Page 2 of My Last Dance

I waved and blew a few kisses to the camera. Patrick curled his arm up into a muscle pose.

The crowd quieted as we waited for our scores. Coming down from the adrenaline high of competing, the cold started seeping into me, making me shiver in my low-cut dress, which was probably made of more mesh than actual material. Patrick reached an arm around me for a side hug and rubbed my shoulder while we waited. I shared a smile of thanks with him. Sometimes he knew what I needed before I even did.

But as soon as the scores started coming in, Patrick’s body locked up beside mine.

My face faltered as I stared at the numbers on the screen.

Patrick shifted uncomfortably and stole his arm back to push back his sweaty ginger hair.

My jaw angled to the side, trying to figure out if there’d been some kind of glitch, because those numbers didnotmatch the program we just skated.

I shifted my gaze to Luka and Michelle. “Is that—”

I was cut off by a loud cheer from a side wing. My neck whipped around to see the French couple jumping up and down, crying happy tears while hugging each other. They should be happy—they just snatched the gold from us.

“Well, better luck next time.” Michelle planted a fake-smile on her face and lifted her chin at me as if saying,c’mon, play it up.

Patrick’s throat bobbed with a swallow as he continued staring at the numbers with a little crease between his eyebrows. He finallydropped his head down in disappointment, making panic flare to life inside me.No, no, no.This wasnothow it was supposed to go. These crooked judges were ruiningeverything.

“C’mon, let’s head back to the locker room,” Luka said in a hushed tone.

“No,” I whispered, my breathing going raged with rage.

Patrick frowned.

Luka craned his neck to make eye contact with me. “We should go, Piper.”

“No.” I shook my head. “This isbullshit,” I announced to anyone who would listen. “Howthe fuckdo those numbers match what we just did?” I blurted out, throwing an arm out to the scores.

“Calm down,” Michelle ordered between clenched teeth.

I reeled back like she slapped me. She was mad atme? Not the judges who just ripped us off? My jaw hardened as rebellious anger roared to life in my body.

Michelle’s eyes narrowed at me like she was a mother trying to reprimand a toddler, meaningIwas the toddler in this scenario.

“Shit,” Patrick muttered, rubbing a hand down his exhausted face. “Piper, it’s fine, she—”

“Are youfuckingserious?” I fumed at Michelle. Luka flinched, but I was just getting started. “Me?Ishould calm down?” A maniacal laugh escaped my mouth. “I thinkyoushould be more upset. We were just ripped off and you don’t even care.”

Michelle ran her tongue over our teeth. “Enough. Let’s go.”

“No, not enough,” I argued, standing now. “I want to talk to someone about this. I want to file a complaint. This was clearly rigged.”

“Hey,” Patrick said firmly, his face stern. He stood and grabbed my shoulders. His pale blue eyes locked on mine. “It’s okay, P,” he said in a softer tone, and that finally broke me.

“It’snotokay, Patrick,” my voice came out strangled. “We were perfect. We had a winning program. What more do we have to do? It’s not right.” Tears welled up in my eyes. “I’m so sick of this.” I was sick of never getting rewarded for our hard work. The dam holding back all my emotions burst wide open and there was no way of stopping my tears now.

“I know.” Patrick tugged me into a hug. “It’s okay. Pull it together,” he whispered in my ear as he rubbed my back. “You’re going to regret losing your composure. We’ve been in this positionbefore, it’ll be fine.”

I fully knew he was right, but I couldn’t stop the huge emotions overwhelming my body, making me want to tear down everything in my path. I was so fed up with all of it. I couldn’t get out of the deep dive I was barreling down at full speed. I could practically taste my anger. My shoulders shook from the rage. I wanted to scream. But I couldn’t. The only way for the emotions to escape was through my eyes.

“Is she crying?” Luka mumbled in a shocked tone.

I reared back and glared at him. “It’s called the kiss-and-cry, and I’ll cry if I fucking want to.”

Patrick sighed. His eyes shifted to something over my head before he pulled me against his chest and rubbed my back.

Tears were now streaming down my face for the first time in years. “I hate this sport, and I hate those stupid judges,” I blubbered, trying to wipe my face.

---