Page 5 of My Last Dance

“He’sthe one who said he’s going to repost those videos,” I blurted out.

“Becauseyouwere mean. I need to show the world your true nature, Viper,” Kappy argued. “It’d be a public service announcement at this point. Here, lemme just pick one of these videos. Oooh, she’s really glaring in this one.”

A mixture of anger and panic flared to life in my chest. As one of the NHL’s most beloved players, he had millions of followers.Millions. “Mer!” I burst out.

“No, he won’t repost anything, I’m confiscating his phone,” Mer promised. “I just wish I could confiscate yours, too.”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly, not wanting to be on the line with Kappy any longer. “I’m getting in late tonight. We’ll chat tomorrow.”

“You promise you’ll stay off your phone?” she asked with a warning edge to her voice.

“Can’t get off it if I’m talking to you,” I tried to joke.

“Okay,” she said with a deep breath. “Call back if you need anything. I can come stay with you.”

“Me too!” Lucy added.

I smiled at her little voice. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll stay off my phone, promise,” I said before hanging up.

It took me all of five minutes to break that promise.

After grabbing our drinks and making it up to the lounge where Patrick was fast asleep waiting for our flight, I sat there watching video after video of people making fun of me.

My chest ached with regret.

But here’s the thing: I wished I could’ve been like other people who could shrug off bad scores and bad performances and say they did their best, but I just couldn’t. That just wasn’t me. It’d never ever been me. Over the years, I tried hard to change, to hide my emotions, to not care so much, but…I always failed. I would never be satisfied with silver, and I couldn’t pretend otherwise.

Did that make me an egomaniac? A narcissist? An asshole?

I fucking hoped not.

I cared about other people, I did. I had empathy and shit, I was sure of it. I just wanted to win.

Why was that sobad?

__________

The next couple days after the Grand Prix were filled with more disappointment. The story of my mental breakdown kept circling, and I was getting dropped by brand deals left and right.

It was crazy, really—I’d won multiple national and world championships, but only after a mental breakdown did the public recognize me—which was humiliating. I couldn’t even buy a fucking cup of coffee without catching someone snickering at me.

I was the butt of the joke for the entire world.

Like usual, the only time I had peace was on the ice.

Patrick and I silently agreed not to bring up the Grand Prix. We were moving forward.

The only problem was that I could feel Patrick losing hope, which then made me feel desperate, so desperate that it was affecting my skating and making me flub up on even simple moves and lifts. Skating wasn’t like other sports where you could muscle through problems. With figure skating, sometimes the harder you tried, the harder you’d fall.

In the locker room after practice that Friday, I massaged my calves and felt like crying from both physical and mental pain. It just felt like we were on a downhill slide, and I was doing everything in my power not to let us down, buteverythingwas going against me.

When Patrick and I were the only two left in the locker room, he sighed. “P, we gotta talk.”

“No.” I clenched my eyes shut. “Please, Patrick,” I whispered. “Please just wait.”

When I gathered up enough courage to peek at him, he wasn’t looking at my face. His body was tense as he studied my hands on my calves.

“Are you in pain?”

---