Page 118 of About to Fall

“Excuse me?”

“He’s done. He’s in a cooldown room right now having a breakdown. He can’t skate tomorrow.”

Renaud removed his glasses slowly. Folded them. Set them on top of his clipboard with the deliberate precision of a man buying himself time.

“Nicolas is the reigning national champion. He has a realistic path to the Olympic team. He is not withdrawing.”

“He had a panic attack after his short program. He’s not skating tomorrow.”

“Athletes experience performance anxiety. It’s manageable. I will speak with him and—”

“You will not speak with him.” I took a step closer, drawing myself up to my full height. “You will not pull him aside and deliver one of your measured little talks about focus and dedication and legacy. You will not make him feel like he’s failing you by being a human being who has reached his limit.”

Renaud’s eyes went cold. “You are overstepping, Adrian.”

“Probably. I don’t care.”

“Nicolas is my nephew—”

“Then act like it.” The words came out louder than I intended. I steadied myself and lowered my voice. “Your nephew almost died a few months ago. He took a bottle of sleeping pills because the pressure of being your golden boy crushed him so completely that he couldn’t find any other way to rest. And your first call wasn’t to ask if he was okay—it was to the federation communications team.”

Something shifted in Renaud’s face. A crack in the granite.

“He told you.”

“Yeah. He told me. And I’m telling you—he’s done. Not forever, maybe. But tonight, tomorrow, this competition. He’s done.”

“The selection committee—”

“Can select from the four remaining skaters. Nicky’s health matters more than a spot on a team.”

“You don’t get to make that decision.”

“You’re right. Nicky gets to make that decision. And he’s making it. I’m just the one standing here telling you because he’s too afraid of disappointing you to say it to your face. Which should tell you everything you need to know about what your coaching has done to him.”

Renaud stared at me for a long time. I could see the calculation happening behind his eyes—the reputation management, the press implications, the narrative he’d have to construct, the questions he’d have to answer.

“If he withdraws now, it will raise questions.”

“Then answer them.”

“The federation will want a medical explanation.”

“Then give them one. You’re good at that. Exhaustion and dehydration worked last time.”

The shot landed. I watched it hit—a flinch so small most people would have missed it. I didn’t miss it.

“This is what Nicolas wants?” he asked finally. Quietly.

“This is what he needs. And for once in his life, those two things should be the same.”

“I’ll speak with the federation,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“Adrian.” His voice stopped me as I turned to leave. “If you are the reason my nephew is distracted—if this—whatever this is between you—is what’s compromising his performance—”

“With all due respect, Coach, you’ve been compromising his performance for fifteen years. I’m just the first person who noticed.”