Page 103 of Ice Dance

I laughed. It did sound ridiculous. Saga laughed some too.

We fell into a soft silence. Saga knew it all. I wasn’t alone with all of it anymore. Nothing had changed, I was still up to my chin in a mess of my own making, but talking had released the valve I’d been holding inside me.

“I can’t let him down,” I whispered.

“Cam, if he cares for you like you’re saying, you won’t let him down. It won’t matter what you do. And if he doesn’t care, then it doesn’t matter anyway. Fuck him.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“Mostly since I stopped using.”

I frowned at his half dig in my direction, but he smiled, taking the edge off it.

“He invited you out tonight, right?” Saga said. “Go. Talk to him. Whatever else you are, you’re dance partners, and if you aren’t talking, then you’re shit partners.”

I couldn’t talk to Hasegawa, not like this, like I was with Saga. Not a week before the competition. It was too late for talk. “We have a week to go. I can hold it all together. I’ll talk to him after. I can’t do it now, not right before the competition.”

“Alright, if you’re sure. But if you’re tested, a drug scandal will outshine that clip of you guys going at it on the dance floor. That’ll end your career. Is it worth it?”

I couldn’t tell Ren. I couldn’t stop the pills. “I don’t have a choice.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

REN

Navarro texted me and said no to the dinner. Which wasn’t entirely surprising. I did need to discuss the injury with him, if there was one, but he clearly wasn’t going to sit down and talk. I needed another way to reach him.

Kidnapping seemed reasonable. With Dylan’s permission.

He’d typically take the bus home from the studio. Tonight, Dylan organized us a car with the ruse that she wanted to show us a new studio location. She would meet us there. It was all a lie, but the deception seemed worth it. Or it would turn out to be the worst decision of our partnership.

We rode until the bright shop fronts and traffic gradually gave way to dark trees and banks of plowed snow. Parc du Mont-Royal was quieter at this time of night, paths flowing beneath streetlights, the snow beyond them untouched and blue white in the darkness.

The car pulled to a stop.

“This is us.”

“This is the park,” he said, frowning.

I pretended not to hear, got out, taking my skate bag and his, and opened the door on his side. He looked up.

“Why are we getting out here?”

But he was moving, getting out of the car and looking around.

“I want to show you something.”

“In the park?” He frowned harder, stuffed his hands into his padded jacket pockets, and sulked. The car left. He watched it go and turned to me. “Dylan’s not going to be waiting?”

“We have time.”

He’d figure it out soon, so I got moving, and walked down the cleared pathway, toward the twinkling lights in the trees. People bustled, gloved up, hats on, some walking in the same direction as us, some leaving, skates dangling from their gloved fingers.

We rounded a corner and came to the outdoor rink. Beyond the trees, the rink spread across the snow beside a pavilion, not the hard rectangle I’d expected but a wide sweep of ice curling around islands and bare trees. Lamps threw pools of gold over the surface, catching on skate marks and the snow piled along its edges. A few Christmas-lit firs glowed against the darkness, and skaters drifted lazily beneath them while music carried through the cold.

I could smell roasted chestnuts from a stand nearby. There were people everywhere.

I’d been so wrapped up in training and the competition, I hadn’t really thought about Christmas, but it was here, in full force.