CHAPTER FOUR

TABITHA AND THE OTHER LADIES’ competitors waited rink side. Thursday morning’s short program practice session was to begin at 11:00. It was now 11:17. Out on the ice, Russian men’s competitor, Viktor Domachev and his coach were arguing with one of the audio technicians over a problem with his music.

Peter let out a huff and looked at his watch. “If they’re not off the ice in one minute, I’m going to the officials.”

Silently, Tabitha implored Domachev to leave. Whatever helped Peter’s foul mood was welcome. Tabitha blamed Antigone. Star Spangled Skate started tomorrow, and he still wasn’t satisfied with it. Neither was she.

Not when the competing skaters were as talented, or as driven as these. Antoinette Curtis might not be well-known, but she was a strong jumper, and with the hometown crowd on her side, she’d be a contender. Japan’s ladies’ skaters were among the best in the world. Sixteen-year-old Katia Filipova from Russia had been flawless in yesterday’s practice. A Winter Games season kicked the high stakes up a notch and last time around Tabitha had buckled under the pressure. She was four years older and a more polished skater. But this season demanded more than polish. It demanded brilliance.

Could she deliver?

Peter wandered away to make a phone call, and Tabitha returned to watching Domachev. The lanky skater had been a last-minute replacement for Daniil Andreev, who was apparently in some sort of legal trouble. Though she hadn’t been following the story, according to skating gossip, trouble was nothing new for Andreev.

“Ek-skoos me.” Katia Filipova moved past, not making eye contact. Her round baby face, dotted with acne, revealed nothing except laser-focus on the ice. She stopped at the gate to slip sparkly pink guards from her blades as Viktor Domachev was making his way off. As he came through the gate, he muttered something to Katia. The girl’s eyes widened and her blank expression turned to shock. Domachev chuckled as he walked away.

In that moment, Tabitha saw Katia not as a world-class rival, but as a young girl who’d been harassed by some jerk in his twenties. She hurried after the retreating Domachev. “Wait a minute! What did you say to her?”

He ignored her and kept on walking.

Tabitha’s fists tightened and she stomped across the floor, determined not to let him get away. He wore skates like she did, yet his stride was longer. But damned if she’d let him humiliate a young girl and walk away like it was nothing. “Hey, Domachev! Stop!”

At last, he turned. His eyes narrowed, and he frowned. “Chto?”

“Yes, I’m talking to you!” She came closer and gestured back toward the ice. “What did you say to Katia? What did you say to that sixteen-year-old girl?”

For a moment, the skater’s expression was blank, and he shook his head, mystified. Bewilderment twisted into arrogance as his gaze flicked upward. His lip curled into an ugly sneer. “Ya ne govoru po pindosski.” He gave an audible sniff, turned and walked away.

Tabitha spoke no Russian, but knew an insult when she heard one. His self-important swagger made her erupt in raw fury. “Don’t you dare walk away from me! Who do you think you are, that you can insult people, and act like it’s nothing? Don’t you care who you hurt?”

“Hey, calm down.” At her side, Peter touched her arm. “You don’t know what he said, not to her and not to you. He’s not worth making a scene.”

Her coach’s low, gentle voice brought her back from the edge. Tabitha realized she’d done exactly that. She glanced around at the bystanders who murmured to one another, gazes averted. Tabitha’s chest rose and fell. A shameful memory spread in a hot flush across her neck and cheeks.

Peter’s knowing gaze locked with hers. His firm grip not only prevented her from charging after Domachev, it kept her grounded in the here and now. “Everything’s okay,” he said, in a soothing voice. “Let it go.”

She’d been trying for years to let it go, but she’d try again. She’d lost control and made a fool of herself. It was possible she’d misunderstood an innocent exchange between Domachev and Katia. She didn’t think so, though whatever had transpired, Katia was unfazed and already skating. There was nothing Tabitha could do. Anger ebbed to a dull ache at the center of her chest. Like Fiona’s Ken, Samara’s Danté, and too many others who’d drifted in and out of their lives, Domachev was just another asshole who thought he could treat women any damn way he pleased.

Just shy of the gate onto the ice, Peter stopped her. “I arranged extra practice time for you with Misha this afternoon,” he said, in a low voice. “The group from the Lake Shosha center has leased freestyle ice at a rink north of here.”

More Russians? Tabitha wasn’t enthused. “Viktor Domachev won’t be there, will he?”

“No. Nor will she,” Peter said, with a nod at Katia who sailed past them, skating her warm-up. “Lake Shosha is best known for pairs. It’s where Carrie Parker and her husband coach.” He tapped his phone. “I sent you the address.”

“You’re not coming?”

He offered a small smile. “Not today. Go work with Misha and have fun. Isn’t that what skating is supposed to be? Fun?”

Not this season. And really, she couldn’t remember the last time it had been. But Peter had given an afternoon’s reprieve. She was happy to take it.

