Page 43 of Back Outside Edge

“How do you make your Ina Bauers so fucking graceful?”

When Evan grins at me, that bright light in his eyes, the world shifts on its axis all over again.

Chapter 18

Evan

It's mind-boggling, when I let myself think about it. Me, a nobody skater from the middle of nowhere Canada, teaching Stefan Petryk and his father, both legends, how to do transitions.

I’m back in the upside down.

Stefan’s father leaves Stefan and me alone on the rink after a couple hours of what his father has dubbed ‘grace training’, and Stefan grins at me. “Your turn."

He's placed a challenge in his voice, and I grin back, ready for it. “Time to jump?”

“Time to jump.” The grin drops, and his eyes narrow. It's a very familiar look; he’s appraising me, before I’ve even started. He’s switched to coach mode. “Give me triples. One of each of the jumps you haven’t mastered quads on.”

I could argue I know what I need, where I’m closest, but he’s in charge now. This is why I’m here, after all. With a nod, I spiral away from him, picking up speed. A few seconds later, I’m on my back outside edge, flinging my right leg around, and spinning up into the sky. Three rotations and I land. Not quite perfect, no astonishing GOE if I were being judged, but fine.

After the other two jumps, I return to Stefan, whose eyes have narrowed again. Or never stopped.

“You’re right,” he admits. “I think the loop is your best bet for a quad. But sooner or later we’re going to improve your technique on all of them, because that Lutz was sad.”

He’s not wrong, but I flip him off, and the coach demeanor drops as he bursts out laughing. “Ass.”

“Says the one who told me my jump technique is sad.”

His smile is blinding, and I can’t help but grin back. “What? You can dish it out, but not take it?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“I was nicer than that,” I protest, with zero heat.

“You just keep telling yourself that.”

“Fine, fine,” I mock grumble. “Teach me, oh wise one.”

"Try the triple loop again," he says, as if our play fight never happened. "Go higher if you can."

“Ok.”

I fail utterly to go higher once, twice, and then again, even after Stefan calls me in and demonstrates what he wants me to do.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp after another sequence of attempts. Whatever he’s trying to show me, I’m not getting.

"No need to be sorry." He flashes his private smile at me. "I'll show you again."

For the next couple of hours, we work exclusively on my triple loop. It's enough to make me crazy, but Stefan has nothing but patience.

Is this how he does his own training? Focusing on one element at a time until he’s perfected it? Does he direct the same patience toward himself? Is that why he’s so insanely good?

Not once does he ask me to try a quad. We work my triple until my legs are shaking with exhaustion, and I have to call it quits. He's graceful about that, too. "I wondered how long you'd last." His breathing is easy, unforced, as if we haven't been working our asses off for the last four or five hours.

I, meanwhile, am a panting mess sprawled out at his feet in the middle of the rink. "Do you do this every day?" I manage to choke out.

Stefan lies down next to me, not seeming to be aware of the cold that's likely seeping into his clothes, into his skin. I'm appreciating the cold, though, so maybe he is too. "Not this exactly, but yeah, pretty much."

"You are utterly deranged. No wonder you kick everybody's ass at everything. How do you keep it up?"

Still sprawled out next to me, Stefan laughs. "Practice. I've been doing this since I could walk."