Page 11 of Off the Edge

He laughed at something the bubbly blonde woman beside him said, his smile brilliant and alive on his face. The woman looked so like Cam, they could have been related. Zoe, I realized, his Team Canada dance partner. They chatted, fast and loose, and as he came toward me, it seemed as though he would pass right by. Then his gaze came up and locked with mine.

It was too late to turn away or pretend I hadn’t seen him.

“Hasegawa.” He stopped, or tried to, but the momentum of his team carried him forward.

Our organizer geed me along too. She had countless teams to get through this process, and I was now holding her up by standing and staring at a member of the Canadian team like I’d seen a ghost.

“Navarro,” I croaked.

Casey swooped in and gathered Cam up in a shoulder embrace, sweeping him away. He glanced back, looking for me, and again our gazes met. His was warmer this time, less surprised, and in that moment, I was back beside the Montreal rink, reading him a letter, telling him he’d one day be at the Olympics.

And here we were.

My heart discarded the past nineteen months, making our last meeting feel like yesterday. It felt, in that moment, as though we’d never been apart. Everything came back. His touch, his laugh, the taste of him on my lips.

“Come on, please,” the organizer urged.

I went into the interview panel with my heart racing and thoughts scattered around Camden, and somehow made it through the questions without stumbling. I needed to not be thinking about him, at all. Yes, he was here. Yes, we were competitors. But dancing against him was the same as dancing against any ice-dance athlete here. Or so I told the press, since they kept asking whether the rivalry they’d manufactured was personal. The narrative was rapidly becoming Hasegawa versus Navarro on the ice. I’d have preferred to focus on the technical aspects of our routine, but clearly, Camden had a passionate online following who wanted the rivalry, and so that’s where the press went.

I hadn’t expected to feel everything I’d lost by leaving him come rushing back so instantly. A glance, that was all it had taken, and now he was in my heart again. What was this power he had over me?

I could not let my feelings for Camden distract me. This was not the place to get bogged down with unhelpful noise.

I had to focus on the team, on the performance, on my dance partner. Not on a Canadian ice dancer I happened to have slept with, in what could only be described as a shocking lack of professionalism that had nothing to do with love.

SIX

CAMDEN

Hasegawa hadn’t changed. At all. Still rigid, still cold as ice, after he’d gotten over the shock of seeing me in the corridor. That shock had been real. I’d seen it on his face, right before he’d shut it down.

After we’d almost met in that corridor, I kept thinking about his eyes. He’d always been terrible at hiding the emotion from them. But I’d forgotten how damn beautiful they were, because his eyes were where he showed everything. The alarm at seeing me, fear too, then a slight softening, especially on my second look back.

My heart had lurched for him in that corridor. Stupid thing that it was.

In all the months apart, I hadn’t stopped wanting to be with him, wanting him.

Maybe it wouldn’t ever go away, and maybe I didn’t want it to.

But I was going to have to figure it out, because while the Olympic Village was huge, we were going to keep tripping over each other while competing, and the chances were high that I would say or do something stupid. It was kinda my MO.

Training began the next day. Two days since landing in Japan, and the relentless schedule kicked in.

Six thirty a.m. Check in with physio. Discuss sleep, pain, mood, hydration.

Seven a.m. Breakfast in the cafeteria. It was always full. Cross-country skiers, curlers, the snowboarders were wild, and I was definitely hanging out with them more once the Games were done. Different national kit on all the jackets and clothing. Lots of noise, color, and amazing food.

Eight a.m. Walk to the practice rink. Cold, snowy, and the local ground volunteers bowed as we passed by. I was never getting used to that.

Eight forty-five to twelve p.m. Official practice. Music. Officials. Camera crews. Multiple teams watching. I definitely did not look for the Team GB colors.

Twelve thirty p.m. Lunch. Athletes everywhere in the main cafeteria. Hustle, bustle, chaos, noise. Recharge.

One thirty p.m. Recovery, massage, physio, sports psychologist and welfare check.

Three p.m. Second practice. This one was shorter, and focused on transitions, edges, and timing. No real run-throughs, just the technical aspects, emphasis more on precision. Zoe and I killed it.

Four forty-five p.m. Video review with our team coach.