CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

JEFF BECK’S GUITAR ECHOED THROUGH the deserted Beverly Ice Center, transporting Tabitha four days and two continents away. By this time Saturday, the St. Petersburg competition would be over, and she would be with Daniil.

Maybe they would go out to a place where they could hear hot blues like this. Was there such a place in Russia? If not, they might go to a rock club, as they’d done in Chicago. Or maybe, they’d stay in and make sweet music of their own.

“I put a spell on you... because, you’re mine...”

She’d left Paris a changed woman. In the three weeks since, she realized that making love to Daniil and admitting their love for each other had altered every part of her life.

As much as she’d tried to deny it, somewhere deep within, a wild-child had longed to break free. To the rest of the world she was the prim and proper Ice Queen, but Daniil saw her as sensual, creative and passionate. Falling in love with him, and knowing he loved her, made her eager to embrace this new part of herself.

In Paris, they’d stayed awake most of the night, making love and making plans. He’d spoken of moving to America when his skating career was over, or shifting more of his training to Delaware, or even Los Angeles. How he’d manage it remained unclear, but that he was thinking about it at all gave her hope. Though she still didn’t know what direction her post-skating life would take, the possibility they would live in the same country made the future look that much brighter.

Unfortunately, she was having trouble staying focused on her upcoming competition. So after hours of Peter and Antigone, she indulged the wild-child by skating programs like this one. She’d choreographed two new routines, one to a song by Harry K, Samara’s favorite dead rock star, the other to Bizet’s “Carmen.” She’d always liked “Carmen,” but had never skated to it. So what if she wouldn’t be now? She hoped her rediscovered love for skating would make her stronger in competition.

Her heart beat faster as she picked up speed for the triple toe loop. She dug in her toe-pick, and sprang upward throwing her body into the move with dramatic abandon that fit her lustful, sensual character. She drew her arms in tight, but her take-off was bad, and as she spun above the ice, she tilted off balance. As gravity pulled her down, she tried to right herself. But fear of a hard landing made her muscles tense. Rather than ease into the fall, she fought it.

Exactly the wrong thing to do. She came down hard on her hip and side.

“Shit!”

At the edge of the rink, Peter looked alarmed. He dashed out to where she lay, almost falling himself. “Tabitha! Are you all right?”

Lying sideways on the ice, Tabitha wasn’t sure. The fall had knocked the wind from her lungs, and the left side of her body, from hip to ribcage, throbbed. Peter crouched low, worry etched on his face. “Can you move?”

“Yeah,” she said, regaining her breath. Numb, bare hands splayed on the cold, hard surface, she pushed herself to a sitting position.

“What hurts?” Peter asked.

Everything. “I had the wind knocked out of me,” she managed. “I’m okay.”

She hoped.

Peter helped her stand, and guided her to the rink’s edge, where she dropped onto the closest bench. Hands on her knees, she wiggled her fingers as sensation returned. She drew breath down into her lungs, fearful of a sudden deep stab that could indicate a serious injury. None came. She rotated her upper body slowly. Everything seemed to be working. She sagged with relief as sharp pain ebbed into dull ache. “Nothing’s broken.”

“Thank God for that.” Even through Peter’s concern, she sensed his anger. “And do you think that risking injury on a show program you’ll never skate is a smart use of your time?”

It wasn’t, and she knew it. “I just needed to work off some stress.”

“Then take another yoga class.” Peter thinned his lips and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “When have you not dealt with stress? This is nothing new. You’ve always risen to the challenge.”

It was true, only this time it felt different. She’d thrived as a scrappy underdog with nothing to lose. Now she was the one the scrappy underdogs were out to beat. She was tired, emotionally and physically. She was burned out. She missed Daniil, and was about to face off against a young phenom who was skating the best she’d ever skated.

But Tabitha had come too far, and sacrificed too much, to fold so close to her dream. No matter how much she wanted to quit and just enjoy her life, failing to achieve this thing she’d wanted since childhood would always haunt her.

To lose to Mia Lang and not make the International Series Championship for the first time in three years would be humiliating. To carry that humiliation into team trials just a few weeks later could prove catastrophic.

She rose from the bench. Though every muscle ached, she nodded, resolved. “You’re right. Let’s get back to work.”

