“I’ve been trying,” Aaron said, petulant.
“Try harder,” Katie said, the same way she would tell him to fix his footwork or a jump he should have been able to execute but couldn’t. Her words were crisp, but her face was sympathetic. “Because right now, you don’t have another choice.”
SEVERAL HOURS LATER Aaron was jogging up and down a hallway deep in the maze that was the venue’s backstage, keeping his muscles warm. He wasn’t even sure he was supposed to be back here. He’d certainly seen no one else. But the solitude had been necessary.
He was surprised, therefore, to see Brendan coming down the hall toward him. He wondered how he’d found him. He slowed his pace as Brendan approached, then stopped when they met.
“I thought I had Katie today?” he said, which wasn’t very kind, but it was usually Katie with him backstage during competitions whenever possible. Also, Brendan was better at ice dancer drama; it just made Katie yell.
“And you will, we’re just trading off for a minute.” Brendan seemed unperturbed by Aaron’s rudeness.
“What’s up?” Aaron asked warily.
Brendan looked him square in the eye. “I just wanted to tell you that I know you can do this, and more importantly you know you can do this and who you are is worth showing the world.” Brendan’s voice was low, his words intent. He absolutely meant them.
Aaron stammered, suddenly overwhelmed.
“Sometimes it helps to hear it from the people you don’t have as natural a connection with,” Brendan added.
“Maybe?” Aaron said, his voice strangled. He knew why Brendan’s observation was important, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with it.
Brendan shook his head. “Look. I know how it is to be a man in this sport and navigate what other people think and what judges want and what people think judges want. It’s weird. Maybe not as awful as the women get, but odd. You’re a fantastic skater. You’re also a very specific skater... and a very specific person. Be that person today. Put the rest of it down. Fuck what anyone else thinks. And just get it done. Even if you’ll probably find a way to give me a heart attack. Again. Okay?”
Aaron nodded automatically. It wasn’t the pep talk he’d expected—and certainly not from Brendan, whose fierceness and troubles didn’t usually show through as strongly as Katie’s did.
“Yeah,” he said, still nodding, while Brendan’s eyes peered keenly at him. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Brendan clapped him on the back, then pulled him into a hug. “Kill it out there.”
Aaron closed his eyes and exhaled into Brendan’s shoulder. “Yeah.”
BRENDAN LED AARON BACK to the main backstage area, bustling with competitors and coaches and federation staff, and left him with Katie with a last parting hug.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
Aaron wasn’t sure. “Yes,” he said, because he had to be.
He paced the hallways while the first groups skated, trying not to pay attention to how anyone else did. Keep your eyes on your own paper, Katie always told him. But the buzz of the competition followed him while he paced, coming from TV screens and people’s personal devices. He wished he’d stayed in his hidden hallway.
Because Aaron had finished third in the short program, he was in the final group for the free skate. Which meant he and the other five in that group had to wait the longest to skate—and had to spend the most time trying to block out how everyone else was doing. By the time the ice had been resurfaced, and the final group—Aaron, along with Cayden, Jack, Rasmus, Eric, and Misha—were lined up for the six-minute warmup, Aaron knew there was room. Not to win—Jack would do that—but to come in ahead of Cayden. That was all he needed.
You finished third at the Grand Prix Final, he reminded himself, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. You can do this.
At his side, Katie folded her arms. “No jumps,” she warned him. “Not for the warmup. You’re too wound.”
“I’m fine.”
Katie looked unconvinced. “Show me your footwork,” she instructed. “And don’t forget your edges.”
Stepping on to the rink was a relief. With the rush of the ice under his blades, everything else in the world fell away, if only for a moment. This was where he belonged. This was what he was meant to do.
Aaron was just finishing his step sequence, aware of Katie’s gaze following him coolly around the ice from her spot at the boards, when someone nearly collided with him.
“Sorry, Seal Boy!” Cayden called, sounding absolutely not sorry at all.
He’d spoken loudly enough to be heard by the nearest audience members, and there was some rustling in the stands. Aaron wondered if they were upset about Cayden’s near-collision with him, or talking about him. And the island. And his seals he’d never meant for anyone else to know about.
The calm he had felt for a few brief moments was shattered. He was shaking as he stepped off the ice at the end of the warmup.
“I hate everyone,” he told Katie.
“Believe me,” Katie said, handing him his skate guards and then his water bottle. “I know the feeling.”
She had her face schooled into a mask of neutrality, but her fury flickered through. Aaron could see it in her eyes.
“As soon as this is over, by the way, we’ll be filing an official complaint against him for that,” she said.
Aaron didn’t even have the energy to protest. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Thankfully Misha Khovanski was being announced, and Aaron could turn his attention to watching him skate. This was Misha’s first year in seniors, and he’d had a strong showing all season. Aaron knew he hoped to finish well. Which it looked like he would...until he fell on a triple axel that had never given him trouble before and then fell again on a quad lutz that should have been part of a combo.
Nerves, maybe.
