The seal bounced up and down on the step, a sort of nod as its flippers slapped against the water. And then with one last press of its head to Aaron's fingers it was gone. So too were its friends when Aaron looked out into the water.
Only then did his legs start shaking. Terror or a long night of pushing his body to the limit on the ice, he didn't know, but he needed to get back. Carefully, he turned around on the steps and climbed them, up to the normal world of the embankment. Had anyone seen the seals? Or heard them?
An older man leaned against the safety rail smoking a cigarette. Against his judgement, Aaron summoned what little Russian he had from just being a figure skater in general—it was always good in this profession to have what Russian and Japanese there was time to learn.
"Ty videl?" Aaron asked in his clumsy Russian. Did you see?
The man looked at him, nodded, and replied in English. "They came for you."
AARON RAN ALL THE WAY back to the hotel, half-convinced he had imagined the whole thing by the time he slammed the door to his room. But he had half-a-dozen weird and urgent messages on his phone from his sister and his hands smelled like the river. He pulled off his clothes and practically flung himself into the shower. He was so happy for the heat and the soap and the very clear view of his perfectly human legs that he sat down on the floor to marvel at them.
“Oh my God, what is wrong with you?” Aaron muttered to himself as he thunked his head back against the tiled wall. Then he laughed. He’d just had the most important and successful performance of his competitive career to date and he’d responded by wandering around a city he didn’t know petting errant wildlife? For that alone he deserved every peculiar thing that would ever happen to him.
“All right, Aaron Sheftall, time to get your shit together.”
He climbed to his feet, turned the shower off, and wrapped himself in the hotel-provided bathrobe before dealing with his messages. The ones about the competition could wait.
He texted Katie first.
Aaron: When you do things that scare people—off the ice—is that generally a good sign or a bad sign?
Then, his sister:
Aaron: Sorry. I was taking a walk and met a friend, that’s all. You need to recalibrate your nonsense.
Not that Aaron necessarily believed that. He didn’t know what he believed right now. But he knew it was the rational thing to think.
Katie replied first.
Katie: Good. For me at least. What’s going on?
Aaron felt some of the tension loosen in his gut.
Aaron: I’ll tell you when I get back. Still thinking about it. How messed up is it if I text Zack?
Katie: Depends on what you want from that choice.
Aaron: Fair answer.
He flopped onto the hotel bed, folding his arms under his chin and looking out at the lights of the city below. He could see the dark, unlit line of the river, compelling even as he was warm and content and human here in his room.
Aaron turned his thoughts firmly to Zack. What did he want from Zack? What could he say to him? What response was he at all likely to get back? He was trying to figure that out when his sister decided to weigh in.
Ari: Liar.
Aaron stared at it, wanting to be annoyed. But he couldn’t be, because that was the answer—to his skating, to the mess with Zack, to the weird encounter with the seal.
Aaron: True.
Ari: Are you going to explain?
Aaron: Not now, no.
He’d always been a liar hiding in plain sight. He was always trying desperately to fit into a skin that was not his own—as a skater, as a boyfriend, and as whatever singular creature the mythology of the place he was from insisted he must be.
He thumbed through his phone for Zack’s number.
Aaron: Thank you for making me see myself. I know that’s on me more than on you, but I may have just changed my world at this comp, and since you started this story I wanted you to know how I’m finishing it.
He tossed the phone aside onto the pillows next to him. Before he knew it, he was asleep.
Chapter 24
AFTER AARON’S FREE Skate
Zack’s Apartment
AFTER HE HAD SAT WITH Katie and watched Aaron’s incredible skate—and his astonishing third-place finish—Zack went home and slept for hours. Even more than early-morning hockey practice, the emotion of watching the Grand Prix final had worn him out entirely
He woke in the late afternoon to the insistent chirp of his phone. He groped for it on his nightstand, expending something from Matt perhaps. Instead, a text from Aaron flashed on the screen. What time is it in St. Petersburg? Zack did mental time zone map. Midnight, or just about.
The message was thoughtful and clear and asked for nothing even as it left one hell of an opening. Zack knew it deserved a reply of some sort. But he was going to need some time to figure out both what he was feeling and what he wanted to say about it.
He silenced his phone and tossed it down on the bed, then made himself get up and get something to eat. He’d skipped lunch, and his body was suddenly remembering that he was starving.
By the time he’d finished eating leftover takeout from the day before, he decided that a text back to Aaron was that a text wasn’t sufficient. Aaron reaching out, in the moment of such a triumph, deserved more than that. Even if they weren’t holding a space for the other for later. Maybe especially because of that. Aaron never hesitated in asking for what he wanted, and he wasn’t asking for anything here except to be listened to and be seen. Zack could give him that.
He hit call on Aaron’s number. The phone rang...and rang...and rang. At about the eighth ring