After successful run-throughs of Swan Lake, Antigone and the exhibition skate, Peter sent her home, with orders to get a good night’s sleep before their long flight tomorrow.

She stopped off at a neighborhood drug store for a few essentials and then headed home. Though it wasn’t yet four o’clock, dark clouds, pregnant with rain, made it appear later. The air felt thick and the normal afternoon smog, heavier than usual. The weather was typical of November in LA, but she wished the storm would just start already. As long as it didn’t ground her morning flight.

The sight of Fiona’s white Ford hatchback parked in front of the apartment brought a twist of anxiety. Her mother usually wasn’t home before six. The new job at the call center had seemed to be going so well. Was she sick? Had she quit? Or been fired? Then Tabitha remembered that Fiona carpooled with a co-worker who lived nearby. This was Rosa’s week to drive.

Everything’s fine. Quit jumping at shadows.

Sure enough the apartment was empty. Samara had afternoon classes and then was working on a project for a student film festival. At least that’s what she’d said she was doing, and Tabitha hoped it was true. In any case, she wouldn’t be home until late, either. Tabitha switched on the 1980’s floor lamp with the fluted glass shade. Soft light illuminated their always-cluttered living space.

She took her skates from her bag, removed the soakers, and rubbed moisture from the blades, before setting them to dry on a worn blue towel in the corner.

She’d followed this ritual since she’d gotten her first pair of performance grade skates. They were Jackson Competitors, almost new, with blades sharpened to a razor’s edge. Though the boots left a blister on her heel, she’d been thrilled to have them. At least until the girl who once owned the skates recognized the distinctive scratch on the left toe.

She’d endured cutting comments from the other skaters, and tried not to resent the doctors’ daughters who had new skates every season, and whose mothers didn’t have to serve snack bar hot dogs to afford them. But even the best equipment didn’t guarantee results. Ten years later, none of those girls were still skating, and it was Tabitha who was poised to become the next Winter Games gold medalist.

Provided she kept her head in the game.

Since the main room served as their living room, dining room, and Fiona’s bedroom, it was always a mess. Tabitha carried their morning coffee mugs and cereal bowls to the kitchen, filled the sink with hot water, and a generous squirt of dollar-store dish liquid. Once the dishes were clean, she went into the bedroom she shared with Samara, and gathered up the clothes she wanted to wash for her trip. Thank goodness the building had a basement laundry room.

How many places had her family lived? Tabitha recalled ten. The nicest was the house with the pool in Benedict Canyon where they’d lived with Jason Hart. The worst? That was a toss-up between the dumpy Sunset Boulevard motel where they stayed after Fiona left Ray, a hard-drinking bass player, and this place. But at least it had laundry.

Returning to the living room, she tossed a faded Motley Crue t-shirt into the laundry basket, and picked up the CDs scattered across the coffee table. Quiet Riot, Warrant, Guns N’ Roses. Bands Fiona had known and hung out with back when she first came to LA. She returned the discs to the shelf, beside Samara’s movie collection.

Just as skating had been Tabitha’s favorite escape, animated fairy tales had been Samara’s. After everything that had happened to them, it was hard to believe her sister still loved princess stories and happy endings. Again, she thought of Jason Hart.

A crate of dusty record albums sat beside the stereo. In the middle, she found the first album by Noyzz, Jason’s band before he became a big-shot producer. The band he’d played with when Fiona met him in Florida and followed him to LA. She turned the record over to the band photo. Jason, in pleather pants and a mullet, posed with a red flying V guitar.

Asshole.

When they lived together as a family, Tabitha never felt close to him. Jason always considered her Fiona’s kid, and Fiona’s problem. Not that she was ever a problem. She’d been Polly Perfect even at six. But Jason had doted on Samara, his real daughter. At least until he learned otherwise and everything fell apart.

They might have left LA after that if not for Tabitha’s burgeoning skating talent. But Fiona had moved them into a cheap apartment, found a job and another rock-and-roll boyfriend. The Turner’s low-rent high-drama life went on.

It was a life Tabitha had grown up determined not to repeat. Untrustworthy bad boys equaled broken hearts and crushed dreams. She shoved Noyzz into the back of the crate.

