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When they finished with their synchronized forward sit spins, Belle looked over at Chandler to check on her before she moved into her bows and waves. She took Chandler’s hand, and they skated off the ice.
“What is going on with you?” she asked when they sat down to catch their breath and wait for their scores.
“Nothing. We skated fine.”
“We hit everything, yeah, but your face looked like it was somewhere else.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you looked like you hated being out there.”
“I did not,” Chandler argued and turned to Belle.
“Yeah, you did. Chandler, talk to me.”
“Not now,” she replied and turned back to wait for their scores.
There were still three pairs that would skate after them. After a fall from the second-place pair from the previous night, they’d fallen into fifth place, and Chandler and Belle had moved up to second. Without any falls or any major point deductions from their long program, Belle figured they’d at least medal, assuming someone after them didn’t have the performance of their lives and overtake them. When the scores appeared, she was proven right. For now, at least.
“Third,” Chandler said.
“We’re still in second.”
“With three pairs left to go. They hate that we’re two women. That’s all I can take away from those scores. We’re going to end up in third.” Chandler stood and walked off.
Belle followed her into the locker room, where they changed out of their skates in silence because she didn’t know how to talk to Chandler when she was like this. She had when they’d been teenagers. In fact, they’d been sitting on this same bench at fourteen when she’d talked to Chandler after she’d had a bad day on the ice, and they’d ended up kissing, but that day probably hadn’t ended how either of them wanted, given what happened after.
“We have to wait to see if we medaled,” Chandler told her when they walked out carrying their stuff. “Or, we could just go, but I don’t want to make the program mad because I ditched the medals.”
“That’s fine. Are you hungry? I can get us something.”
“From the concession stand?”
“Yeah.”
“Belle, I don’t want fatty or fried food from a concession stand. And you shouldn’t, either.”
“Well, seeing as how I’m not likely to be figure skating for much longer, and I’ll probably be returning to my local hockey team, I might as well enjoy a slice of crappy, greasy pizza with pepperoni and maybe even have a beer.” She walked toward the concession stand.
“What do you mean, since you won’t be figure skating much longer?” Chandler followed her over to join the line.
“Chandler, clearly you are pissed off about something. And since you won’t talk to me, I can only assume that it’s because they’ve scored us way too low twice now, and it’s likely because they don’t like the fact that your partner is a woman. I’m the woman.” Belle pointed at herself. “So, I need to go.”
“I didn’t say that,” Chandler replied.
“You didn’t have to,” she said.
“Belle, no. It’s not about that, okay? I promise you that my mood has nothing to do with you. You skated great tonight. You always do.”
“Hey.”
“Of fucking course,” Belle said when she saw Griffin.
“Sorry?” he asked.
“Griffin, now is not a good time,” Chandler said to him.
“I just wanted to say hi. I saw your skate. It was great. Sorry for the scores.”
