ONE YEAR LATER

Denver, CO

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KATIE PACED IN THE dark tunnel wringing her hands together. Out in the arena, a video montage of her and Brendan’s best moments on the ice was playing to a ridiculously sentimental song she was fairly sure had been used at his high school graduation. Why did I agree to this?

Brendan stood at the very edge where the flooring ended and the ice began, peering out at the arena. “They were right. It’s a sold out show.”

“You’re not helping!”

Brendan looked back over his shoulder at her. Despite the urgings of the tour management, they’d insisted on keeping their usual costume style: Simple. Understated. Brendan wore black pants and a grey collared shirt open at the throat. The part of Katie’s brain that wasn’t flirting with a panic attack wanted to devour him.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I am freaking out.” Katie tried to make her hands stop shaking, but her body wasn’t listening to her. This was their first tour stop. In Denver, one of the two places that would always mean the most to them. They’d spent over a year putting this venture together. Not just on the ice, but with management, public relations people, a relentless advertising campaign, and more social media than Katie ever wanted to do again. Sponsors had sunk ridiculous amounts money into the tour. Thousands of people across the country had bought tickets in the hope that Nowacki and Reid, one-time Olympic gold medalists, could bring some small part of their magic to their home cities. If her knee suddenly gave out again, if they made any one of a million small mistakes, if their programs weren’t what the audience wanted to see ....

There are so many people to let down.

“Hey.” Brendan’s face softened, and he took the few steps necessary to come stand in front of her. He pulled her in for a hug, one arm strong around her waist, his other hand cradling the back of her neck. “Breathe with me.”

Katie closed her eyes and clung to Brendan. His body was warm in the chill of the arena, and as she matched her breathing to his, she felt some of her anxiety drain away. Not all of it, but enough.

Brendan pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “I think our cue is coming up.”

Katie nodded, but didn’t otherwise move. She’d waited so long for this moment. She wanted everything to be perfect. She needed to accept her fear that it wouldn’t be as just one more part of the experience.

“Okay.” She took one last deep breath. Brendan let his arms drop from around her, and she stepped back. “Let’s do this.”

***

THE CROWD ROARED AS they glided out onto the ice, hand in hand. Katie didn’t have to remind herself to smile; a grin broke out on her face as soon as the spotlight found them. She tipped her head up and waved at the audience, trying to project her gratitude and excitement to the most distant parts of the arena. She was still nervous; she would probably always be nervous in these moments, but she was learning to let it be fuel for the performance.

“With me?” Brendan whispered to her as he twirled her around to face the other side of the arena.

“Always,” she replied. The words of the question and her response were perhaps beyond unnecessary at this point, but Katie had no intention of giving up on the ritual that had kept them together even when they had been falling apart.

Katie took her starting position. Behind her, Brendan rested his hands on the sharp curve of her hip, his fingers pressing into the spot where her thigh met her waist. As soon as the music began they skated apart, but they had discovered in rehearsals that Katie couldn’t endure going into a performance without Brendan right there beside her.

This program, which Brendan had begun back in her family’s farmhouse, started with a deceptive quiet and focused on the lyrical beauty of their skating. Katie had no trouble portraying the yearning the story demanded as the space between them grew. She and Brendan mirrored each other from afar, and just as when they skated close, they never broke eye contact, unless an element absolutely required it.

As they reached out for the other as they did simultaneous flying camels, Katie imagined the internet analysis of the program — surely it was about all the years they were apart. But anyone who assumed that would have been taking the easy, incomplete path. It was, instead, about the thread between them, that when it finally stretched too far didn’t snap from strain so much as loudly demand that they come back together.

That moment of pulling back together was where the music changed into something full of force and drama and relentlessness, where Katie and Brendan were finally able to unleash what their skating had always been known for.

Brendan’s hand caught hers just as they seemed about to pass each other. The mirror of the choreography broke as they shifted to skating side-by-side and hand-in-hand. Katie could feel the whole arena lean forward on the edge of their chairs as Brendan pulled her into a death spiral so low and well executed that when she came up from it there were ice shavings in her hair.

As they exited the move, just before they had to drop each other’s hands, Brendan leaned towards her and brushed his mouth against hers. That wasn’t in the choreography, and the audience roared their approval. Voyeurs, Katie thought. Not that she minded in the least. She and Brendan were nothing if not exhibitionists.

Brendan grinned at her as they skated apart, leaving the smallest possible amount of space between them that would still allow them room to jump. With his smile bright and his eyes locked on hers, Katie went into their side-by-side toe loops without any fear at all.

They landed them perfectly, the crowd roared, and nothing hurt. Katie balled her hands into fists, feeling so fiercely victorious. There were no medals left to win, but right here, right now, she didn’t remotely care. This was what they were meant to do.