She folded up the sofa bed where Fiona slept. A stray sock and a pair of pink leggings were on the floor beneath it, so she tossed them into the basket. If she didn’t get the clothes into the wash soon, she’d be up half the night waiting for everything to finish. She hoisted the basket against her hip and grabbed the jug of detergent from beneath the sink. Quarters. Crap. Did she have any? She set down the basket to dig through her purse when the doorbell buzzed.

Outside, two women huddled beneath the small awning, trying to stay out of the rain. Both wore laminated badges around their necks. One carried a clipboard, the other a caddy of medical supplies. The woman with the clipboard flashed her ID. “Good afternoon, Miss Turner. We’re from the International Anti-Doping Commission.”

Wonderful. A visit from IADC. Just the thing to make this perfect day complete.

“May we come in?”

“Sure.” Tabitha stepped aside to let them enter. It wasn’t like she could say no to a random drug test. Not if she wanted to compete. For an elite athlete, these tests—always at the most inconvenient times—-went with the territory. She signed the consent form and gestured toward the laundry basket. “Listen, I’m leaving early tomorrow for a competition and still have to pack, so I need to get this done.”

The woman with the case set out three shrink-wrapped plastic specimen jars and offered a sweet smile. She looked like someone’s grandmother. A grandmother with a strange job. “Well, if you think you’re ready to give us a little tinkle, we’ll have everything done in a jiffy. Susan here will go with you to the bathroom, along with your adult chaperone.”

The other woman glanced at her clipboard. “Actually, she’s an adult.”

“Silly me. So many of the figure skaters are young girls I’m just used to Mom doing the honors. Is there anyone you would like to come with you?”

“I’m fine.” As fine as she could be under the circumstances. Few things were more awful than being monitored on the toilet by a stranger. She chose a jar, then went into the bathroom. Susan with the clipboard followed. Because the room was so small, she left the door open. Tabitha could only hope Samara and Danté didn’t happen to walk in right now.

“Top up, bottom down.”

Tabitha raised her t-shirt and lowered her tights. Her face burning, she averted her gaze as the woman looked her over. Satisfied Tabitha didn’t have a vial of contraband urine strapped to her inner thigh, Susan gave a brisk nod.

Awful as it was, at least Susan was professional about it.

Tabitha washed her hands, then sat down, with the cup positioned to catch the stream. If it came. Peeing on command and being watched while she did it, made her bladder freeze. She breathed out, and closed her eyes, willing herself to relax. Come on, come on, just get this over with.

Nothing.

Susan leaned against the vanity and peered down at Tabitha. “I can turn on the water, if you like.”

“That rarely helps.”

“Oh. Well, we could just chat? That might help you relax.”

Any port in a storm. “Sure.”

“I don’t follow skating much,” Susan said, “but my niece is a big fan. She just loves Mia Lang. Do you know her?”

“Yes. She’s great.” Deep breaths, deep breaths. You’ll be here all day if you don’t relax.

“I think my niece likes you, too. Hey listen, I know I shouldn’t ask this, but Kelsey’s birthday is next week, and—”

“It’s fine. I’m happy to sign a picture as soon as we’re done.”

Which she hoped would be any minute, but after years of being subjected to this, she knew better. Three ounces wasn’t much, but a couple of years ago, it had taken hours to produce an adequate sample. She didn’t have time for that today. Maybe if she shut her eyes, she could pretend the woman wasn’t here. Minutes ticked past. It didn’t help. Tabitha sighed with frustration.

She gazed up at Susan, who looked oddly sympathetic. “I know it’s hard,” she said. “Too bad some people have to cheat and ruin things for everyone else. It’s all because of those damn Russians. You can’t trust ‘em as far as you can throw ‘em.”

Tabitha’s cheeks grew hot, and there was an unexpected sting in her eyes. “Susan, I hate to ask this, I don’t want to get you in trouble... but could you maybe... watch me in the mirror? You can see everything I do.”

Susan gave a beneficent smile. “Well...in your case, I can. Everyone knows you’re clean as a whistle.” The woman turned and faced the mirror.

“Thank you.” Tabitha’s shoulders and her bladder relaxed. She breathed a relieved sigh as she filled the cup. There were definite advantages to being a flawless, rule-following Ice Queen.