Page 64 of Off the Edge

The way she said that, with her gaze going down . . . there was something in it. I’d seen the footage of the kiss-and-cry area too, after Ren had danced. He’d almost snubbed his father, despite Goro’s best efforts to talk to him. To anyone else, it had looked like typical Ren going cold. But I knew from the miniscule tells in his body language, he hadn’t wanted Goro there.

Goro was a piece of work. Maybe Ren would see it, one day. Once he got out of his father’s spotlight. That day probably wasn’t coming anytime soon, though.

Which reminded me how lucky I was to have decent, patient parents.

I pulled out my phone and pointed. “I gotta call my mom, I’ll be right back.”

I found a quiet corner, just back from the group on the other side of the snack table, and swiped all the notifications away—press alerts with my name, PR people wanting soundbites, the press coordinator, Team Canada’s media manager, folks back home sending messages I hadn’t opened. I’d get to all that tomorrow.

I dialed home and leaned a shoulder against the wall.

“Cam, finally . . . How are you?”

Hearing Mom’s voice always slowed my heart and made things seem easier, even thousands of miles away. But the noise from the party muffled her voice too much to really get a sense of her tone. She’d sounded . . . off.

“I’m good, Mom . . . Hold up. Let me get somewhere quieter.”

I pushed outside, into the little entrance corridor, where cold air mixed with hot, inside air every time someone opened one of the doors. There were a few people out here with me, chatting in the quieter space.

“Okay, I’m good, I can hear you now. Sorry. It was real loud in there. Did you see the rhythm dance?”

“I did, honey, I’m so proud of you. Your pop too. He’s here . . .” There was definitely something off with her voice. It wobbled, but not from excitement. “He wants to speak with you.”

“Oh. Okay . . .”

Usually, Mom did the talking. Dad kinda nodded and grunted. Talking wasn’t his thing. He preferred one-syllable words and manly back slaps. Emotions were things a man buried deep inside and were not to be shared. But he was a good guy under all that repressive masculinity.

“Son.”

“Hey Dad . . .”

Quiet. I heard him take a deep breath.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

The door opened and a couple walked into the little hall, bringing with them a blast of cold air and a dusting of snow.

“Son, I’m sorry to have to tell you this . . . today of all days. You should probably sit down.”

Oh.

Oh no.

There weren’t any seats in the entrance hallway.

Why was he asking me to sit?

Was it cancer?

It had to be cancer.

What else could it be?

My mind raced, clutching at the worst-case scenario that would explain why my father was telling me to sit down from several thousand miles away.

I swallowed. “It’s fine, what’s going on?”

“Saga’s gone, son.”