Page 53 of Back Outside Edge

"I started drinking too much. I was still training and everything, because I was determined to prove that I could do it. I am determined to prove that."

The drinking is a surprise. Stefan is so self-controlled, I struggle to see him letting go enough to get drunk. "Too much for you, or too much for your average person?" Too much for Stefan might be something akin to a bottle of beer a week.

"Too much for anyone. I was getting wasted on the weekends. I'd just bought this house, and I used it to party pretty hard when my parents couldn't see. It was affecting my skating, obviously, but not as much as it should have, so I could just keep telling myself it was a bad practice, or a bad week, or a bad month... You know."

I've never been in his position, but I do understand the cycles of training and performance. Bad weeks, even months, happen, so it would be an easy excuse. "Yeah."

He lets out a huge sigh, and I cover his heart with my hand. I press into his chest, as if I can soothe it, make the past Stefan realize he wasn't a failure. Hell, make current Stefan realize it. "Then I started fighting. Mostly when I was drunk, and at first it was just little things. Like I'd shove some guy for cutting in front of me at the bar, or whatever. But it started getting kind of out of control."

"How do you mean?"

Stefan shifts under me, so I shift as well, wrapping my arm around his chest, and squeeze. Not hard, just enough to remind him I'm here and supporting him. After another deep breath, he answers. "I was basically looking for any excuse to get into a fight. It was like every time things started to be too much, the only way I knew how to deal with it was to fight. And I'm not a great fighter or anything, but I know my body, you know? So I didn't always lose."

"Sure." It's still all but impossible to picture Stefan fighting. I can imagine that if he did, though, with his strength and speed, he'd be dangerous. "So I assume something happened."

"Yeah. I mean, something was happening the whole time, but..." Stefan hesitates, so I prompt him.

"Something extra."

His chest bunches as he, I’m guessing, nods, and some of his tension returns. I squeeze a little tighter. "It was right before Worlds two years ago," he says, voice thin. "We got to LA a couple of days early, same as we always do, and I was out with Jacques and a couple others. And things just got out of hand.”

“Out of hand, how?” I keep my voice as gentle as I can, since this is so obviously hard for him.

He shrugs, the movement more abrupt than usual. “I was drunk. Jacques was drunk. We got into an argument about... I don't even remember what it was about. And then Alexandre, Alexandre Boudreaux, decided he needed to get involved. Which pissed me off because I was always pissed off in those days. One thing led to another, and fists flew. Jacques didn't report it. Alexandre did."

It matched up with what Luc and Teresa had remembered, but the confirmation is as unbelievable as the story was the first time I heard it. I can picture Alexandre getting involved without difficulty; if anything, he struggles with not being an asshole. I still can’t see Stefan fighting, though, especially Jacques. They seemed like such good friends in Frankfurt. "You got suspended and missed Worlds that year."

"Yep. It was fair, though. ICS sent me to anger management therapy and put me on probation for a year after my suspension." His shoulder flexes, something like another shrug, before some tension leaves his muscles again.

"So how was the therapy?"

A harsh little laugh, nothing like his usual huff. It's just as short but far more bitter. "Probably the best thing that ever happened to me, to be honest. I didn’t have to do the whole class thing. Dad put me in private therapy. It wasn't like it was officially rehab or anything, but I knew I needed to shape up. So the therapist worked with me. And luckily I hadn't descended into full-blown alcoholism, so it wasn't too hard to get sober."

"Wow."

"Yeah, and we worked on the anger stuff, obviously. So now I have counting techniques and all kinds of shit. It works for the most part. I have less control when I'm drunk, so I don't drink anymore."

I tilt my head, kissing his pec, because that's where my mouth happens to be. "That's very responsible of you. I'm impressed."

"Thanks. So I haven't scared you off with my violent past?" He sounds uncomfortable, and the tension in his body is ratcheting up again, muscles tight under me.

Damn it. I go back to stroking his chest, hoping to soothe him back off the ledge. "No, not at all. You’re pretty amazing, Stefan Petryk.”

From the heat rising in his chest, I assume he’s blushing again. “I’m not.”

I kiss his pec again, then raise my head, propping it on my fist so I can look into his eyes. He needs to see how serious I am. "You're incredible, in every possible way. You've always been my skating idol, but now I think you might be my personal one too."

His eyes drop from mine, and yes, his cheeks are bright red. "Because I beat the shit out of Alexandre?" His voice is tentative, trying for lightness and almost succeeding.

The sheer unexpectedness of him making a joke now makes me laugh. Hard. "Oh my god, Stefan." I stop caressing him to give his arm a light slap. "No, because you cleaned yourself up and you learned techniques to work with it. That's amazing. It's hard, no matter how much you try to downplay it."

When he shrugs this time, it's uncomfortable. While Stefan is used to praise for his skating techniques, I don't think he’s sure how to handle it when it’s about his personal life. Something else I'll need to remedy.

Because as terrifying as it is, no matter how much I've tried to hide it from myself, the end of this visit is not going to be the end of us. Not if I have anything to do with it. "I'm proud of you." I lean forward so I can brush his lips with mine. Do I have the right to feel proud of him? Maybe not, but that’s not going to stop me.

He responds with his first real movement, reaching up to hug me, pulling me in tighter. The kiss grows more heated, but I don't let it go far. We're not done talking. "Now back to what this means for us."

"Fuck," Stefan mutters.