Page 3 of My Last Dance

Patrick started leading me toward the locker room, but he stopped short before the steps down to the hallway, making me bump right into his back.

“What?” I asked, trying to crane my neck around him.

His body stiffened. When he turned back to me, a wary look crossed his face.

“What?” I sniffled up my tears.

A flash went off, practically blinding me.

And that’s when I realized I fucked up.

Big time.

My tear-streaked face was up on the jumbotron.

The kiss-and-cry had been mic’d up.

And now every single member of the press at the competition was aiming their camera at my face.

2. BUTT OF THE JOKE

After leaving the stadium, I turned off my phone and holed up in my hotel room. After scarfing room service—vodka pasta, truffle fries, and multiple glasses of wine—I promptly passed out. Between the competition and the crying, my body completely shut down within minutes.

In the morning, I was still mentally reeling from our shitty scores, so there’s no way I was mentally prepared for what happened when I turned my phone back on.

My face was splashed all over the internet.

All. Over.

And it wasn’t a good look.

Sure, my maroon dress—which I designed and painstakingly rhinestoned myself—was sparkling beautifully, and my white-blonde hair was slicked back in a perfect low bun, but the way I was pointing a harsh finger and practically snarling made me cringe. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. As I continued clicking, I saw more pictures with my shoulders hitched up and tears blubbering from my eyes.

Fuck.

Memes were already circulating.

My phone was buzzing so much I was afraid it was going to break.

Everywhere I looked, from CNN to Fox to Buzzfeed to even Barstool, they were detailing my mental breakdown.

Since when did figure skating get this much press outside of the Olympics?

And then there were the comments…

People from all over the world were trolling me, calling me a bad sport, a spoiled brat, a trainwreck.

I couldn’t argue with the latter two, but thebad sportclaim? I’d be lying if I said that didn’t spear me right through the heart. A little part of me had always been worried about that. It wasn’t news that all I ever cared about was winning, but…I never thought that was a bad thing.

Maybe it was bad?

I’d been like that for as long as I could remember. Some of my earliest memories were of me wanting to win. I wasn’t taught to be like that, it was just my nature. My parents always tried to make sure I was having fun, but let’s be real—losing wasnotfun. I wanted gold, and that was the beginning and end of everything for me.

Maybe that just meant I was a mean person, and the whole world already recognized it, I was just the last one to clue in on it. And if that were true…well, then that was a tough pill to swallow.

The whole uber trip to the airport, Patrick kept giving me worried glances, like he was afraid I was about to fall apart or scream my head off again.

A desperate bubble of helplessness clawed at my throat because there was nothing I could do to fix yesterday. No amount of talking about it would help. Ialreadyblew up and spewed all my rage and sadness out into the world. Like a tube of toothpaste, there was no shoving it back in or hitting delete on what I said or did.

---