Page 58 of About to Fall

For all I knew, he did this with every competitor. Maybe it was part of his pre-competition strategy—psychological warfare conducted horizontally. Get in their pants, get in their head. Leave them at the boards the next morning trying to remember their own name while he sailed through warm up without a care in the world.

I dug my blades into the ice harder.

I hated it. The idea of him touching other people with that same practised confidence—those hands that knew exactly what they were doing because they'd done it many, many, many times before. With people who weren't me.

And I hated that I cared. That I had given myself to him with an eagerness that still made my face burn. That I had said please and fuck me and felt things worse than both, and meant all of it, and for him it was probably just a regular Thursday night.

I was on my third lap when I caught an edge wrong and stumbled—barely, just enough to remind me that the ice didn't care about my emotional state. I forced myself to slow down. Breathe. Run through the opening sequence of my short program with the mechanical precision that had carried me through every crisis of my career.

There was no allowance for distraction. No grace period for humiliation, or regret, or whatever the hell this was. The Olympic clock kept ticking either way.

I skated until the arena staff started setting up for the official practice session and then I went back to the hotel to change.

27. Nico

The lobby was crowded with athletes and coaches and the particular controlled chaos of competition morning. I saw Sabrina first—she waved from the coffee station, looking amped despite the time difference. I waved back and was calculating the fastest route to the elevator when I saw Théo.

He was standing near the concierge desk talking to his new coach. Théo was nodding at something Miller was saying, coffee in hand, and then his eyes drifted past Miller's shoulder and found me.

He smiled. A real one—small and warm and private, nothing like the one he wore for cameras. I felt it in my chest the way I always felt Théo's real smiles, like a door opening to a room I wasn't sure I was still allowed to enter.

I was crossing the lobby toward the elevator when I heard his voice behind me.

“Nico. Wait up.”

I stopped. Turned. His coach was still by the concierge desk, scrolling on his phone.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Everything okay?”

I swallowed past a lump that had formed in my throat. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

“I’m sorry if I made things weird last night with Adrian. I forgot you had to room with him and I’m sorry if it caused issues for you. He just gets under my skin.”

If only he knew.

“Uhm, no worries. Adrian has that effect on people. It was fine.”

“Are you just getting back from the rink?” He nodded toward my skate bag.

“Yeah, jetlagged. Figured I’d use that energy for something useful.”

“Are you still having trouble sleeping?”

“No more than usual.”

He was quiet for a beat too long. Studying me. I fought the urge to squirm under his watchful gaze. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem kinda…off.”

“I'm fine. Competition nerves.”

“Nico, if you—”

“I'm fine, Théo.”

He looked like he wanted to say more but then his eyes moved past me—toward the elevator bank—and his expression shifted. A flicker of something crossing his features that I recognized because I had spent three years learning all of Théo’s moods.