The rink was in a neighborhood of turn-of-the-century brick apartment buildings and frame houses. Pumpkins and scarecrows decorated front yards and porches. Crisp red and gold leaves dotted the sidewalk. This was nothing like Los Angeles though it felt like something created by Hollywood— a place where neighbors swapped recipes and childhoods were idyllic.

Again, nothing like Los Angeles.

In the lobby, Misha talked with the French pair who was competing at Star Spangled Skate. Tabitha didn’t know them well, but she loved to watch pairs and ice dance. She envied the partners’ connection. She’d briefly tried ice dance but her instructors and Fiona had urged her to stick with singles, which offered the best chance for a lucrative career.

Misha greeted her with a hug. “We miss you in Delaware. When are you coming back?”

She felt her bright smile slip. “Probably never, since this is my last season.”

The tall Russian touched her shoulder and his blue gaze locked with hers. “And that feels good? Bad?”

“In between,” Tabitha admitted, then turned to the pair’s coach, Carrie Parker-Belikova. A petite blond in her mid-thirties, Carrie was a former American pair skater and Winter Games champion who’d skated with her Russian husband, Anton. “Thanks for squeezing me into your ice time,” Tabitha said. “The extra practice away from prying eyes is welcome.”

Carrie smiled. “We’re happy to help one of Peter’s students. My first partner and I trained at Beverly Ice Arena back in the day, and I often wished Peter had been my coach.”

“He’s a good man,” Tabitha said. “I’m lucky to have him.”

Misha tilted his head toward the closed doors of the East Rink. “I’m almost done here. Go warm up; I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

The rink was quiet, as Tabitha sat down to put on her skates. Bent over, tightening her boots, she was startled by loud music—a throbbing, electronic keyboard riff followed by haunting lyrics that described waking up to the end of the world. The song was “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons. Samara always turned it up when it came on the radio.

Tabitha rose, standing with one foot laced into her skate, the other flat on the ground. Out on the ice was a lone man dressed in a black t-shirt, pants and gloves. The only color came from the tattoos that covered both muscular arms.

He flew along the far side of the ice, skating strong, smooth strokes that built to breathtaking speed. He sprang into a triple toe that looked effortless, then cut toward center ice for a choreo sequence punctuated by clenched fists. The skate conveyed a man’s desperate but futile fight. The program was raw and powerful; there was nothing pretty about it. It was as if the skater had ripped every dark emotion from his soul and thrust it on display. Tabitha couldn’t stop watching.

This. This is what Antigone is missing.

Skating backward, he approached her side of the rink, and she craned her neck, trying to see his face. But he dropped, knees bent and feet angled out, his back arched in a cantilever. He didn’t rise until he’d skated past, though the rear view of him was darned nice. It wasn’t until he cut back to center ice that she saw his face. He was strikingly handsome with chiseled features and dark eyes. Black hair flopped down over his brow.

Who was he?

At center ice, he dropped again, this time into a hydroblade; arms spread wide and black-gloved fingers splayed. Then the rink door swung open, and in walked Misha. Noticing her standing with only one skate on, he laughed. “You’ll not get much done that way!” He shouted to the man on the ice. “Danya!” He made a slashing motion across his throat. A moment later the music stopped.

“Who was…?” Tabitha started to ask, but Misha had already skated out, leaving her no choice but to lace her skates and do her warm-up. By the time she joined him at center ice, the male skater was nowhere in sight.

“Peter says Antigone needs work,” Misha said. “What part?”

“Every part.” She offered a shaky laugh. Time to get her head in the game. “It’s like I’m going through the motions, but I feel nothing.” Maybe it wasn’t the clearest explanation but how could she find the right words for something she struggled to grasp? “It’s nothing like that guy who was out here earlier. Who was that anyway?”

Misha chuckled. “A distraction you don’t need. Why don’t you show me Antigone?”

She performed the four minute free skate and hit every element, from the opening jumping pass with the crowd-pleasing (and high scoring) triple axel, through the midpoint choreo section, adding every dramatic flourish and anguished expression the sad story demanded. At the end, was another triple axel, followed by a combination spin that brought her low to the ice, depicting Antigone’s tragic end.

“Your technique is perfect,” Misha said when she’d finished. “But, your performance feels like exactly that. A performance. Emotionless. Distant.”

“I’m just not connecting with her.” Heat rose in her cheeks as she realized what she’d just said. “It, I mean. I’m not connecting with it. The music. I don’t like opera.”

“That makes it harder. Most skaters don’t hate their program music until the end of the season. But opera wasn’t a problem when we were working on it this summer.” He leaned against the rink wall. “Tell me about Antigone, the character. Who is she?”

“She was the Princess of Thebes who came from a family so dysfunctional, mine looks normal by comparison. She defied her uncle the king to bury her outlaw brother. The king sentenced her to death, so she hung herself. We won’t even mention her father, Oedipus.”

