Page 100 of About to Fall

“Sounds like I’m a good influence then.”

“Maybe,” he said and the almost smile became a real one.

42. Adrian

Good things never last. I knew that.

Our routine carried on until Renaud started sniffing around. We should have seen it coming—two skaters who'd spent weeks barely tolerating each other suddenly training together. We weren't exactly subtle.

We'd just finished off-ice conditioning and were heading to the locker room when Renaud popped his head out of his office.

“Nicolas, stay behind for a few minutes. I want to review your step sequence.”

Nicky's spine stiffened. Just slightly—most people wouldn't have caught it. But I'd been studying him for months and I clocked it instantly. The jaw setting. The stiffness of his posture.

“Of course, Coach.”

He didn't look at me. I didn’t give him a reassuring smile. We didn’t say goodbye. I just kept walking. Didn't slow down. Didn't look back.

But something in my gut said the walls were about to close in.

He still wasn’t done by the time I had showered and changed. I contemplated waiting for him by his car but it was freezing outside and I could power walk home in less than ten minutes.

When Nicky finally finished his session an hour later, he came straight to Cam's. I opened the door and he didn't kiss me.

That was a first. Every other time he'd shown up at this apartment, he'd been on me within seconds—hands in my hair, mouth on mine, the forced distance collapsing the moment the door closed behind him.

Tonight he stood in the doorway with his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. His face was composed but his colour was off—that waxy pallor I'd learned to recognize as a warning sign. He didn't reach for me. Hesitated like maybe he shouldn’t come inside.

“Are you coming in?”

“Yes but I can't stay.” He stepped past the threshold, just barely, just enough for me to shut the door. Didn't take off his coat. Didn't set down his bag. Every part of him angled toward the exit.

My stomach dropped.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. Step sequence review.”

“Nicky—”

“He asked about my focus. Whether I felt distracted. Whether I was emotionally ready for Nationals.” His jaw was doing that thing—clenching and unclenching. “I told him I was.”

“And?”

“And he believed me. Because I performed exactly the way he needed me to, answered every question perfectly, hit every mark.” A pause. He pulled one hand from his pocket to push his hair back and the tremor was unmistakable. “I've been doing this my whole life, Adrian. I know the script.”

“What else did he—”

“Not everything is your business, Adrian.”

The sharpness caught me off guard. We'd spent weeks tangled up in each other. Apparently Renaud could undo all of that with one private session and a few carefully placed questions.

“Okay,” I said.

“I'm tired. I should go back to my place tonight.”

That landed right in the centre of my chest. Not like a punch—like a blade. Clean and precise, the way Nicky did everything. I wanted to argue. Wanted to grab his hand and pull him into the apartment and hold him until whatever Renaud had wound tight came loose again. Wanted to say don't do this, don't shut me out, I'm right here.