Vasiliev seemed startled by the answer, as did Sokolov. Then I reasoned that most people expect an argument when they call your future a mistake.
“I’d still rather make it myself.”
Vasiliev recovered first. “This is not the time for theatrics.”
From somewhere behind me, I heard Ethan’s gasp.
“Ethan, can it.” The fierce whisper came from Noah.
Vasiliev ignored both of them. “You are under contract with the federation.”
“I am aware of that.”
“Then perhaps you have forgotten your obligations.”
“No, I haven’t.” I met his gaze. “I’ve spent most of my life being reminded of them.”
The silence surrounding us told me one thing. People were listening now.
Vasiliev knew it too. His eyes flicked briefly around the lobby, taking in athletes, coaches…
The conversation he’d intended to have privately now had an audience.
A volunteer near the entrance had stopped sorting luggage carts. Two athletes from another delegation were openly watching from beside the coffee stand. Several phones had appeared, their owners making a token effort to look interested in something else.
His expression hardened. “This conversation should happen elsewhere.”
“Why?” The question escaped before I could stop it.
Vasiliev blinked. “Because it concerns federation business.”
I glanced around the lobby. “As far as I can tell, it concerns whether I get on a bus.”
A sound suspiciously close to a laugh came from somewhere behind me, and I took a peek.
Nathan developed a deep interest in the ceiling.
Vasiliev’s jaw tightened.
The noise of the lobby seemed louder. Wheels rattled across the floor somewhere behind us. Someone called out in Italian.
Life continued around a conversation that felt as though it had been building for years.
Vasiliev was the first to break eye contact. I saw the moment he realized he wasn’t changing my mind. His expression grew pinched.
“You have already decided.” This time all I heard in his voice was resignation.
I nodded. “Yes.”
He exhaled heavily, adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, and stepped back.
“Then there is nothing more to discuss.”
“No,” I agreed. “There isn’t.”
Sokolov remained where he was. The others had already started moving toward the doors when he finally held out his hand. The gesture caught me off guard, and for a heartbeat neither of us moved.
Then I took it. His grip was firm and familiar, the same handshake he’d given me after my first national title. Afterdozensof competitions.
