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The international flags, the interlocking colored rings. The huge crowd, the lights. My breath stuttered, heart kicking. My vision blurred. Do not cry, idiot.
We hung back, with the podium waiting in front of us.
A voice filled the stadium, announcing the winners of the Winter Olympics ice-dance competition.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the victory ceremony for the ice-dance event. The medals will be presented by Laszlo Abonyi, vice president of the International Skating Union.”
The French dancers went first, striding out in front of the cameras and into the lights.
“Bronze medalists, representing France. Jean Carne and Marcel Renoir.”
They waved and stepped onto the bronze platform.
“Silver medalists, representing Great Britian. Tamsyn Ward and Ren Hasegawa.”
I watched Ren and Tamsyn walk out, full smiles and waves. They stepped onto the silver platform.
“Olympic champions and gold medalists, representing Canada. Zoe Phillipps and Camden Navarro.”
The arena lost it again. We moved, coming into the light, arms up, waving. My heart was a drum in my chest and head. I stepped with Zoe onto the gold platform.
The French pair had their medals first, then Ren and Tamsyn, who of course took their medals with grace. Then it was our turn. I bowed my head, and the ribbon came over. Then the gold medal lay on my chest.
Zoe grinned over at me.
I felt like a dream. A crazy dream.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the Canadian national anthem.”
We stood tall, staring out at the people who had brought the competition to life with their applause and love of the sport. Then the anthem was over, and the vibe immediately relaxed.
Someone told us to pose for the cameras while still on the podium.
I grabbed my gold disk and kissed it. Zoe did the same. We posed, side-hugging. Ren’s presence simmered beside me. So near. But I wanted more. I wanted to pull him into a full-body hug and wrap myself around him, celebrate with him. I wouldn’t have been here without him. The gold was as much his as it was mine. He’d given me the confidence to fly, shown me true discipline during the Meridian. He’d made me realize I could aim for the stars, and if I didn’t give up, I may actually reach them.
The crowd was applauding again.
We stepped down off the podium. Cameras flashed. Reporters asked us to huddle up for the winners’ photo. We tucked in, three countries, six athletes. Ren’s arm came around me then. My breath quickened, his touch sparking through me like an electric current. Damn. Yes. This.
The huddle loosened, but Ren’s arm stayed. I looked up and found him already looking down at me. He was going to have to let me go in the next two seconds or that look on his face would tell the world we were more than ex-dance partners.
He didn’t let go. Or look away.
The cameras were still on us.
Celebrations were going on all around.
Ren’s arm drew me closer.
What was this? What was he doing? Wait, was he . . .
He bowed his head. I froze, only because this wasn’t him. The ice prince did not kiss a guy in front of the world’s media.
He turned his head, his cheek brushing mine, and he whispered, “Do you want this?”
Did I want this? Me? Loud and out bad boy? Did I want Ren Hasegawa to fucking kiss me in front of millions of people right after winning gold? Hell yes, I did.
“Yes,” I breathed. We were probably already attracting attention. Why hadn’t they separated, why were they standing so close, what were they talking about, what’s going on over there with Hasegawa and Navarro?
