CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

GRENOBLE, AT LEAST WHAT DANIIL had seen of it, was beautiful. At twilight, the city glowed with soft light that reflected off the surrounding mountains. After tonight’s Opening Ceremony, it would glow with light from the torch that rose from a hillside overlooking the city.

The torch he and Tabitha had hoped to visit together.

But at the moment, all Daniil could see was the crush of costumed teams lined up beneath Grenoble Stadium, waiting to parade onto the field.

“Danya!” Ruslan pushed his way through the crowd. Yelena, Aleksandra Markova and her pairs partner Gregor, were close behind. Gregor held out his phone and signaled they should crowd in together. Standing off to the side, Viktor Domachev looked like he wanted to be included, as did a couple of Slovakian skiers, whose team was lined up behind Russia’s. Gregor waved all of them in for an international selfie.

Daniil’s phone vibrated in his coat pocket as Gregor shared the photo, but he didn’t take it out to look. Instead, he scanned the colorful sea of flags, jackets and faces, aching for a glimpse of the woman who haunted him still.

He’d watched on TV as she’d triumphed at U.S. Nationals, and claimed her place on the Grenoble team, along with Mia Lang and another teenage skater. Tabitha’s flawless technique was back, only now, it was infused with emotional depth that hadn’t been there before. She’d done more than portray Antigone, she’d inhabited the character. This Antigone wasn’t a princess driven by family honor but a queen, forever transformed by love and loss.

“I’ll never forget you.”

He left her final message unanswered, just as he had the rest. What good would it do to reply? Nothing would change and he didn’t want to risk being hurt again. A clean break was always best, so he’d guarded his heart and tried to forget. But he hadn’t, yet. And tonight, knowing she was here, squeezed into this same concrete tunnel, the longing was torturous.

In the three days since he’d arrived, he hadn’t seen her once. He suspected Tabitha, like some of the other top medal contenders, had a private room at one of the downtown hotels. Since the Russian and American teams didn’t socialize, the Games would likely pass without him seeing her at all.

The blare of music in the arena signaled the beginning of a performance by a French pop singer. Flashing lights suggested it was quite a show, but all he heard was thumping bass that echoed off the walls. He looked back down the tunnel at the teams lined up alphabetically. The United States team would be at the end.

Since he wasn’t likely to run into her, maybe he should go find her. Just to say a friendly hello and wish her good luck. Wasn’t the point of the Games for people to put aside their differences and come together?

He slipped beneath the yellow strap that kept the athletes on one side of the tunnel, to create a passageway on the other. After the Slovakians was the Spanish team, the South Koreans, Swedes and Swiss, then he was into the Ts. Taiwan. Turkey.

Then, he spotted the navy blue Star Trek jackets Tabitha and Brett had joked about in Paris. Paired with red, white and blue knitted caps, they looked ridiculous, but then, who was he to talk? The Russian team wore long scarlet coats, red and white hounds-tooth pants tucked into white lace-up boots, and puffy white shapka. They looked like either Cossacks or clowns, he hadn’t decided which. When he found Tabitha, they could laugh about how silly they looked. They might even take a funny picture with some of her teammates. Russians and Americans united in sportsmanship and ugly clothing. He’d like that.

He peered into the group trying to catch sight of Tabitha, or maybe Brett Stafford, whom he’d been happy to see qualify for Grenoble as well. A few athletes turned his way, but their faces were far from welcoming. Was it because of his Cossack-clown suit? Or was it because of the news that yesterday, a dozen Russian athletes had been banned from competition for drug use? It was all anyone was talking about. Even the athletes who had tested clean seemed to be suspect. Guilty until proven innocent. What else was new?

Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom.

The kettle-drum cadence at the beginning of the Games’ musical fanfare sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd. Conversation quieted, and the line shuffled forward. Daniil dashed back toward the front, trying to reach his teammates before they came out onto the field.

The crowd’s cheers rose to a din, and Daniil guessed that the French athletes had just emerged from the tunnel. His rink mates, pair skaters Phillippe and Marguerite were among them, along with Carrie Belikova, their coach. Daniil ducked back into line with his friends as the Russian team approached the entrance.

