Page 32 of Off the Edge

My father trembled. His jaw locked. His gaze burned with a hatred I didn’t know was possible from him, but I should have. We’d been here before. Years ago.

“You will not see Navarro again,” he said.

My throat tightened, making my voice sound thin. “Father⁠—”

“No.”

That single word stopped my heart.

“This is not a discussion,” he added, then turned his back to me and moved to the window. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I have spent a great deal of my life ensuring you reached this point. I will not watch you throw it away because you’ve become confused.”

I breathed hard, fast, and leaned against the table, needing it to hold me up.

“Winning requires discipline and discipline requires sacrifice. The sacrifice, however, will not be yours.”

The room suddenly went cold, or my blood did.

He continued without turning. “Navarro has built his career on forgiveness. Federations have overlooked his behavior because he attracts attention. Sponsors tolerate him because he sells tickets. The public mistakes his recklessness for authenticity.” He straightened, his shoulder line hardening. “Those things are remarkably fragile.”

God, no. He was going after Cam. My heart swooped, dropping through the floor. “Father, wait⁠—”

“Do you know how many people believe he should never have been selected after the Meridian fiasco?”

I couldn’t breathe. I clutched the table, hands either side of me. The Meridian fiasco had been the skate of Cam’s life. My father had no idea what it had cost Cam to skate there and win the gender open. He just saw some boy who was in the way of my success. Nausea churned low.

“Do you know how many friends I have on Olympic committees, federation boards, judging panels, funding groups, and sponsor advisory committees?”

I couldn’t hear this, it was wrong. It was corruption. But I couldn’t find my voice to reply. I was a coward in life, and a coward in this.

“Neither does Mr. Navarro.”

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through a choking tightness.

“One conversation becomes two. Two becomes six. Concerns are raised. Questions asked. Is he stable enough? Is he distracting the team? Is Camden Navarro really the image a sponsor wants beside its logo? Does Canada wish to build its future around a scandal?”

“You can’t . . .” I whispered.

“I wouldn’t need to lie.” My father turned and stared across the room while I struggled to breathe. “His past is already public knowledge. People already believe the worst of him. I would simply encourage them to trust their instincts.”

“Don’t.” That single word trembled, sounding weak.

He took a step closer. “You are my son. I have invested my life to ensure your future. I will not permit a young man with tattoos, a history of indiscipline, and a talent for public embarrassment to destroy it.”

“He’s done nothing wrong.” I swiped at the tears on my face that shouldn’t have been there.

“He’s done enough.”

“This is wrong.”

“You will not message him. You will not meet him. You will not look for him. After the Games, you will return to Britain. Mr. Navarro will return to Canada. You will have dinner with Emi Sato and have a bright future with her or someone like her. In time, this childish fascination with men will disappear.”

I stared at him. I knew he was capable of cruelty, but I’d never seem him wield it so ruthlessly. There had been a reason we’d separated for years. On my path to the Olympics, I’d forgotten the cost of knowing my father.

“And if I don’t?” I asked in a small voice.

My father held my gaze without blinking. “Then I will make certain Mr. Navarro discovers what happens when influential people stop taking his phone calls.” He came forward and put his hand on my shoulder. “In time, you will see that this is for the best.”

He left. No goodbye. No “Good luck, son.”