Jubilee
It’s a terrible habit I have, this needing to know the scores. At some point you’d think Daphne would’ve just started lying to me, but she never has. Never looks happy when she comes to tell me how everyone’s doing, but she does it anyway. Perhaps knowing if she didn’t, I’d just go watch them myself.
Because of the standings, we’ve had a long night of waiting in the wings for the three flights ahead of ours, and we’ve been back here, trying to keep our cool while trying to keep warm. And trying not to freak out. I always get a bit nervy right before competing, but this feels like there’s more on the line than the usual. The “usual” at the SIGs being a gold medal, since we are definitely in the running for first.
Of course I want that. Of course I do. A nice shiny gold to put next to my other one. To be able to say when I’m old and grey that yes, I’d been the very best in the world not once, but twice—for a period of fourteen whole minutes. Because oddly, that’s all it takes. There are, I think, better skaters than me out there. But I have that certain kind of alchemy that’s rewarded by the frankly arbitrary guidelines of my sport. Technical skills combined with making them look pretty, effortless, having the luck of finding a partner who compliments me as well as Beckett does, having a body that can be imprinted with these strange things we force ourselves to do. Plus the psychological fortitude to be able to do these crazy things not just in the privacy of an empty rink but in front of thousands of people, and to be able to hold onto everything I know when it counts the most.
Seven minutes each time, four years apart. These are the tiny slices of time that will define me in the history books. What an odd legacy to leave. I chance a glance over at Beck, who’s keeping his sturdy legs limber and warm by alternately taking little jogs and stretching. Unlike me, he doesn’t want to know how the others are doing until the very end, so he’s careful to keep his headphones on and not make eye contact while Daphne’s here lest he, I don’t know, suddenly develop a talent for reading lips? Foolish man.
Foolish man indeed for having his heart set on me. Why couldn’t things have stayed the way they were? Why couldn’t we have maintained our professional courtesy, our fiercely competitive but distant partnership? In some ways I know we’re a better team for the intimacy that’s developed, but for the rest, my god do I resent it.
Before I can get too mired in wishing things were different or trying to do calculations on what will happen in the next hour or so, I see the flash of Daphne’s snow-white sweater approaching, and the look on her face says it all: we’re up.
Darling Beckett keeps his massive headphones tucked over his ears while we walk to the entrance of the rink for our warm-up, and goes ahead of me and Daphne so she can give me the DL on the last flight of skaters.
“The two Russian teams had very solid skates. If there are mistakes in your flight, they could take advantage to fill the podium. But it’s going to take mistakes I don’t see coming. Not from you and not from their premier pair. Unless something truly bizarre happens, the Canadians aren’t going to be able to fly their maple leaf, and the Chinese are out. So really it’s up to you, Lebedeva and Volkov, Hahn and Ziegler.”
I look at her sideways. “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”
“You mean Todd and Sabrina?”
“Yes, given that they’re in third and only trailing by a few points.”
Daphne snorts derisively and rolls her eyes. “Those two have about as much chemistry as mint and peanut butter.”
“Ew, gross.”
“That’s what I’m saying. They could get away with it during the short program because it’s so focused on skill, and they’ve got decent levels but there’s something off about that pair and it’s going to show hard during their free skate. Just you watch.”
We’ve reached the entrance to the rink, and our on-ice warm-up will start any minute, so I give Daphne a quick nod and then rest a hand on the boards for balance as I strip off my skate guards. Beckett does the same before finally taking off his headphones, relinquishes them to Daphne, and then offers me a hand. When I take it, it’s warm and large and solid. Trustworthy, constant, and strong. Both the very best feeling and the worst, because one way or another, this is the beginning of the end.
Beckett
The warm-up is same as it always is: me freaking out and Jubilee maintaining her cool. Unlike some of the other teams, we don’t practice any of our throw jumps or twists this time, but focus more on getting our muscles primed and ready for the hard work, getting comfortable with each other’s bodies and rhythms again. Jubilee is as familiar to me as the back of my own hand, and yet I still have to learn her every day.
I also have the prickly feeling of being watched. It’s not the crowds, which I’m used to, nor Daphne, who’s got her eagle eyes trained on every move we make in case she’s got a last-minute lecture or correction. It’s also not the occasional glances of other skaters, which you get used to during warm-ups. How are they looking today? How are we stacking up? Is she going to hit that jump? No, it’s not the standard level of attention. It’s something sharper, more concentrated. Something distracting, and I can’t pinpoint it.
Jubilee elbows me in the ribs after we’ve finished going over a footwork sequence.
“What’s your deal, Beckett? You’re not here. Like, more than usual.”
Which is when Todd and Sabrina speed past us, Sabrina up in a lift and yet looking at the ice. In our direction. Why?
“Do you feel like Todd and Sabrina have been eyeing us?”
Jubilee’s gaze flickers over to them as Todd sets Sabrina back on the ice and they glide away from us. Then she shrugs. “They’re in third, we’re in second. They know we’ve changed our program some since the last time they saw us in competition. I’m sure they’re just trying to get a handle on what they’re up against. You don’t need to fall into that same trap, though.” She reaches a hand up to my face, passing a thumb over my cheek. “Just pay attention to me.”
Easy enough when she does shit like that. Until the warm-up is over, I’ve only got eyes for Jubilee. I don’t usually think much of her costumes, aside from making sure they’re not too slippery or won’t impede my visibility, or that the crystals won’t cut my hands. Aside from that, I’ve never much cared.
