Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Of course, I’d never stopped training, but I was in the home stretch now with just three weeks until the championships. I wasn’t clear what Boris’s connection was to Syracuse Central Club since he lived in Smithton and worked for the university, but I was grateful he’d pulled strings to get me into the program. And I was glad to see a familiar face…even a crabby one.
Yes, I could have stayed in Pittsburgh to train at my hometown rink with my old coaches as I’d originally planned. It was familiar and affordable, but Syracuse Central Club was elite. And as cantankerous as Boris could be, he was one of the best coaches on the East Coast.
“Again, Rafe. Again. Bend the knees,” he barked. “More.”
“Okay.”
I rubbed my gloved hands together, sucked in a gulp of refrigerated air, and nodded. He was being picky and I knew it. I’d kept my arms tight and fast to increase the speed of each rotation. I could spin like a top endlessly. I’d worked on my edges too and had perfected my landing. My routine was so ingrained in my mind that I found myself practicing arm movements as I walked through town.
But sure, I could bend my knees more.
I completed a double axel into a triple toe loop, caught my breath and glided away, then added a triple Lutz into a double toe loop. The jumps themselves weren’t the challenge…it was the speed and height and timing, and of course, the landing. It was the art of fine-tuning to the nth degree to shave away all excess motion. I was getting there, and it was gratifying.
I skated to the bench and thanked Boris for the towel he handed me. My stomach growled on cue. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and it was almost two o’clock already. There weren’t many affordable options in the immediate vicinity, and I was getting tired of fruit and ramen.
A sudden pang of loneliness battled with hunger.
I blinked back tears and sat to unlace my skates while Boris gave me his notes. I listened with half an ear, letting the sounds of the rink lull me. The swish and glide of blades, the echo of unfamiliar voices.
Fuck, I missed Celine, I missed Smithton…
I missed Gus.
“Are you hearing me, Rafe?”
“Uh, yes…I’m just—I should eat.”
Boris grunted. “Go. Eat. We leave in three days. I think you’re ready.”
I smiled as I changed my socks and slipped my left foot into my sneaker. Boris was terrible at small talk. “Thanks. I think so too. And thanks for…all this. I know I wouldn’t be at this club without your sponsorship and—”
“I vouch for character,” he intercepted with a dismissive wave. “I’m not the one who pays the club on your behalf.”
“Right. I know that,” I sputtered. “It’s been so busy that I didn’t ask who I should thank. God, that’s terrible of me. I need to send a note.”
Boris cocked his head curiously. “You don’t know?”
Something in his tone set my exhausted body on instant alert.
“Um…no. Should I?”
“Yes, I think so. It is your friend.” Hummingbirds were in my ears now. But I heard him loud and clear. “Langley. Augustus Langley.”
My jaw fell open. “Gus?”
Boris nodded, his bushy brows knit like a white caterpillar above his eyes. “Yes. Go eat, rest, and use the facility for a massage.”
Gus? Gus…did this?
For me?
I stuffed my feet into my sneakers, zipped my bag, and jumped up. “I have to go.”
“Go? Go where? Rafe! Come back!”
No chance.
I raced to my car, my hands trembling as I put the key in the ignition, roared the engine to life, and headed north to Smithton.
At the edge of town, I pulled over to send a text.
Where r u? I need 2 c u now. Right now, I typed.
We hadn’t spoken in three weeks. I didn’t know Gus’s schedule anymore. I should have thought of that before impulsively skipping town. I stared at my screen, wondering what to do. He didn’t live in our house anymore, he didn’t have hockey practice. He could be anywhere…with anyone.
Hi. U ok?
No. Where? Please.
My cell lit up with an incoming call. I didn’t answer. I didn’t trust my voice, and I wasn’t going to cry. No way.
I’m calling u.
No, tell me.
Gus sent a confused face emoji. The rink.
I arrived a few minutes later, shaky and unsure. I’d eaten a protein bar on the drive, so at least I wasn’t starving on top of being rattled.
The campus was almost deserted. There were no students crowding the sidewalks, no bustle of activity in the quad, and only a handful of cars in the parking lot at the rink.
I inclined my chin in absent greeting to the woman behind the reception desk and headed inside, down the stairs, pausing when I spotted the lone figure with a hockey stick on the ice, shooting pucks into the goal. My chest heaved as a rogue wave of emotion hit me.