Page 30 of Hate You Most

CHAPTER SEVEN

March 26th, 2012.

— World Championships, Ladies Free Skate. London, Ontario, Canada.

Viktoriya was purposefully skating right before Dakota in the World Championships. Her coach had told her it was for the fans, but she knew better than that. She skated better with Dakota as her opponent.

Several news articles she'd read about their rivalry mentioned the chemistry between them on the ice. The looks they would give each other during and after competitions, the way they'd play into it during the medal ceremonies just to get a reaction from the crowd.

The media talked about Sanchez like they had her figured out, and somehow that only made Volkova more visible by association. She refused to care about the speculation—as long as the rivalry remained about their skating, it was perfectly fine with her.

Viktoriya stepped onto the ice and the audience roared. She pushed through the lingering mix of excitement and shame that had been bubbling in her chest and took her position on the ice.

She had been consistently landing a triple axel in practice and had planned to do a triple axel into a triple toe loop to finish off her program, with a double lutz at the very start of her routine. For her combination jump, she had opted for a single flip into triple toe loop before heading into the step sequence. A triple axel was a risk she didn’t normally take, but she needed the technical score—and there was no safer way to stay ahead. It was a gamble of her life's work—what could go wrong?

She landed the first two jumps with ease. Her rotation was tight in the air, her blades cutting cleanly into the ice as she landed. By the time she prepared for the triple axel the crowd had turned completely silent.

Three and a half perfect rotations in the air, a precise landing on her opposite foot and not a single second of panic. It was muscle memory and certainty. The movements were ingrained in her bones and as long as her mind wandered back to Dakota while in the air—she could land every single jump.

The rest of her program unfolded like a victory lap and when the music ended and Viktoriya stood at center ice, her breathing was rapid and her eyes burned from relief.

Dakota stepped onto the ice, ready to start her warmup just as Viktoriya was moving toward the edge.

Instead of staying on the other side of the ice, keeping her head down and starting her warmup, she was deliberately moving toward Viktoriya. What the fuck was she doing?

Volkova smiled at her. Maybe Dakota wanted to congratulate her. Maybe she just wanted to throw her off before her own program started. Whatever it was, every camera in the arena seemed to follow them the second she approached.

They crossed paths on the ice, close enough that Viktoriya could hear the faint scrape of Dakota's blades against the surface. Dakota didn't stop. Neither did Viktoriya.

Then Dakota leaned in. Just enough to make it look like she was saying something congratulatory. Just enough that the microphones around the rink wouldn't catch it.

“1909,” she half-whispered as she passed. “My room number.”

Viktoriya's smile didn't falter, she kept her eyes locked ahead, and kept moving.

And just as quickly as the moment had arrived, it was gone—Dakota skated past her and went on to do her warmup on the other side of the rink.

Viktoriya refused to react. She stepped off the ice, kept her face perfectly neutral as she hugged her coach and went to the kiss and cry. She was fine, this was all perfectly fine.

She shifted in the seat and tried to block out the camera right in front of her, meant to capture her reaction. Heat rose up the side of her neck. She could feel her cheeks flush right in front of the camera.

She pushed the thought of Dakota and that hotel room aside, and plastered a smile on her lips. She had skated perfectly, that was what she should be focusing on.

Dakota and the other skaters finished. The scores took their time to finalize.

Her scores were higher than anyone else's. High enough to secure gold and high enough to secure Olympic qualification outright. She was a World Champion.

At the medal ceremony Viktoriya stood with her back straight as she received the gold medal. Dakota stood just below her, having received silver for a near flawless program. The commentators no doubt talked about their rivalry. They were fire and ice—Russia against America—but they were also two skaters that pushed each other toward history whether they wanted to or not.

They were both going to the Olympics, and now the rivalry wasn't something that could be quieted. Viktoriya had to win for Russia and she doubted Dakota would let her without a fight. There couldn't be two winners and they couldn't share the gold medal on that podium. The Olympics wasn't a child's game, or a junior competition—it was what decided if she returned to Russia as a winner or a nobody.

Second place and silver medals never got the headlines, the fame, or the recognition from her own father. She had no choice but to win.

Viktoriya returned to her hotel room, took off her team jacket and competition dress and stepped into the shower. The water was scolding, and warmed her from the outside in. She let the worries and stress wash into the drain as she cleaned her body. The only thing she couldn't wash away was the thought of showing up outside Dakota's hotel room. It wandered inside her mind.

She shouldn't do it. She had no logical reason to. What they'd done last time had been a mistake fueled by physical chemistry and the adrenaline of landing a triple axel. Admittedly and inexplicably Viktoriya had become a better skater after meeting her rival, but so much else could've been contributed to that rather than it being because of Dakota herself. It was 2012 and Viktoriya Volkova had won with a 7 point difference between her and her rival—she had no use for Dakota's advice anymore.

Still, her mind wandered and her body craved—and it was like no matter what she did or who she was around, Dakota always crawled back into her mind. She was going insane, she was losing her mind.