Page 6 of Fly Boy
“See, you’re not even denying it,” she goads.
She’s baiting me. I know she is, yet it doesn’t stop me from glaring at her reflection. Drawing a deep breath, I gather as much restraint as possible, stopping myself from snapping. “I worked my ass off to get my place on this team, just like everyone else. If you’ve got an issue with that, maybe you should speak to the selection committee.”
“Do you really believe that?” she asks, standing so close behind me that I can almost feel her shirt against the back of my bare arms. I pause with my fingers covered in cream halfway to my face, narrowing my eyes until she takes the hint and steps back. It’s not by much, but enough that her breath doesn’t tickle my shoulder. “Because no one buys that for a second.”
Slamming the little pot onto the counter, I whirl around so we’re nose to nose. “What is your problem?”
“You,” she spits, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised she answered me. Molly’s always been one of those people who’s never openly said how she feels about me, but has made it very clear in her actions that we will never be besties. “You saunter in here like you’re the best damn skater since Michelle Kwan—”
I gasp, mockingly smacking my hand to my chest. “You really think so?”
“You don’t deserve to be Evan’s partner,” she snarls, a vein in her neck pulsing.
“And what? You think you do?”
“Yes,” she states, her hands on her hips. “Because we would havewonthe first round in the Grand Prix if he was paired with me. And no matter how many extra hours you put into training, you’ll never be the type of partner he needs. He doesn’t need some self-proclaimed Ice Princess. He needs—”
“Is that why you’re here?” I cut her off.Self-proclaimed?Is she joking? “Are you hoping that if you hang around, Evan might see you and think you’re a better fit for him?” I move toward her, disdain dripping from my words as I ask, “What wouldyourpartner say if he found out you were trying to replace him?”
“Zach would be doing the same thing if he wasn’t paired with me. This is a cutthroat industry, Pippa. Only the strongest survive. And we need to do whatever it takes to make sure we come out on top...” She leans closer. “And win.”
Slapping the magazine into my chest, she spins abruptly, her long hair flying into my face as she walks away, leaving me alone.
My hands shake as I turn it around to look at the front cover. I cringe when I’m met with an unflattering image of myself filling the entire thing. My face is screwed up as the wind whips around me, my equipment bag slung over my shoulder as I leave the rink, my nose red and dry from a goddamn cold I was getting over.
The headline draws me in again, and a white-hot rage fills my blood. If I hadn’t been born a Cartwright, if I had been born a regular girl with a passion and faster feet on ice than most farm team hockey players, they wouldn’t have questioned my ability.
Tearing the front page, I scrunch it in my hand and toss it and the rest of the magazine in the trash before snatching up my bag on the way back to the changing room. The buzz from my morning workout has well and truly gone now, replaced by self-doubt and the overwhelming need to prove everyone wrong.
I reach my locker, yanking it open and tugging out my clean clothes for practice. Throwing them onto a bench behind me,I grab my discarded ones and shove them and my toiletry bag inside with a snarl.
You don’t deserve to be Evan’s partner.
Slamming the door, I pound my fist against it, the sound of metal banging metal resounding through the room. My palm stings as I drop my hand and rest my forehead onto the cool door.
“You don’t skate for them,” I whisper into the quiet. “You skate for yourself.”
No matter how many times I try to tell myself that, it doesn’t stop the murmurs, the articles, and the constant skepticism from people who deem themselves experts in the sport from following me to each competition. Their constant comparison to those they think have worked harder—tried harder—than me to get to where I am like a weight, threatening to pull me down into darkness.
But they don’t know the countless hours I spend at the rink, the days that start before the sun’s up, the endless nights that break into morning, the bloodied and swollen feet, the cuts and bruises from falling on the ice. Each one makes me stronger, more determined to be the best, to step out from the vast shadow that my last name casts.
With a growl, I push the pity party for one aside and straighten. Dropping my towel, I quickly get dressed in the Team USA tracksuit and sit on the bench to lace up my skates, the movements as practiced and as perfect as if I were on the ice.
I take a deep, steadying breath as I stand.I am Pippa Cartwright, and I deserve to fucking be here.
Chapter Three
“That’s you all fueledup, Wyatt,” Colin says, holding out his clipboard with a receipt attached. “You know what to do.”
Accepting the dispatcher’s pen, I read over the printed numbers and scribble my initials next to them before handing it back. The routine is the same each time I land in Colorado, ready to fly Miss Cartwright home. “Thanks.”
“What’s it like flying this baby?” he asks, gazing longingly at the plane behind me. “Bet it feels like you’re the king of the world, right?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I guess.”
“What I wouldn’t give to be flown in a private jet, sipping champagne, eating caviar.” He pauses, his wistful look turning into contemplation. “Although I don't think I like caviar.”
I shift my feet, pulling back my cuff to check the time, wishing Miss Cartwright would hurry up. Colin notices and checks his watch too, with a disapproving click of his tongue.
