"What was that?" he demanded as Aaron slipped on his guards. He wasn't yelling—Brendan never yelled—but there was definitely an edge to his voice. Which put a bit of a damper on Aaron’s elation.
“I decided to try something.” Aaron said. He was breathing hard and had to scrub sweat off his forehead with his sleeve.
“Half your run-through with your eyes closed?”
“It wasn’t half,” Aaron protested, shifting from foot to foot. He still felt jittery with the thrill of the performance.
Brendan slung an arm around his shoulders and steered him away from the ice toward a quiet corner. And that was like Brendan too, not to scold where he might be overheard. Which was what made Aaron suddenly nervous. He’d taken a wild risk, and he had no idea yet if it would pay off. What if the officials hated it? What if Brendan was pissed at him? What would the other skaters who had seen it think—and say?
“If you’d hit the boards and hadn’t seen it coming, come on,” Brendan said, once they were away from everyone else. “You could have injured yourself. Badly. When we have you do elements with your eyes closed it’s not at speed or under pressure for a reason. What were you thinking?”
“You were the one saying I should trust myself more.”
“Yourself! Not the physical constraints of the time-space continuum!”
"But did it work? Was it good?" Aaron had to ask. Not to prove a point to Brendan, but because he wanted to know.
Brendan gave him a disbelieving look. "It was frightening.”
"Katie is frightening."
Brendan looked stunned. "Do you say that to her?"
"No. She says that to me. Like she says we're alike."
“Oh God.” Brendan sank his head into his hands. He ran his hands back through his hair, then looked up at Aaron. “Where is Katie when I need her? This is not my forte.”
“Um.”
“Aaron?” Both Aaron and Brendan looked up with a start. One of the officials was hovering nearby, notebook in hand. She gave Brendan’s spiky hair an amused look. “If you’re ready, we have the feedback on your long program now.”
THE OFFICIALS, AS IT turned out, loved Aaron’s new presentation of himself. They had reams of notes and things they wanted him to change and improve—hell would freeze over before the camp officials saw anything they didn’t want to improve, except maybe Jack Palumbo’s skating, but it was a resounding nod of approval.
Aaron felt like he was walking on air as he left the rink for the day. Outside he found Cayden, evidently waiting for the shuttle bus back to the hotel—and for once, not surrounded by his clique of skater friends. Now was surely the perfect time to fulfil Zack’s request.
“Hi!” he said brightly.
Cayden barely glanced up from his phone. “Hi?” he said.
How does he make even that sound mean? Aaron wondered. Like Cayden was some lofty skating god and Aaron was someone far beneath his notice. But he persevered.
“I have a favor to ask. Well, not for me. For my—for someone else.”
“Yeah?”
“So you know there’s a journalist who’s doing a piece on the people competing for—”
“For Koval’s space, yeah,” Cayden said. “I know. He called me and my coaches about fifty times. I hear he spent a lot of time at Twin Cities.” He gave Aaron a suspicious look that Aaron did not like at all.
“Why didn’t you answer?” he asked.
Cayden scowled. “Because I don’t do shit like that. If it’s not in my schedule, it’s a waste of my time.”
“That sounds excessively rigid,” Aaron couldn’t help but point out.
“What it is, is successful. Because that journalist dude is right about one thing: Only one of us gets that spot. And it’s going to be me. Because I spend my time working. Because I want to win. You, you just want attention.”
Aaron considered himself a fairly laid-back human being. High-stress competitive athletic career aside, he liked people and liked being friendly with them. But with Cayden’s words, he saw red.
“Sure I do. Why the fuck else am I an elite athlete?”
“Elite doesn’t mean scrambling for a spot on someone else’s misfortune,” Cayden said.
“My only competition is myself,” Aaron said. I work. I have worked so hard. And I will not let you drag me down.
Cayden gave a vague shrug. “That’ll certainly be true when I’m in Almaty and you’re... not.”
Wow, Aaron thought. I actually hate you. He tried to reign his temper in before he got in trouble for being unsportsmanlike. “You do you. It was just a question.”
“Not a very bright one.”
“Whatever,” Aaron said, already walking away. He could catch the next shuttle.
“See you at Nationals!” Cayden called after him.
Aaron couldn’t fucking wait.
Chapter 18
IN THE MIDDLE OF CAMP
Minneapolis and Saint Paul, MN
MIDWAY THROUGH THE week Aaron was away at camp, Zack sat in the booth at one of the several sports bars in downtown Saint Paul. He and his hockey team had just lost a game spectacularly, and were now out for a beer and commiseration. Matt and the girl with the pink-laced skates—Emily—were reminiscing about the Miracle on Ice, and Zack was trying to figure out if either of them had been alive in 1980, when a commotion broke out at the other end of the bar.
Everyone at the table, including Zack, turned to look. Two men, big burly guys he didn't recognize, were shouting in each other's faces. What they were shouting about wasn't clear, but that hardly mattered. Especially when one of the dudes shoved the other one in the chest—hard.
"You going over there?" Matt asked.
Zack hadn't realized he had stood up until Matt spoke.
"Yeah," he said.
"You want help?"
"Sure."
Together they hurried over to the bar. Briefly, Zack thought of Aaron, and his days as a bouncer in his parents' restaurant. This didn't seem like the kind of place that would have a bouncer on staff, and the kid working the bar was shrinking back from the brewing brawl, looking terrified.
Getting between the screaming men was not difficult. They were drunk enough
