CHAPTER SIX

ON THE PODIUM, TABITHA BENT forward to accept the Star Spangled Skate bronze medal. A photographer was recording every reaction, so she smiled, and hoped it looked genuine.

She’d lost a medal she’d expected to win. A medal everyone had expected her to win. At the start of the most important season of her career, she’d fallen short.

Just like last time.

No! No! Don’t think that way. Peter says it’s not the end of the world. Believe him.

One shaky skate didn’t necessarily doom the entire season. She still had the next International Series competition, the Series championship in Barcelona, and U.S. Nationals. This had no direct impact on Grenoble. But if she’d had her preference, she would stand where she’d stood last year, and the year before that.

The place where Machiko Furakawa stood now.

The bronze medal rested against her pale blue dress. Smile frozen in place, Tabitha shook hands with the three skating officials who congratulated each winner. The youngest official had still been competing when Tabitha began her rise. How had she felt losing to younger, hungrier skaters, and knowing that her lifelong dream of skating in the Games would die unfulfilled? When did she first realize that her days atop the podium were behind her?

The white and red Japanese flag rose above the ice, with the Russian and American flags on the right and left. As Japan’s national anthem played, Machiko mouthed the words. Happy tears glistened on her cheeks. Tabitha wondered if the skaters down in the locker room could hear the medal ceremony.

She never wanted to find out.

A press conference followed, and Tabitha did her best to be both confident and contrite. “No, it wasn’t my best performance,” she said, echoing the reporters’ foregone conclusion. “There are things I’ll be working on, but it’s a long season, and I’m looking forward to my next competition in St. Petersburg.”

Afterward, Peter embraced her and Tabitha released a sigh of relief. He put a comforting arm around her as they walked, and spoke in a low voice. “Don’t take it too hard. What’s important is that you medaled. The only way to go is up. We’ll get back to LA Sunday night, you’ll get a good night’s sleep, then Monday afternoon we’ll work on the axel. Your take-off wasn’t good, but a few sessions with the jump coaches and you’ll have it back.”

“You really think it’s that simple?”

“Absolutely. You are the strongest technical skater I’ve ever coached, and eight weeks is plenty of time to get ready for St. Petersburg. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Tabitha wanted to feel Peter’s assurance. Except for the fall, which could happen to any skater, no matter how skilled, her performance hadn’t been that bad. Peter believed a better take-off would fix the problem. But she knew the problem went deeper than her take-off technique. She hadn’t captivated the audience like Machiko. She only wished she knew what to do.

“Smile!” At the post-competition reception, Tabitha leaned close to Katia and Machiko. The new Star Spangled Skate gold medalist captured the thrilling night in a selfie. The phone’s camera clicked. Machiko glanced at the photo and nodded. “I shared.”

“Wait, can I see?” Tabitha began, but her words were lost as a swarm of hugging and squealing fans and teammates surrounded Machiko. Tabitha turned to Katia Filipova. “I hope the picture wasn’t too awful.”

“With selfie, who can know?” Katia offered a wan smile, and then disappeared into the crowd that filled the luxurious private suite on the arena’s top level.

A short distance away, Mary Anne Devore, a 1970’s two-time World medalist stood with a group of middle-aged women. None appeared happy. Obliged to at least say hello, Tabitha greeted them. Mary Anne, a petite but formidable woman in a fur coat that looked too heavy for the still-balmy weather, offered chilly congratulations. Once more, Tabitha felt like crap.

She posed for another picture with an international figure skating VIP whose name she couldn’t recall. When the woman wandered away, Tabitha looked around, desperate to see a friendly face. Peter chatted with Mia Lang. Samara and her friend Xtina had taken off after the competition and were probably upstairs enjoying movies and room service. That and a nice long bubble bath sounded like utter heaven. Unfortunately, the party had just started. She couldn’t leave yet. As always, skating obligations outweighed everything else. This is what you’ve always wanted, remember?

Near the appetizer buffet, Fiona was talking with Ilya Zaikov, her posture angled, her smile bright. When she touched his sleeve and leaned in close, Misha’s widowed father smiled, but appeared slightly uncomfortable. Tabitha had to look away. Did her mother have to flirt with every man she met?

Then again, if Daniil Andreev had been here, Tabitha would do the same. Even though she knew it was a terrible idea.

She’d noticed him in the audience Friday and Saturday night, though she’d tried to put him out of her mind. Talking with him at the practice rink had felt so good—-too good. But after seeing her mom and sister cope with chronic heartbreak, Tabitha knew it was best to steer clear of a man with a reputation for trouble.

It seemed like such a simple thing, and she’d resolved to do it. Then she’d come off the ice after the free skate, lower than low, and saw him applauding as if she’d turned in the skate of her life. His unwavering support had meant the world. She sensed that if he were here, he’d know exactly the right words to say. Too bad there was no sign of him.

Peals of laughter rose from a nearby table. Machiko and her friends huddled around a cell phone, cracking up. Could the selfie be that bad?

An unflattering photo going viral was exactly what she didn’t need right now. The horror was best viewed in private, so she stepped into the almost-deserted second room of the hospitality suite, and pulled out her phone. The bartender approached. “Sparkling water, please,” she said, and shifted her focus back to her screen.

“After a tough day on the ice, she’s hitting the hard stuff.”

Daniil Andreev leaned against a tall table, a few feet away. Dressed in skinny jeans, a black leather jacket, and with smudged liner around his eyes, he looked like a member of Green Day who’d wandered into the wrong party. He reminded her of a British punk-rocker Samara liked. Though Tabitha wasn’t a fan of Harry K’s music, she couldn’t deny there was something seriously sexy about the guy. There was something seriously sexy about Daniil Andreev too. Damn him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, angry that the mere sight of him brought flushed cheeks and noodle-knees.

