Page 123 of My Last Dance

After picking up take-out dinner, he wordlessly flipped on a scary movie. He hated scary movies, so I knew this choice was only for me.

“I don’t want to watch this,” I said quietly, taking the clicker from him. My eyes started burning while I flipped through the channels. I’d never watch another scary movie for as long as I lived because I was terrified of scaring him and stressing out his heart.

His face fell. “Piper…”

“Huh? What?” I asked, trying my best to feign indifference and swallow down my fear for the night.

I could tell he wanted to say something, but he stayed silent.

After choosing a romcom, we settled into the couch. With his arm looped around my waist, I was able to relax for the first time in what felt like forever because I could feel his steady heartbeat against my back.

I was almost asleep when both of our phones went off.

He reached for his phone. “It’s Patrick. The board made a decision.”

Too scared to look at him or my phone, I held my breath.

“We’re going to the Olympics,” he said with a determined voice, tossing his phone back down.

My chest caved in.

I never thought that sentence would make me upset.

But I was devastated.

Turning in his arms, I studied his face in the glow from the TV. My hand went to his scruffy cheek. “I’m scared.”

His hand laid overtop of mine. “We’ll come up with a plan, I promise, baby. We’ll make it work, and we’ll win.”

Tears filled my eyes.

He looked alarmed. “Are you crying?”

“Yes, I am.” I nodded, fully admitting it for the first time in my life. “You need that surgery.”

His face softened before he tucked my head under his chin. “I’ll get it.”

I pulled back to look at him and nodded hurriedly. “Okay.”

He gently cleared my tears with his thumb. “Afterwe compete.” He kissed my forehead. “I just want to dance with you.”

_________

We had two weeks to practice until we flew to Italy for the opening of the Winter Olympic Games. I didn’t want to skate at all, but thanks to the Whalers’ owner, Mrs. Greenwich, who was apparently rooting for us, we suddenly had a small team of people at the rink helping us to perfect a plan.

Our best option was for Kappy to skate with a small ECG monitor taped to his chest, which was studied in real-time by a medic sitting on the bench. If he had an arrhythmia while skating, the monitor would beep, and we would stop skating. It wasn’t a foolproof plan, but it was the best they could come up with in the short amount of time we had.

I was terrified, but Kappy didn’t seem fazed at all, making me wonder if he was even processing the severity of the situation.

The night before our flight, I sat on the ground next to my empty suitcase, struggling to bring myself to pack.

Kappy threw my door open but stayed in the threshold. “Where’s the cat?”

A snort popped out of me. “The coast is clear, Lucy’s taking care of him.”

When his eyes fell on my empty suitcase, his jaw clenched. “Why aren’t you packed?”

I stayed silent, prompting him to march into my room and start throwing stuff haphazardly into my bags.

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