This one is something special though. Even as we’re skating off the ice, I can’t help notice how it emphasizes her hard-won shape, the cut of the muscles in her shoulders and her arms, while the short wispy skirt emphasizes her waist and her powerful legs. Prettiest dynamo I’ve ever seen. The color is nice on her too. A green so dark you might tilt your head in certain lights, trying to determine if it’s black, melting into a lighter green. And of course a pretty drape of crystals, because you can’t turn around in figure skating without getting an eyeful of Swarovski. I, on the other hand, am nothing special to look at. Black pants, white shirt, with a vest as dark as the darkest part of her dress.
To be honest, I was a bit peeved SIG rules prohibit men from wearing kilts. It would match our program music, and I’ve got nice legs, too, dammit. Why should only people who like the ladies get eye candy? It’s not time to fight the sexism of the SIGs, though, it’s time to get focused on what’s to come, the one thing we came here for.
We go through our usual pre-program routines, and I’m not surprised when Daphne walks in, and tells us we’re up next; Sabrina and Todd are sitting in the kiss-and-cry right now, waiting for their scores, which will be coming up any second.
I help Jubilee to her feet from where she’s been stretching on some mats, and that’s when it happens. There’s a pop of motion on her skate, and it takes me a second to process what happened. Her lace snapped. Fuck. We have a few minutes—and since a competitor at one of the national competitions snapped a lace a couple of years ago and had to borrow his coach’s shoelace in order to compete, we all keep a few extra in our bags—but this is not what you want to be doing mere minutes before you’ve got to give the performance of your life. You want to be doing the same thing you always do, not scrambling to replace a crucial piece of equipment.
Daphne’s come to a halt in front of us, and turns around. “What’s the hold—”
I cut her off so Jubilee doesn’t have to. “Broken lace. There are extras in her bag.”
Daphne drops a curt nod and then is off and running to where our things are stored in plastic crates with our names and nationality on them. You’d think they’d have something more official than a storage box labeled with sharpies—maybe a commemorative, artisan-carved trunk made out of locally sourced reclaimed wood or something? But no. Anyone who tells you being an elite athlete is all glamour all the time is lying through their teeth or didn’t have a clue in the first place. While Daphne’s taken off at a run, Jubilee is standing there, staring at her skate, not moving. Shell-shocked, that’s how she looks, but we don’t have time for that. I’m used to being the one who’s off in a pre-competition haze, the one she drags around like a kid at a carnival so I don’t get lost and wander over to the curling rink or something, but I can switch gears if I need to. And I need to.
I grab a folding chair that’s lining the hallway, tuck it behind Jubilee and then push her down onto it, getting on my knees and taking her foot into my lap. Worst version of Cinderella ever. Fast as I can, I tear at the lace, undoing Jubilee’s perfect bow and then releasing it from the hooks and unthreading it from the holes.
How the hell did this happen? We check our laces regularly for wear specifically so this doesn’t happen, and Jubilee is as anal-retentive about that as she is about everything else. It doesn’t make any sense until I get close to where the lace snapped. There’s something strange about the wear patterns on them. There’s always marks and stress where boots have been straining the laces, but this doesn’t look like normal use marks. They’re . . . frayed. Which would make sense if they were old and she wasn’t careful about replacing them. But—
No time for that now.
By the time I get the lace out, Daphne is back, thrusting a new one into my hand. And Jubilee . . . Well, Jubilee is just sitting there, looking at her skate in my lap as if it’s the most curious thing she’s ever seen. Her hands are resting on either side of her thighs, fingers curled around the lip of the chair, but her knuckles aren’t white. She doesn’t seem anxious, more like in shock.
“Beckett.” I wrench my head toward Daphne’s voice, and she’s standing there wringing her hands. “They just called your names. You’ve got two minutes to get on the ice, or . . .”
Or we’ll be disqualified. Yeah, I know. I’ve never worried about that two-minute call rule, because I’ve always been ready to step onto the ice, but no we’re not, and my partner is sitting in front of me like she’s been possessed by an exceedingly calm demon. Crap, crap, crap.
I start working the lace into Jubilee’s skate, praying I can get this right because everyone’s got their own particular way of lacing. I try to match it to her other skate, and while I work, I talk.
“Hey, Jubilee. You with me?”
She blinks up to meet my gaze, and her eyes are round, looking for all the world like everything’s suddenly been turned upside down on her. “Yes?”
That’s not encouraging, but it’s all I’ve got to work with. “Good. I’m doing the best I can, but you’ve got to tell me if it feels off, and as soon as I’m done, we gotta go, okay? Get on the ice and be ready to start. We’re going to kill it, same way we always do.”
She nods, still looking absent. How on earth has she made it through so many of our competitions with me being such a space case when this is weirding me out so badly? But she’s a stronger person than I am. One who can bend, bend, bend, and not break. Except someone broke her and if I find out someone did this on purpose, I’m going to break them.
Where there had been cheers in the arena, there’s no sound coming from there now, just an eerie silence because this is weird. This never happens. Except it’s happening now. My fingers fumble around the hooks, but I’m almost there, almost there, Jubilee observing my clumsy movements with a tilted head. Jesus I hope she’s back to her usual self by the time the music starts, because I can’t skate the biggest program of our lives with this wraith.
Finally I finish in a bow that would have usual Jubilee wrinkling her nose, but ghost Jubilee just blinks as I shove the ends into the tops of her skates so they won’t get tangled or caught. Then I’m grabbing her hand and tugging her after me toward the rink, with half a mind to sling her over my shoulder and haul her out there.
Daphne hustles after us, and when we reach the boards I have to nudge Jubilee into handing over her guards. Daphne looks way more freaked than Jubilee as I shove the broken lace into her hands along with my guards and the headphones that are still around my neck. “Don’t throw that away. I think it might’ve been tampered with.”
I don’t stick around long enough to see her reaction but just drag Jubilee onto the ice, and the arena erupts. Focus, focus. Nothing else matters right now, just the music, the ice, and my partner.