Page 54 of Fly Boy
An older couple leaves, arm in arm, and the desire to follow them makes me very aware of my feet. Staring out in front of me, my fingers flex as I look at the plaque on the wall, pointing down the hall to where room 909 is located. The brushed metal taunts me that it might as well have a neon light flashing around it. I can feel my heart thud heavily in my chest as a part of my brain wars with itself to stay put or move until the decision is made for me and the doors start to shut.
Without thinking, my arm snaps out, stopping them from closing, and I step out and walk in the direction of Pippa’s room.
My hand is poised, ready to knock, when the door swings open.
“How…?”
Pippa holds up her phone.
Evan
Mr. Sexy Pilot Man is coming to land.
“Original,” I deadpan, then snatch her phone and quickly reply.
Pippa
Fuck off.
She hides a smile when she takes back her cell, reading over my message. “That’s rude.”
“He deserves it.”
She gives a half-suppressed laugh, the sound odd, as she stands to the side. We don’t speak as I walk inside, the door closing behind me with a softsnick.I wander around, admiring the expensive décor and high-class furnishings, wondering if the team or her father paid for this room.
“You were spectacular today,” I say, tearing my gaze from the window and turning to look at Pippa. “At least that’s what the commentators kept saying. All I knew when I was watching was that I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
“You watched?” she asks, her voice small but surprised, and I nod. She chews on her lower lip, mulling it over, and that’s when I notice that her eyes are rimmed red, her cheeks slightly puffy, like she’s been crying.
I frown, about to ask what’s wrong, when she whispers, “I could have been better.” She hangs her head, and I hate the way her voice cracks when she speaks. “I should have trained harder, I should have done the less advanced version of the jump, I should…”
She releases a shaky breath as her eyes brim with unshed tears. I’m on her in a second, not entirely sure what I’m doing, as I wrap my arms tight around her. Every part of me twists up, watching this strong girl fall apart, her fingers clutched into the sides of my shirt, her body coiled tight in my hold. She doesn’t shudder, barely moves, and I know she’s holding in her tears.
“Your routine was perfect,” I tell her again, and she shakes her head against my chest.
“It wasn’t. If you know the sport, if you know the things we’re judged on, you’d have seen everywhere it went wrong.”
“Aren’t you being a bit hard on yourself?” I ask, but then instantly know that’s not the right thing to say as she shoves away from me, her hands flying into her hair.
“I got third,” she cries, her face turning red as a thick vein runs across her forehead, throbbing violently. “I can’t afford third.”
“I thought you didn’t find out until tomorrow. At the medal ceremony or whatever?”
“Rumors,” Pippa sighs, dejected. “You know what it’s like, people talk, Wyatt. It might be speculation, but we have a pretty good idea of the placements. It’s just a matter of time until they announce us as third place.” Closing her eyes, she lets her head fall back. “I should have been better.”
“Why just you?”
Her head snaps up as she glares at me. “What?”
“Why shouldyouhave done better? You’re part of apair…”I gesture toward the door. “But Evan is down in the hotel bar, having drinks with the other skaters. He is not hiding in his room feeling sorry for himself.”
She opens her mouth, ready to argue, but shuts it again, her expression pinched. I run my hand through my hair in frustration because Nancy’s right, watching her tear into herself is horrible.
“Why aren’t you enjoying it with him?” I continue, taking a step toward her. “You skated to the best of your ability the last two days, but instead of celebrating making it to the final of a massive competition in your first year on Team USA, you’re stressing about all these different things you have no control over—control that was taken away as soon as your routine finished. You can’t go back and change anything by focusing on thewhat ifs.”
She huffs bitterly, her jaw hard as she looks away, avoiding eye contact.
“How does all this stress and beating yourself up make it worth it? How does that make it fun? Doesn’t enjoyment and the love for the sport play into how you are on the ice?” As I inch closer, she crosses her arms, hunching in on herself. “The girl I saw skating in Lake Placid was not the girl skating today. Coach Pippa lets herself make mistakes; she shows the kids that it's okay to mess up and that as long as you put your all onto the ice, it doesn’t matter what happens as long as you love what you do. Professional Pippa is a contradiction.
