CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Should he have stopped her?

Four weeks and a day after Tabitha walked out of his life, Daniil still didn’t know.

On the train to Moscow for Russian Nationals, he sat apart from the Lake Shosha group. He stared out the window, thought about all that had happened, and what lay ahead.

Tabitha had returned to the United States and recommitted to her skating. She’d called once and sent a congratulatory text after he’d taken silver in the International Series Championship two weeks ago. He hadn’t returned them, nor would he. Though agonizing, a clean break was always best.

He’d returned from St. Petersburg, settled what he owed to his coaches and training center through the end of the year, then severed ties to Nikolai. The lack of response from his father had been a relief and disappointment. He’d hoped Nikolai would care enough to notice. He should have known better.

Without a steady flow of cash, Daniil had to turn to the Russian Sports Federation to finance his training. After his strong season, he hoped the federation would fund him through the Winter Games, and the World Championship. But Bogdanov continued to drag his heels. Anton had pressed for an answer, only to be told a decision was pending. Everything depended on his drug test result, including his eligibility to skate in the National championship. With Nationals starting, Daniil had no choice but to prepare and hope Bogdanov wasn’t dragging him to Moscow only to be told no.

The city glowed with wintertime beauty, and with just a week before the New Year holiday, Moscow had a festive atmosphere. Daniil found no joy. Headed to dinner with his training mates, coaches and their families, he felt utterly alone.

Ilya and his wife Agnessa walked beside Daniil. The older man looked over. “It will pass, Dan’ka.”

“I know,” he answered, though a part of him didn’t want it to. The intense pain confirmed that what he’d felt for Tabitha was the real deal. Love wasn’t something he’d thought he would ever know, but now that he had, he struggled to let it go. He’d felt whole, seen more goodness in the world. She’d changed him for the better. He wished she could see it, and that she was here to cheer him on. Not only in the competition, but through each step of becoming a man she could be proud of.

But she was lost to him. The American TV interview he’d watched two nights ago proved it.

The interviewer had focused on her difficulties this season and included Peter Flanagan blaming his skater’s troubles on distraction and “bad choices.” Tabitha sat beside him and then added, “I hurt people I cared about. I lost sight of what was most important and did things that in hindsight weren’t wise.”

“And have you learned from your mistakes?”

“Yes. I believe I have.”

A mistake. That was how she thought of him. He’d treasured what they’d had together, and Tabitha had put it behind her. It was time for him to do the same. If only she didn’t invade his thoughts every other minute.

After dinner, his friends headed to a nightclub in the Tverskoy district to celebrate pair skater Aleksandra Markova’s eighteenth birthday. Daniil went, but didn’t plan to stay long. Being in a club would only make him think of the one in Chicago where he’d danced with Tabitha and how she’d looked sipping a chocolate martini.

The club was too posh and pretentious for his taste, and he winced at how much it cost just to walk in. Life was different without Nikolai’s money that was for damn sure. When they toasted Sasha with vodka shots, the nightclub manager recognized them and decided they were famous enough to sit in the VIP balcony.

As they were shown to a table, Daniil had a creeping sense of being watched. No sooner had he sat down than a steroid-pumped dude in a black t-shirt walked over. “Daniil Nikolaevich. Your papa insists you join him for a drink.”

Daniil turned. Nikolai and his entourage sat at a corner table. Well, he’d wanted a response from his father. He should be more careful about what he wished for.

As Daniil approached, Nikolai gestured toward the open chair to his right. Though his father was pushing sixty, his hair was still dark and his face hadn’t aged in the five years since Daniil last saw him. The body guard poured shots from the table bottle of Stoli Elit: Himalayan and Nikolai toasted. “To my son, who would have otherwise ignored me.”

Everyone laughed, then drank, then left. Only Daniil, Nikolai, the body guard, and a beautiful young blonde in diamonds and a fur coat, remained. If her long, bare legs were any sign, she wore nothing else. Nikolai lit a cigarette off hers and exhaled. “You’re in town and don’t even come to see me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Nikolai moved closer to his pouty squeeze. “Everyone is busy. But Oksana’s a big skating fan and wanted to meet you.”

Oksana seemed more interested in her phone, but Daniil spread his hands and leaned back in his chair. “So here I am. And what are you about these days?”

Nikolai gestured with his cigarette. “Business, always business. Solving problems for those in need. Lately, I’ve been hearing about your problems.”

“I don’t have problems.”

Nikolai snorted and refilled their glasses. “You’re broke and have to beg Yuri Bogdanov for money. Without money to train, your skating career is over. I would call that a problem. Though not an insurmountable one.”

They downed another shot. The vodka was clean with a nice, peppery burn. “Meaning what?”

Nikolai smiled. “Bogdanov is a reasonable man. He just needs the right incentive. The carrot or the stick? It’s hard to know which will motivate someone. I prefer to offer rewards, but if that doesn’t work, the threat of punishment usually does.”

“Punishment.” Daniil turned the word over on his tongue. “You would know something about that.”

His father narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t lay a hand on you, though for all the trouble you put me through, you deserved a good beating. Often, it seemed as though I were the one being punished.”

“I’m sure it did.” Daniil’s mouth twisted. “Left to raise a son you never wanted, who enjoyed making your life hell?”

“Your mother knew I had no interest in raising a child. Neither did she. I’m the first to admit I’m a better businessman than parent. But the past is past, and now, you need my help. Because without it?” Nikolai shrugged, answering his own question.

So much was buried in that insolent gesture. Even if Bogdanov told him no and Daniil had to quit competing and skate as Prince Charming in an ice show, he would never take another ruble from this man. “Because without it, I’ll never amount to anything.”

“Exactly.” He poured more vodka. “So tell me what you need from me.”

