Page 20 of Back Outside Edge

“Not to you, Stefan.” Except it does, doesn't it? When I let the pressure get to me. When I take on the weight of the world's expectations. I fail under pressure. Every time.

I'm still holding Evan's arm, and I realize it when he tries to jerk away. So I hold him tighter. This has to be uncomfortable. Even painful to be standing here listening to us argue. But I don't want him to go. If he goes, there's no stopping my dad. We'll be here arguing this all day. “Even to me, Dad. Maybe I was just freaked out that Max did so well. Or changing my jumps messed me up. Or they're all right and I can't handle the pressure. It's fine.”

It’s not fine. But I can beat myself up over it without my father's added pressure. I will beat myself up over it. It'll be worse if he's here, another voice adding to my own telling me all the ways I fucked up. The way it's been for the last hour.

Dad glares at me again, but then softens a bit. A crack of Dad showing through behind the tough coach exterior. “Are you all right, syn?”

“I will be.” Maybe.

“Do you need anything?”

“I think I just need to be alone for a minute. I'll see you at practice tomorrow, ok?”

His eyes rake over me one last time. Then he nods curtly. "Call if you need to talk. I am right down hall."

"I know, Dad, thanks."

Evan and I breathe out matching sighs of relief when the door closes behind him. His arm is still in my hand. He tugs it free gently. “I'm sorry, I interrupted,” he says, voice muted.

"Oh fuck, don't be. You saved me."

“Well then, I'm sorry about your short program. I wish there was something I could do differently to help.” He sounds so contrite. I hate it.

I shake my head, the last of the anger draining out of me, replaced immediately by guilt. Why do I keep letting everyone down? I should be better than this. “It's really not your fault. I don't think it's the whole roommate thing. I felt good going in.”

“Then what happened? If you want to talk about it," he adds hastily.

I plop down on my bed, leaning back against the uncomfortable, carved wooden headboard, rearranging the pillows so that I can sit up straighter. "I don't even know. I was thrown off when I realized that Max had a higher base value in his short."

Evan sets one of his bags on his bed, riffling through it. He's still stiff. Anxious. “Maybe it's the fact that he's catching up to you?” He darts a glance up at me. “I mean, you're still the best, obviously, but...”

"But yeah, he is catching up. But that's a good thing." It is, objectively speaking. I want to have more competition. I want the skaters coming up to have as many skills as I do, and then some. It's just that maybe—maybe I don't want them to catch up quite yet. I want my chance to redeem myself next year. And if Max keeps showing up the way he did today, it's going to be a harder fight than I've been expecting. As if everything else weren't already enough.

“Mhm.” Evan doesn't sound very convinced. Or a little convinced. Apparently he can read me too well.

“Ok, fine. Yes, it's a little disconcerting. I knew he was catching up, but I didn't know he was that close."

“That's why you changed your jumps?” Evan's voice is remarkably non-judgmental, considering I failed those jumps.

“Yeah, I needed to pick up a couple extra points. Instead, I lost them. Plus a few more.”

“You didn't need to, though.” Evan looks back up at me, brown eyes wide. “Your GOE was better. Or it would have been. And your components score for sure.”

“But he's still so young. He has so much time to get so much better than me.” And therein lies the rub. “When I was his age, I wasn't doing what he's doing.”

“When you were his age, nobody was. You upped the game for all of us.” His eyes narrow. “If it weren't for you, I could be perfectly content with my good old-fashioned no quads.”

It's enough to pull a snort from me. Not quite a laugh, but it's close. “If it weren't me, it would have been someone else. It's not like I'm the first person to land a quad.”

"No," he agrees, "but you're the first person to land so many so consistently."

Not so much today.

Evan finishes sorting his laundry and steps around his bed until he's beside mine, then sits down beside me. It's unexpected, but I scoot over, giving him space. We're not touching, but his body radiates warmth next to mine. It's—comforting. Surprisingly comforting. So much so that I realize I'm leaning in, toward him. The scent of the soap in the dressing room's showers wafts around me.

I sure I reek of flop sweat, since I still haven't showered. I'd just started to cool down when Dad stormed in and we left. My muscles are going to hate me tomorrow. But Evan, gentleman that he is, doesn't mention it. In fact, his hand reaches out, resting on my lower thigh.

Which feels nice. Really nice. Comforting, but something more. Something that sends tiny little zaps of electricity up my thigh. Just my desperation giving me weird reactions. Me needing someone to be here and tell me it's ok.