Page 73 of Ice Dance

I warmed up on the ice, trying to keep my head in the routine, but I also recognized several faces outside the plexiglass.

Hasegawa and I had been AWOL for weeks. People were curious. I was used to being watched, judged, but something in the air still felt wrong. I rolled my shoulders, flexed out the tightness left over from a day sitting on a plane. My right shoulder complained. I rubbed at it. It hadn’t gotten any better since the fall, and probably wouldn’t for a few weeks. We didn’t have time to heal. Just ice it up and move on.

On the ice, I threw my hood up, put my earphones in, and got in the zone.

A blur came in fast, sometime after the half an hour mark. Casey grabbed me on the ice, yanking me out of what would have been a bracket. I had a second to brace, cut my skates in, and stop myself from going over.

He laughed, circling a tight spot. “Hey, you’re back!”

I didn’t know whether to be pissed that he’d almost knocked me on my ass, or happy to see him. The shock faded, and I slapped my hand in his, pulling him into a back-slap hug. “Hey man.”

“You ditch Hasegawa?”

“No.” I frowned. “He’ll be in later.”

Casey’s smile wobbled, or maybe that was just my imagination.

We skated to the edge of the rink, getting out of the way of everyone else running loops and sequences. “Yeah, so . . . heard you’ve gotta perform again.”

I shrugged. “Is what it is.”

“Also saw the video, man. Hasegawa’s a dark horse, huh?” He waggled his eyebrows.

That damn footage was going to follow me to my grave. “C’mon, you’ve seen him on the ice, like everyone else. That video wasn’t anything different.” I turned, facing the boards, taking my gaze off the ice. “We’re being previewed because it’s me. You think they’d ask Hasegawa to come back and prove he could dance without me?” I laughed, but didn’t feel any humor in it.

Casey shrugged and tugged at his Canadian team-branded top. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll show ’em.”

He meant it, and it felt good to have him back. The last time we’d spoken, he’d really laid into Hasegawa, but most of that had been protectiveness. He cared, that was all.

“Come out with us, eleven, noodle bar?” he asked.

I considered it, but training ended at eleven and we had a big day tomorrow. “Hasegawa won’t⁠—”

Casey laughed. “Not with him. We actually want to have fun.”

I found myself laughing too, but it felt wrong. Sounded wrong too. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. Big day tomorrow.” The last thing I needed was to end up with an accidental hangover on preview day.

“Whatever.” He pushed off the boards and skated backward. “Don’t let his boring rub off on you, eh.”

I laughed that off too and let Casey take up his space on the ice, running his practice with Jen, who didn’t look at me, or talk to me.

Hasegawa turned up at nine, and it was as though everyone in the rink sensed his arrival. The crowd of dancers hushed. Half stared, half tried not to. He walked by the benches, set up his gear, and ran through his usual routine of removing his skates and checking them over for frays or faults, testing the blades. I’d forgotten that he had a whole lot of history on his shoulders. That while they mostly hated him, they respected him too, respected his talent and what he could do on the ice.

It made me feel small, unseen, barely worth a second look.

Training in the UK, and at the local places before that, had stripped us of expectations. But those were well and truly back in Montreal.

He’d be fine. He danced better under pressure. Thrived on it. I thought I did, but as the nerves fluttered in, so did the self-doubt and imposter syndrome.

There was nothing I could do about it now, though. Just dance.

More press had gathered outside by the time we’d wrapped the day’s practice on the ice. Multiple people in padded jackets. Two cameras, three microphones, phones pointed at us.

It began friendly, at first. We’d been doing interviews in the UK and had fallen into an easy rhythm. Hasegawa answered technically. I put on the smiles and sass. They ate it up, every time.

But outside the rink, at night, under the hard white light of the entrance, the same unease I’d felt on arrival came back full force. Dylan had stayed inside, dealing with the last-minute details for tomorrow’s preview. Hasegawa and I stood alone as the press pushed in.

Hasegawa’s face had locked down, going into professional mode. He hated these ambushes. I did too, but I could usually charisma my way through it. He didn’t have laughs and jokes to fall back on.