Dean did not smile, however, andthatwas different enough to set my stomach roiling.
The step sequence cut sharply across the full ice surface, intricate turns layered seamlessly into the growing swell of the music. Dean’s skating had always carried power, but tonight there was something else threaded through it too.
Restraint.
It was as if he was wrestling emotion into something manageable instead of letting it own him completely.
His combination came late in the program, quad Salchow into triple toe, tight on the second landing but fully rotated and secure enough that his coach punched the air once at the boards immediately afterward.
That was Dean. Even wounded emotionally, he remained extraordinary.
The spins centered beautifully beneath the arena lights, then the final movement phrase arrived, the music widening at last as Dean accelerated through the closing choreography with sudden openness.
There.
Thatwas him.
The music ended, and Dean stopped center ice, his chest rising hard beneath the dark fabric of his costume while applause crashed through the arena around him.
I realized only then that my hands had been clenched in my lap.
Beside me, Mila glanced sideways at me but said nothing.
Below us, Dean bowed once before skating toward the Kiss and Cry, his coach waiting for him at the boards. He squeezed the back of Dean’s neck in approval.
Dean nodded while the crowd cheered.
Everything about the moment should have looked familiar.
And yet I found myself searching for a smile that never quite appeared.
The numbers flashed at last.
103.09.
Second place.
Enough to stay in the fight.
The crowd cheered loudly again.
Dean nodded once at the score, then glanced up toward the stands.
Mila leaned back beside me. “He still looks for you.”
I knew that when Sunday came, when Mila and I took to the ice for our short program, I would be looking for him too.
Dean
By the timeI got back to my room, the adrenaline from the short program had burned itself out completely. Only the ache remained, and that wasn’t physical.
The bright yellow condom packets were still sitting on the desk. I stared at them for a second, then laughed. The sound echoed around the empty room.
That was the problem.
Everything in here seemed to lead back to him.
I’d let him walk away, and the worst part was that I still knew it had been the right thing to do. Luka had spent his whole life being pushed into other people’s shapes.
