Page 117 of About to Fall

Kat.

She didn’t say a word. Just crossed the room, sat down on the floor beside me, and put her arm around my shoulders. I leaned into her and she pulled me close, her hand rubbing small circles on my arm the way she’d been doing since we were kids.

“He found me lurking in the hallway,” she said quietly. “Told me you might need a friend.”

“How did you get past security?”

“Have you seen me? This facecard can unlock any door.”

“Fair. What’s he doing?”

“I don’t know. But he looked like a man on a mission and I’ve learned not to get in the way of those.” She pressed her cheek against the top of my head. “You okay?”

“No.”

“It’s okay not to be okay.”

“I don’t think I can do the free skate tomorrow,” I whispered.

Kat was quiet for a moment. Then she squeezed my arm.

“Then don’t.”

“It’s not that simple. Renaud—the federation—the fans—”

“Nico. Fuck your uncle. Fuck the federation. If your uncle has a problem with it, he can take it up with me.”

“Kat—”

“I mean it. I will march up to Jean-Pierre and tell him exactly where he can shove his Olympic medal. I’ve been waiting a decade for an excuse and I would genuinely enjoy it.”

A wet, broken laugh escaped me.

“You've given this sport everything,” she said, softer now but no less fierce. “It's time to put yourself first, Nico. If you need to stop—for a day, for a season, forever—that is your right. And anyone who tells you otherwise can go through me.”

“You’re a very petite ballerina.”

“And I’ll clobber a bitch with a pointe shoe.” She wiped a tear off my cheek with her thumb. “You don’t owe them a free skate. You don’t owe them an explanation. You don’t owe them anything. The only person you owe anything to is yourself.”

I looked at her—this fierce, loyal, force of nature who had been in my corner since day one—and for the first time all night, the tightness in my chest eased enough to let me breathe.

“Will you stay with me?” I asked.

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away, Nico.” She pulled me back against her shoulder.

48. Adrian

I found Renaud in the coaches’ area, standing near the monitors with his clipboard and his reading glasses and the particular stillness of a man who was already planning tomorrow’s free skate layout.

“We need to talk,” I said.

He looked up. Assessed me. The crushed feathers on my costume, the set of my jaw, the fact that I was standing in front of him instead of cooling down like I should have been.

“If this is about your component scores, we can discuss—”

“Nicolas is withdrawing from the free skate.”

The silence that followed was deafening.