My mother’s breathing hitched. “I know.”
“No matter what happens next, that’s not changing. I need you to believe that.”
My father exhaled. When he spoke again, all the certainty had gone from his voice. “I don’t know what happens next.”
Neither did I.
Tomorrow I could wake up and discover I’d made the worst decision of my life.
The lawyers might tell me I was an idiot. The federation might spend years making things difficult. I might spend six months wondering what possessed me to leave everything familiar behind.
The possibility was real.
So was the thought of getting on that plane anyway.
My mother said my name quietly, the way she used to when I was a child, and the sound cracked something in my chest.
“I’ll call you,” I promised.
I wasn’t sure whether she believed me. I wasn’t sure I believed myself, but it was all I had to offer.
The call ended a few minutes later.
I stood by the window for a long time afterward, staring out across the city. Somewhere beyond the skyline, life was carrying on exactly as it always had. Nothing had changed.
I thought about the boy I’d been at fourteen. About Dean.
About the future waiting for me on the other side of one phone call.
Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out Helen’s business card.
This time, when I looked at the number written beneath her name, my hand didn’t shake.
Dean
The Village had gone unusuallyquiet.
That never really happened during the Olympics. Somewhere down the corridor a door slammed, followed by laughter and the unmistakable sound of athletes determined to celebrate long past a sensible bedtime. The noise faded as quickly as it had come.
Inside my room, Luka sat in the chair by the window. When he heard me come in, he turned.
“Hey.”
I dropped my room key onto the desk and shrugged out of my jacket.
“So how was Mila?”
He chuckled. “Sensible in a way that was almost scary.”
“I’ll tell her you said that.”
Luka gave an exaggerated gulp. “Please don’t.”
I crossed the room and stood beside him, slipping an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into me, an air of fatigue clinging to him.
I tilted his face toward me with my fingertips. “Hey. What is it?”
“My parents called.”
