“So, are you ready for tomorrow?”
The question grounded me immediately. Men’s short program. The real start of the individual event.
Pressure tightening all over again.
And somehow, beneath all of that, I felt steadier than I should have.
“Yeah,” I said honestly. “I am.”
She arched her eyebrows. “No dramatic spiraling? No existential athlete crisis?”
Mom knew me far too well.
“Oh, there’ll be some of that later, I’m sure,” I said with a smile.
“Good.” She nodded approvingly. “I’d worry if you suddenly became emotionally well-adjusted.”
I laughed. My phone buzzed, and the sound barely registered at first. I took it from my pocket and glanced at the screen.
Luka.
Everything inside me sharpened.
Mom noticed the change immediately. “Are you okay?” Her English teacher brain had probably devised classes around describing facial expressions.
“Yeah.” It was an automatic response. My attention was already fixed on the screen.
Can I see you?
No greeting, no teasing.
Another message appeared almost immediately.
Please.
Cold slid through me. Luka never sounded like this.
I typed back quickly.Of course. What happened?
His reply was swift.I do not want to discuss it here.
My pulse quickened.
Something’s wrong.
I could feel it bleeding through the words.
Mom’s voice broke through. “Dean.”
I looked up too quickly, and whatever had just moved across my face—concern, fear—she saw it. I knew that in a heartbeat.
“I have to go,” I blurted.
Mom blinked. “Is everything all right?”
I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair. “I don’t know yet.”
That was the terrifying part. Ididn’tknow, but every instinct in my body was suddenly screaming that something had shifted badly.