He came and stood beside her at the bar. His dark eyes looked that much darker because of the smoky color surrounding them. His lashes were so long, she wondered if he was wearing mascara too. Regardless, it took nothing away from his masculinity. It took guts and confidence to carry off the look. Daniil had both.

“Nothing bad, I promise. Congratulations. I enjoyed your program today.”

Tabitha shut off her phone. “I’m glad someone did.”

“I’ve been where you are.” He spoke in a quiet voice and leaned closer. She caught a whiff of Polo Black. He would have to wear her favorite men’s fragrance. “Not only are you disappointed for not skating as well as you hoped, you feel you disappointed others.”

“Peter isn’t worried, so I’m trying not to be.” She tried to shrug off the hurt. “No one said this season would be easy.”

“Are any of them?”

His penetrating gaze searched to see behind her public face. Too bad for him, she was a pro at keeping it hidden. She stirred the ice in her drink and offered a careful smile. “I didn’t realize until yesterday that we shared a choreographer. Have you worked with Misha long?”

“Just since this season. Before, I worked with Adrian Bakunin, but he’s doing less choreo these days, and more travel with his... friend.”

“Valentin Egorov.”

“You know him?”

“We have a mutual friend in LA.” Egorov was the former pairs partner of Tabitha’s mentor, and though Olga said nothing derogatory, Tabitha suspected she didn’t approve of his long-time love affair with the handsome choreographer. Supposedly, a lot of Russians felt that way. Was Daniil one of them? “Why? Is Adrian’s relationship a problem for you?”

He shrugged. “Other than missing my favorite choreographer, no. Live and let live, I say. Is it a problem for you?”

“Of course not. Live and let live.”

He raised an eyebrow at her second snappish response. She wasn’t usually like this, and jelly-knees or not, rudeness wasn’t called for, especially when he was trying to be nice. “You said you’ve been where I am. How did you deal with it?”

“I used it as motivation to prove everyone wrong and did what I had to do to stay in the sport. Even things that hurt my pride.”

This sounded intriguing, though it was none of her business. “Like what?”

“Like training in Lake Shosha, instead of Moscow or Petersburg.” His casual shrug suggested there might be other things, but pushing for more seemed rude. Nor was she sure she wanted to know. “Anyway, three seasons ago, everyone thought my career was over. Everyone except me. Now, I’m on the verge of making it to Grenoble. Whether I get there because of bronze medals, or gold, I’m there just the same.”

Samara, who often told her she put too much pressure on herself, had said the same thing. But Tabitha’s entire career had been about succeeding against the odds and you didn’t do that without striving for perfection. “Until today, not making the team was just this vague notion I tried not to think about. Now it feels like something that could really happen. But I can’t let it. I’ve worked too hard to fail now.”

“You aren’t going to fail.”

He spoke slowly, enunciating each word. His tone was gentle, but insistent. He believed in her, and she felt bolstered by it, even if she didn’t share it. “You sound so sure.”

“I am.” His gaze held hers, and a spark of attraction flew between them. “Will you be in Vancouver for the Maple Leaf?”

“I hadn’t planned to be,’ she said, tearing her gaze away out of fear he might see the effect he was having.

“Too bad. I always skate better when I have a friend in the audience.”

It was an obvious line, and she wouldn’t let herself fall for it, even if his cocky grin made her nerves tingle. “You must be pretty desperate for friends if I qualify after one day.”

He propped his elbow on the bar and leaned closer. “Maybe I’m a good judge of character.”

Tabitha chuckled, and it came out lower and throatier than usual. “Or maybe you’re just a character.”

God, it sounded like something Fiona would say. But his tilted grin said that he liked their flirting, and the scary thing was, she did too. Rather than continue to agonize over her bad performance, she let herself luxuriate in his sexy presence, which was better than any bubble bath. For the first time today, her smile felt real.

At least until two young women approached, dressed in red uniform shirts that bore the logo of a major credit card company. The blond’s shirt must have shrunk in the laundry and was much too tight for corporate standards. “Hi Daniil,” she said.

“Happy birthday, CiCi.”

Tabitha’s smile slipped. How did he know this chick’s name, or her birthday?

Daniil touched her arm. “Deana and CiCi, meet U.S. ladies’ champion Tabitha Turner.”

The taller girl tossed back her long dark hair. “We saw you skate today. Too bad you fell.”

“But at least you tried,” added the blond. “I mean, ice skating’s really hard! I always fall when I go.” She turned to Daniil. “We came to see if you wanted a ride to the bar?”

So he had plans with these two. Marvelous. She should have known.

“No thanks. I have to wait for my friend Ruslan, who is still busy with the fans, so we’ll come in a cab. Tell me the name?”

“The Pour House.”

Daniil tapped his phone a few times. “Found it.” He turned to Tabitha. “Maybe you would like to come too?”

Deena cast a withering glance at Tabitha’s sparkling water. “You probably wouldn’t like it. It’s not really an ice princess kind of place.”

Tabitha stiffened, less angry at the brunette’s rudeness than at the fact that what she’d said was true. She was an ice princess, or rather, an Ice Queen. She didn’t belong in the same world as these two. Or Daniil. Right then, she wanted nothing more than to get the hell back upstairs. She’d done her duty. Now it was time to leave. “Nope. I’m sure it’s not my kind of place at all.” She set her half-finished drink on the table and turned to Daniil. “Nice chatting with you. Good luck in Vancouver.”

Without another word, Tabitha headed for the exit.