Page 82 of Hate You Most

Dakota gestured faintly around the apartment with a nearly hopeless look in her eye. “These past few months,” she said. “Cooking together. Watching movies. You yelling at me about how I snore in my sleep. Skating again, for the first time in years—It almost felt like it did before.”

“You mean… before the divorce?” Viktoriya forced the question out, the words sticking to her tongue.

“Yes.”

She was lightheaded now, and if one more secret fell out of Dakota's mouth it was going to send her to the ground in a sob. She could feel the tears pressing against her eyelids, but she held them back. “You’re saying that you lied because you wanted to pretend our marriage hadn’t ended.”

Dakota’s voice dropped slightly. “I wanted to see if we could still be the people we were before it ended.”

Viktoriya stared at her.

“And?”

Dakota held her gaze, like she'd do just before competitions—across the ice. Except they weren't on the ice, and maybe they never would be again. That time was over, but the hatred that flared in Viktoriya's chest was the same as when her rival had stood in the way of her gold medal.

“And I think we could.” The confidence in her statement made Viktoriya’s pulse jump.

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to rewrite our life just because I forgot parts of it. That's not how this works.”

Dakota nodded again. “You’re right.”

Viktoriya blinked slightly at the immediate agreement.

Dakota looked exhausted now. “I wasn’t trying to erase anything,” she said quietly. “I just… I wanted another chance.”

“A chance at what?”

Dakota looked at her for a moment too long before answering. “A chance at being your wife again.”

The room fell silent.

Dakota Sanchez and Viktoriya Volkova had been given many labels by the public and the media over the years. Rivals. Teammates. Rumored secret loves. Wives had not been one of those labels.

She could not openly love Dakota the way she wanted—and keeping it to themselves didn't seem fair to her. She knew that Dakota couldn't sit in a golden cage her entire life, she needed to be free and open. She had the opportunity, and Viktoriya wouldn't be the one keeping her in the darkness.

Viktoriya lifted the phone slightly again, the photos still glowing faintly on the screen.

Dakota watched her carefully.

“Dakota. Why did I want to get a divorce?”

For a moment the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.

Dakota didn’t answer right away.

She looked down at the floor, then back up at Viktoriya When she finally spoke, her voice was careful.

“Because you were scared,” Dakota said quietly. “Everything had gotten too big, and too public, and too much. You didn’t know how to hold onto it without it breaking you. And because you thought that letting me go would make it easier to breathe, but I don't think it ever did.”

Viktoriya had a strange and sudden sensation that this was not the first time they had stood in a room like this—Dakota saying something painfully honest while Viktoriya searched for a way to avoid answering it. Only this time there were no old memories to hide behind. Just the present, and the woman standing in front of her.

Dakota looked exhausted. Almost like she had already accepted that whatever came next would hurt her, and she had given up the fight completely.

She should've been furious, she knew that. She had every right to raise her voice again and scream until she lost it. But what was the point? Dakota had lied to her while she was most vulnerable and pretended they were still married. She couldn't trust Dakota, and she could barely trust her own memories.