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I swallowed. “Does it matter what I say, or have you already decided what you’re going to do with me?”

They stared back, didn’t even need to look at each other or discuss anything. My fate had been decided before I’d stepped into the room.

I’d told myself I wasn’t going to let them see me break. But damn, I really didn’t need this on top of everything else. I did not need this now. I chewed on my lip, to keep them from seeing it wobble.

“Alright,” I croaked. “So now what?”

“I’m terribly sorry to have to inform you that with all things considered and with your conduct at these Olympic Games, we can no longer support your placement on Team Canada and must formally ask you to leave.”

I’d known it was coming, but I hadn’t expected to hear the words or for it to be real.

“You’re kicking me out?” The cold numbness on hearing about Saga’s death was back and soaking into my bones. A distance, like I was someone else, watching this happen to some other poor bastard.

“Yes, Mr. Navarro.”

I looked at Miles. He dropped his gaze. What the fuck was he here for if he wasn’t going to try and defend me?

“That’s it?” I asked.

The worst of it was, I still didn’t understand what I’d done that was so wrong. I’d done everything I could to get here. I’d fought so damn hard to show everyone I deserved to be here. I’d danced the rhythm dance to the very best of my ability, come second place to Hasegawa. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing I did would ever be enough. Because I was the kid who sharpened skates. I wasn’t supposed to reach the heady heights of the Olympics alongside the famous names. That wasn’t for me. I should have stayed in my booth, stayed sharpening skates, it was all I was good for.

Saga had said one of us should win.

But neither of us were going to win when the game was fucking rigged.

“You should gather your things,” Varga said. “We’ll have someone escort you while you do.”

I blinked, trying to clear the blur so I didn’t cry in front of them. “You know, I thought the Olympics was meant to be for everyone, right?” Damn the crack in my voice. “That’s the whole point. But I guess that’s just PR speak.”

Miles stood. “C’mon, Cam⁠—”

“I can’t say or do anything to stop this?”

“No,” Varga said.

God, what was I going to tell Zoe?

My heart dropped. I hadn’t even thought about her. If I was out, so was she. “This isn’t right. What about Zoe Phillipps?”

A phone rang, vibrating in someone’s pocket. Nobody looked down. Maybe it belonged to one of the security guys.

“Zoe will dance with Craig Rochelle,” Miles said.

“Craig?” Craig was a shit ice dancer. He was a damn hockey player for fuck’s sake. The guy could hit a puck with a stick, but he couldn’t dance on ice. “Fucking hell.”

“Camden, let’s go,” Miles said. “I think you’ve said enough.”

I had not said nearly enough. I stood and looked down at them. “So much for the spirit of the Olympics. It’s all good, just so long as the riffraff don’t dirty up the ice, huh?”

The security guys started moving in.

Miles put his hand out. “That’s not necessary. He’s coming, aren’t you Cam?”

Oh my god, it was over. I had to go home as the guy who’d fucked up his shot at the Olympics like he’d fucked up everything else in his life.

My chest tightened.

Miles reached for my arm, like he had leading me in. But now I sorta needed it.