Daniil slammed his shot glass down on the table. Nikolai’s very fine vodka slopped over the side. “I don’t need a fucking thing from you.”

He grabbed his coat and walked out of the bar.

The next morning, Daniil met his coaches for breakfast. Over a traditional spread of eggs, chopped smoked salmon, country-style bread and strong black tea, Anton said, “Bogdanov wants to meet with you today. You alone. Not me, or Ilya present.”

Daniil rubbed his eyes. Last night, Nikolai, now Bogdanov. If he could endure this, he could endure anything. “Why? So there will be no witnesses to the murder?”

“You don’t have to accept,” Anton said. “I told him I would relay the message, but the decision is yours.”

Ilya poured more tea from the aluminum pot beside his plate. “If he meant to bar you from competition, would he have had you come all the way to Moscow?”

“Why not? He’s hated me ever since my suspension. Before that, even. But I’ll see him. Best to know his decision now before I waste the week practicing programs I’ll never perform again.”

The federation office was in a non-descript building in the Taganka district, a short Metro ride from the hotel. Bogdanov’s office was small and windowless, an odd place to wield so much power. Daniil took out his phone and opened the recording app he’d downloaded for the occasion. “So I miss nothing, Yuri Viktorovich.”

Bogdanov steepled his fingers and stared at him through his dark rimmed glasses. “Your drug test came back clean.”

“As it should have. So nothing bars me from skating in Nationals, and if I’m successful here, Grenoble.”

Bogdanov looked older and even more austere than he had when he’d been Daniil’s coach. “And after years of flagrant bad behavior, now you need our money so you can continue to train.”

“As well as I’ve skated, it’s not in the federation’s interest to deny me the chance.”

“Don’t presume to tell me about the federation’s interests. If it were my choice, I would send you back to the hole from which you crawled. But others feel you deserve a chance, so unfortunately, I must give you one. Here it is. If you are the men’s national champion, you will win the privilege of representing Russia in the Winter Games, and receive funds through the rest of the season.

“And if I don’t?”

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

Daniil’s anger surged. No other skater was being held to such standards. It wasn’t fair, but it was what he’d reaped from years of doing as he pleased, damn the consequences. If he wanted a chance, he not only had to say he was worth one, he had to prove it.

Bogdanov’s hard expression reminded him of Nikolai. Both had said he’d never amount to anything. Long ago, he’d sworn he’d prove his father wrong. He added Bogdanov to the list. Daniil picked up his phone. “When I make good on my end of the deal, this proves you must hold up yours.”

Daniil’s coaches were furious when they heard what Bogdanov had said. “Legally, he can’t do that,” Anton said, fuming. “Every judge could be pressured to score you lower than you deserve.”

“Then I have to skate so well there’s no question I deserve to win,” Daniil said. “Nikolai’s money meant I could ignore the federation, but that time is over. Either I deserve to stay in on my own merit, or I don’t.”

But Monday morning’s brave talk felt far away Wednesday evening. His future, everything he’d worked for came down to how he skated in the short program tonight and the free skate tomorrow.

In the backstage corridor, Daniil paced through his program. Inside his shirt, he felt the weight of a coin-sized medallion Ilya had given him earlier in the day.

“That’s St. John the Warrior,” Ilya explained. “He’s the intercessor for difficult circumstances. He’s on your side, and so are we.”

A saint known as “the Warrior” was a good fit, as Daniil had been called a warrior, too. Though he wasn’t religious like Ilya, he appreciated the thought. Just as he appreciated Anton and Carrie working their contacts for endorsements and teaching gigs, so Daniil could continue in competitive skating, even if he didn’t qualify for Grenoble.

Daniil didn’t want to let them down. He didn’t know if he had it in himself to be perfect, he only knew he had to try.

He put on his headphones to pace through “Moonlight Sonata” once more. A memory popped into his mind. He saw Tabitha, sitting across the table in the diner in Chicago, a plate of French toast in front of her. Even with the music playing he could hear her voice. “You’re dynamic, exciting. The technique is perfect too, but there’s more to it. Your love for skating shines through.”

When she’d told him that she wanted the same, he’d told her, “your body knows the moves. You just need to get your head out of the way, so you can shine through.”

He’d really just wanted to convince her to come to Vancouver. But the essence of why he loved figure skating was right there in that little conversation.

The moves were important, and he’d spent fifteen years training his body to do them exactly right. Sure, things could go wrong. But didn’t that usually happen when he was trapped in his head, and not one with the ice?

Skating was motion and emotion. It was prowess and passion. Honesty and fearlessness. It was the most fun a person could have with their clothes on. Those were the qualities Tabitha had responded to and wanted for herself. He’d helped her see that because of what she’d overcome, she already had them. He’d helped her see how she could use her skating to turn something bad into something beautiful.

Couldn’t the same be said for his struggles?

Years ago, he’d transformed a punishment into a way to shine, and in doing so, he’d won. He’d fought to make a fresh start when everyone had written him off. He’d fallen in love when he’d never believed it was possible.

Now he faced a new hill to climb, but what he’d said to his father in the nightclub was true. Daniil had everything he needed.

He closed his eyes and let the somber notes of “Moonlight Sonata” envelop him. He pictured himself on the ice performing the program. Though he stood still, each movement in the program was so familiar, he could sense how they stretched and pushed his muscles.

The first time he’d heard the piece, he’d connected with its solitude. He’d once seen it as painful, but not anymore. There was peace and strength too.

Someone tapped his shoulder. His eyes snapped open, and there was a moment’s sadness when it didn’t turn out to be the woman he longed for. But it was one of the many people who cared about him, so he’d be grateful for that.

“Are you ready?” Anton asked.

Daniil nodded with certainty. “Yes. I am.”