Page 2 of Curves of Steel

“That’s great to hear, Allen.” I say it like I don’t know there’s a sour caveat about to follow the praise.

“But could you take a second to fill our viewers in on how your high-profile Olympic-track skating career came to an abrupt halt five years ago?”

I feel the smile pasted on my face turn wooden. I force myself to laugh, hoping that it sounds cheerful. Networks and their viewers hate it when you’re not cheerful.

“Oh Allen,” I chuckle like he’s made a joke, “that’s old news at this point.”

Gail scoots to the edge of her chair. “But it’s such an interesting story. You were at the top of your career, destined for great things. You sustained an injury that didn’t seem like it would amount to much, only to later discover it was the end of your career. How did that feel?”

Bad, I want to growl.It felt fucking bad.

Especially because that’s not how my career really ended.

Yeah, I’d sustained a severe foot fracture when attempting to land a poorly executed triple throw lutz at an Olympic qualifier event.

But I could’ve come back from that — if my pairs skating partner hadn’t broken my heart, and my trust.

Donny Tartova had been my pairs partner for years. We’d built our careers together, and after that much time in a man’s arms, boundaries tend to get a little fluid.

He’d seen the best of me and the worst of me. So when he said he was enamored with my beauty and my skill and the entirety of my being — his words, not mine — I fell for him.

Looking back, I’d say I fell for it. For his lies.

It took years, but the truth eventually came out. He had a number of girls who believed they were his one and only love, all fools, and I was the biggest one of all. I was too young, too naive, and too desperate to be loved just as I was.

As I am.

I found out about the other girls right before the qualifier. I’d confronted Donny, demanding an explanation. Instead of one, he’d thrown me poorly, resulting in the injury.

I still wonder if he did it on purpose.

The fracture was bad.

Feeling unsafe in my partner’s arms for so many reasons? That was far worse.

I was too terrified to trust myself to a partner again, whether it was Donny or someone else. And believe me, I tried.

But that’s not the story Gail and Allen want. They want me to trot out the same old sob story of the poor little skater girl, broken and unwanted by everyone in the skating industry, lucky to be allowed to judge at elite levels.

I’m so damn sick of that tired story.

“I’d really love to talk about a new venture I’ve got in the works,” I say, making sure I’ve got my smile hoisted high. “A non-profit—“

“Tell us about the night of your injury,” Allen presses. “Tell us — for the viewers, of course — how it felt to be left so alone after being a rising star.”

I sigh, the exhalation coming deep from within my gut where my courage used to live.

Then I give Gail and Allen exactly what they want.

I tell the same damn story one more time. About how aged I am by figure skating standards, about how the industry sees me as washed up, about how I can’t really blame them, I guess.

I do it because that’s what they’re paying me for.

I do it for the goddamn viewers.

But as I speak, cheerful as ever, I promise myself — this is the last time. I refuse to be skating’s cautionary tale.

Not anymore.

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