Misha chuckled. “If Antigone were your friend, what would you say to her?”

“My friend? It’s hard to imagine the Princess of Thebes and I having much in common.”

But then again, maybe they did. Antigone was a princess from a messed up family. Tabitha was the Ice Queen whose regal persona disguised a childhood mired in poverty, and an ex-rock groupie mom whose resume included stints as a carnival fortune teller and phone sex operator. A woman who’d sacrificed everything for Tabitha’s skating, including her younger daughter’s dreams. Tabitha was determined to honor those sacrifices, but just as Antigone’s quest had ended in failure and disgrace, would Tabitha’s? The mere thought was unbearable. Was that why it was so hard to lose herself in Antigone’s story?

Misha’s tone was gentle. “Antigone will sacrifice everything for her family. There’s foolishness in that, but there’s loyalty and courage. You know both things.”

Tabitha wiggled her freezing toes inside her tight skates, then bobbed a brief nod.

Misha’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. “Try again for me?”

For the next run-through, Tabitha tried to look past Antigone’s self-righteous martyrdom and focus on the love which drove her. It wasn’t a comfortable thing to dwell on, but it was something she understood. Loyalty and love demanded sacrifice. Fiona and Samara had sacrificed for her. Pouring everything into skating, even though there were days she never wanted to step on the ice again, was what Tabitha owed them in return.

By the end of their practice, Misha appeared satisfied. “It may not be the program you love deep in your soul, but your strong elements, especially the axel, will make you difficult to beat. We have a few minutes left. Let’s work on something you enjoy. Are you still using the Hozier song for your show skate?”

This past summer, she and Misha had worked on the exhibition program to Hozier’s “Someone New.” Tabitha nodded. “Peter’s not crazy about me skating to a song about hooking up with strangers, but since I agreed to Antigone, he didn’t fight me too much. Yes, I’d love to skate it.”

Even though the light, bouncy melody masked a bleak lyrical storyline, Tabitha found it easier to lose herself in this character; a young woman eager to chase her newest passion. It could be a man. It could be a career, or even an art form. The character reminded her of Samara, who’d dabbled in photography, found-object sculpture, and acting, among other things. Now, she was in film school. Who knew whether it would last? To live like that would make Tabitha crazy, yet Samara never hesitated to follow her heart.

But that’s so risky. You could end up with nothing to show for your life, or like Fiona, watching your child’s father turn his back and walk away, as if you didn’t matter. Safe, secure and in control. That’s what you want.

Or was it? Sometimes, she wasn’t sure.

Her gaze was drawn to the rink side bleachers where a man in a black t-shirt sat watching. Oh my God, it was him! As she glided past, she looked over and met his gaze.

His mouth curved into an alluring smile that made her body take notice and her thoughts run wild. This was the guy the woman in “Someone New” would fall for. Trouble, for sure. But not mean or misogynistic, like Domachev. This guy would upend her perfect plans and make her question everything. He would make her forget why she shouldn’t and only think why she should. A guy like this would turn her heart inside out and, turn her into… someone new?

And you can tell this from one smile? Get a grip, girl.

But her heart knew otherwise. She’d seen it in the power of his skating. In the way he hadn’t been afraid to express the emotions she preferred to hide. It took courage to show the world who you were. Courage she admired. Courage she lacked.

The haunting lyrics wrapped around her and infused every movement. Tabitha leaned deep into the edges of her blades, bending low, sinuously moving her shoulders and hips. She stroked her hands up over her body and combed through her hair. Her outstretched arms reached for a man she’d welcomed into her bed, only to awaken and find him gone.

The song entered its final chorus; she rotated into a layback spin. Her head fell back and the rink raced past in a blur. When her rotation slowed, she saw the tattooed guy at the boards applauding. Tabitha caught her breath. Her heart pounded, and the program she’d just skated wasn’t the only reason. Because in a moment of clarity, Tabitha knew exactly who he was.

Just as Misha said, he was a distraction she didn’t need.

“Damn girl,” he said, in a resonant voice. “Those are the sexiest edges I’ve ever seen.”

She skated over to where she’d left her water bottle, a few feet from where he stood. She took a long swallow, smiling as she drank, then licked the moisture from her lips. “Don’t let my coach hear you say that. Edges should be elegant and perfect, not sexy.”

“I disagree. And you bring something to them other skaters don’t.”

It went without saying he was full of bullshit, but bullshit sounded really good delivered in a voice as sensuous as his. She brushed a lock of sweat-damp hair from her eyes. “You’re Daniil Andreev.”

He grinned and slipped the guards from his blades. He glided out onto the ice and came to a stop at her side. “Guilty as charged.”

“Mmm. So I’ve heard.” She wondered why he was here, and not in a jail cell some place. “I’m Tabitha Turner.”

His brown eyes held hers, and when he smiled, her heart did its own version of a triple axel. “I know.”