WHILE IT WAS HAPPENING, Brendan’s only goal in a competitive skate was to exist completely in the present. He didn’t want to think about the elements he had just executed or the ones that loomed ahead. He wanted to exist in perfect harmony with Katie in these moments where everything in their lives was absolutely clear. But today, the bubble in which they skated felt uniquely charged. Already Brendan could tell this was a performance that was going to live on in skating and Olympic history. They’d been good for a while. Lately, they’d been great. But in an entire life of skating, Brendan had never felt quite this certain, powerful, or free.

Two-thirds of the way through their program came the footwork pass. A lot of other pairs looked like they were taking a rest break on theirs — and with good reason. At four and a half minutes, these programs were exhausting. Without the somewhat less brutal demands of the footwork sequence, they weren’t survivable. But for him and Katie, footwork and choreography were never about slowing down or easing up. They were places to up the stakes, secure a few more points, and to sell the only story they knew how to tell on the ice: That of love and desire so powerful it could burn the world down like war.

In the four years Brendan had spent apart from Katie, skating with other partners in the miserable purgatory between Annecy and Stockholm, he’d had to work to portray chemistry between himself and his other partners. Where to put his hands, where to direct his gaze, and where to move his body had taken up as much mental effort as the rest of his skating put together. With Katie, he didn’t have to think about any of those things at all. He never had. Their bodies simply knew each other.

They were coming up on their third and final overhead lift in the last Olympics they would ever skate in. They only needed a few strokes to pick up speed.

Katie turned in his arms and jumped.

He caught her, and then he had her above his head. Their only two points of contact were their hands, clasped tight around each other, as Brendan rotated across the ice, covering as much distance as he could while the music swelled and the audience, already caught up in the moment, roared. Brendan’s face felt like it would split from smiling. They’d been perfect, and now they were only seconds from the end.

Their eyes met as he guided Katie down from the lift and back onto the ice. Her face, framed by her dark hair, was incandescent with delight.

This. This moment is joy.

Last was the pair spin. They came out of it, Katie’s head on his chest, Brendan’s arms around her waist, both of them heaving for breath as the final strains of the music died away.

The crowd exploded into cheers.

As they came up out of their ending positions, they stared at each other in wonder and disbelief. They were made to do what they had just done, but they had fallen short so many times. Brendan didn’t know if he had experienced destiny or a miracle. Maybe it had been both. After all, he was here with Katie. Finally.

Her eyes were wild with joy. She clasped Brendan’s hands hard enough to hurt before she threw herself at him, her arms wrapped tight around his neck and her face buried in his shoulder.

Brendan folded his arms around her back and held her close. He’d never felt more whole.

“I love you.” He ducked his head to whisper in her ear. Hopefully, the cameras wouldn’t see. “And I’m pretty sure we just won.”