Yelena, who’d almost quit skating at the end of last season, gazed around with already-shiny eyes. Ruslan, Gregor and Aleksandra posed for one more selfie. All of them had worked so hard to get here, and he hoped it wasn’t ruined the moment they walked onto the field, and were booed as cheaters.

To his profound relief that didn’t happen. The cheers that greeted the Russian athletes were as welcoming as the cheers for everyone else. All around, spectators applauded and cameras flashed, and Daniil let himself be caught up in this glorious moment he’d dreamed about. He smiled and waved, drinking all of it in. Anton smiled and waved too. Though he’d competed in two Games as an athlete, he seemed to enjoy it just as much as a coach. Ilya, who had missed the chance to compete, looked reverent, and even a little emotional. Whatever Daniil had done to help his old coach be part of this, he was glad for it.

They gathered in the middle of the stadium and the crowd fell silent, as an older woman dressed in the same uniform as the French national team, walked onto the field. The giant screen at the end of the stadium identified her as a former figure skater who had represented France in the 1958 Winter Games. Holding a flaming torch high above her head, she climbed the grand steps that led to the top of the stadium. There, she touched her flame to a basin. The crowd applauded as a streak of fire raced from the basin, up the hill to the towering torch. Flames burst from the caldron at the top, and fireworks exploded in the night sky.

The Grenoble Winter Games had arrived.

Sonic booms echoed off the mountains and reverberated in the stadium. As the on-field celebration began, Daniil realized that the United States team was lined up to the left of Team Russia. Now was his chance to find Tabitha so they could share this incredible night. He worked his way into the mob of athletes, who were hugging and taking photos, trying to find her in the sea of blue jackets. He bumped into a clean-shaven blonde guy.

“Excuse me. I didn’t see you,” Daniil said, as he tried to squeeze past.

The guy wore his arrogance as comfortably as a pair of shoes. He jerked his thumb back toward the tunnel. “The drug lab’s that way.”

Daniil’s fist clenched inside his pocket, but nothing good would come from fighting this jerk, or his big buddy standing beside him. He wasn’t welcome here, and no one would help him find Tabitha. Surrounded by American athletes bouncing up and down and chanting, “U-S-A! U-S-A!” he wished her well and retreated into the tunnel.

He could go back and join his teammates, but didn’t feel like it. They were happy and celebrating and deserved to enjoy every minute of tonight without him around to kill the joy. He had a headache anyway; the elevation kept making his ears pop. He hoped he’d be used to it by the time the team competitions began tomorrow night. Another reason he ought to go back to his room.

Outside the stadium, the air was crisp and cold. He listened to the celebration and fireworks, but wanted only to put distance between himself and the party. He took the long way back, along the river embankment, glad for the quiet. Approaching the Village, he realized Anton and Ilya would wonder where he’d gone. He should text them that he wasn’t feeling well and would see them at practice in the morning.

He sat down on a bench and took out his phone. The icon for his video-sharing app blinked on and off. Gregor must have taken video instead of a still photo. He tapped the app and waited as the vid downloaded. It seemed to be a large file.

When it opened, the scene wasn’t of the tunnel and red Cossack-clowns, but a skating rink, with open sides and banners hanging above the ice. A lone skater dressed in black, glided into view. He drew in a breath as he realized the skater was Tabitha.

He expanded the image and turned the volume as high as it would go. The music began with a somber piano chord, and a woman’s low, throaty vocal. He’d never seen Tabitha skate to this song, but this wasn’t a formal program— just one of those improvised ice ballets she created to express what was in her heart.

She glided across the ice, pouring her heartbreak into every movement. Her sadness over what she’d said, and what she wanted to say, if only given the chance, was clear. When she skated past the camera, he saw that her face was streaked with tears.

Daniil’s eyes burned too. His chest tightened at the lyrics’ mention of California, of unreturned calls and of former lovers separated by thousands of miles.

The video’s time stamp showed 7 p.m., December 24. She’d sent him a message that day. When he hadn’t answered, she’d gone to her rink and poured her heartache into her skating. Daniil saw the hurt on her face and was devastated knowing he’d caused it. If there was the slightest chance they might find their way back to each other, he wanted it more than anything.

As the video ended, he wondered where it had come from. He scrolled down for the sender’s name. “SAMI-T.” Below was a message; Call my sister, you asshole.