Page 112 of About to Fall

What was wrong with me?

I had done this before. Fallen for someone I was competing against. Let my personal life tangle up with my professional one until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. It had ended badly with Théo and I had promised myself I wouldn't do it again.

And yet here I was—in bed with Adrian Zhao, wearing his bracelet, while he carried the key around his neck like some kind of claim.

Chasing gold while falling for someone who was chasing the same thing.

My breathing had gone ragged. Short, quick gasps that weren't getting enough air where it needed to go. The edges of my vision were starting to blur.

Adrian shifted behind me, his arm tightening reflexively around my waist.

I needed to calm down. Needed to breathe. Five things I could see—except I couldn't see anything in the dark and my thoughts were racing too fast to count anything.

What if I fell tomorrow? What if I choked? What if Adrian skated the performance of his life and I bombed and everyone saw exactly what I was—a fraud held together by therapy and sheer stubborn refusal to quit?

What if loving him cost me everything I'd worked for?

The thought crystallized in my mind with the clarity of a clean landing.

Loving him.

Oh God.

I loved him.

Not falling for him. Not caught up in the chemistry or the sex or the way he made me laugh. I loved him.

I loved the way he called me Nicky. I loved that he pushed until I said the truthful thing instead of the easy thing. I loved that he'd given me a bracelet that locked and kept the only key. I loved that after sex he'd held me like I was something worth keeping.

I loved him. Not the breathless, unstable kind I'd felt for Théo. Something deeper and steadier. Something that felt less like drowning and more like finally learning to breathe.

And I was going to lose him.

Not tomorrow. Maybe not even at the Olympics. But eventually—because we were both chasing the same dream and only one of us could have it. When the medals were handed out and the placements were final, someone would be on the podium and someone would be below it.

What if winning cost me him?

My breathing was coming in sharp, painful gasps now. The room felt too small. Adrian's arm felt too heavy. I needed air. I needed space. I needed—

“Nicky, are you okay?”

Adrian's voice cut through the spiral, low and rough with sleep. His arm tightened around my waist and suddenly he was moving, sitting up, pulling me with him until I was tucked against his chest.

“Hey. Hey, I've got you. Breathe with me.”

I couldn't. My lungs wouldn't cooperate. Each breath felt like trying to inhale through a straw, insufficient and panicked and wrong.

“Shh, it’s okay. You can do it.” His hand found the back of my neck, warm and grounding. “In through your nose. Come on, Nicky. With me.”

He demonstrated, breathing slow and deliberate, his chest rising and falling against my back. I tried to match it. Failed. Tried again. Before we started seeing Dr. Ben, he would have tried to fix this—would have paced, would have spiralled alongside me, would have held on so tight we'd both have drowned in it. Support the process. Don't try to be the cure. So he just breathed. Steady and patient. Giving me something to lean on instead of riding in like a white knight.

“That's it. You're okay. I've got you.”

His other hand found mine, threading our fingers together, bringing my hand up to press against his chest so I could feel his heartbeat.

“Feel that? I'm right here. You're safe.”

The panic was still clawing at my throat but his voice was an anchor. His hands on me, his heartbeat under my palm, the solid warmth of him surrounding me.