Page 101 of Ice Dance

“Not much. Costume fitting in the day, typical warm-ups, training. Why?”

“I’ll speak with Cam tomorrow. We’ll go out, get away from work. We both need it.”

“As much as I should disagree with not working, I think the break will do you good. We are in the final stretch. What the pair of you can’t perform now, we aren’t going to fix in a week. Talk with him, settle things. When you’re both on fire, you’re unstoppable. Remember that.”

THIRTY-SIX

CAMDEN

Costume fitting had gone well. Ren looked stunning in black and red. The bastard. My costume was mostly red with black accents. We mirrored each other perfectly. The eye makeup and glitter were the icing on the cake. All part of the theatrics of the battle, although I found it difficult to care. Ren had made some attempt to invite me out that night. I’d told him I’d let him know later. No, was the correct answer, because we’d go out, and he’d sit across a table from me, his body there while his heart was a million miles away, and I’d hate every second of it.

I had a rare few hours to spare and took the bus to my old neighborhood, showing up at Saga’s studio. In winter, the doors and windows were closed to keep the heat in, but I could still hear the music on approach. I entered around the back, and spotted one of the familiars in the corridor. “Hey, is Saga around?”

“Sure, in the kitchen. You dancing here today, Cam?”

“Just dropping by.”

I ambled down the corridor, squeezed past a trio deep in conversation, and found Saga in the kitchen chatting to a new face while making a smoothie. He wore a tied-back, faded T-shirt that looked as though it had been through a shredder and tight black pants.

He beamed. “Oh my god, the hero returns!”

The new face smiled politely, thanked Saga for something, and left. I watched her go, then leaned a hip against the counter. “Hey, you good?” I asked. He looked good, warm and alive. Happy.

“Am I good?” He grinned. “I’m doing great. Look at you, all lean and hard looking. London has sharpened all your edges, mon beau.”

“Yeah, you know. It’s been . . . a lot.” I felt my voice go, and caught it. This was not the time to fall apart, but being back in the softness of his studio, back in its warmth. The familiar smell of hot mats. Back home. The emotions started to build hard.

Saga put the lid on his bottle and gave it a shake, side-eyeing me. He clearly wanted to say something but was holding back.

“What?” I asked. “Can’t a guy just drop by?”

“Are you alright? Really?”

It was the “really” that did it. I’d been primed to shrug and laugh him off, but I couldn’t summon the energy to try. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I stuffed my hands into my pockets and looked down at the torn vinyl floor. There weren’t any answers down there. My bottom lip wobbled. I tried to smile around it, tried to hide the entire weight of the shit I was carrying, but the more I fought against everything bubbling to the surface, the more it blurred my vision and made my chest ache.

“Oh shit.” Saga shoved his bottle down onto the countertop. His arms came around me, hauling me close, ignoring my pathetic resistance.

I couldn’t hold any of it back, not here, not with him. It all came crashing down in his tiny dance-studio kitchen. I clutched him and sobbed. He was saying something softly, but I didn’t hear any of it. Someone tried to come into the kitchen, but he murmured something and shut the door, still holding onto me. This was stupid, but I’d gone beyond caring. I slumped into him, barely able to hold myself up, and cried like I hadn’t cried ever. I couldn’t breathe, and my whole body shook.

After a while, when I’d stopped enough to listen, he grabbed me by the shoulders, looked into my eyes and nodded, then took me down the corridor to a smaller, less-used room, where the dated equipment was stored. We sat on mismatched, tired chairs. The kind of chairs that were as old as the building but real comfortable. I slumped low, wrung out and hollow. My face felt tight and my chest ached.

In the summer, he’d have taken me up to the roof, and we’d have talked up there, but it was snowing outside again. I rubbed my face, wiping the last of the wetness off. “Shit, I’m so sorry, man.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me.”

“You’re busy, you don’t need me coming in here and falling apart on you.”

He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and held my gaze again. “I will always make time for you, Cam.”

I’d known he would. That’s why I’d come. “Yeah, yeah.” I smiled, and this time it mostly stayed.

“You wanna talk?”

If I talked about it, I wouldn’t stop talking about it. I laughed. “How long have you got?”

He spread his hands. “No time limit. I’m all yours.”

I held his gaze. And then I told him everything. It flowed out of me like a river. The preselection week, Hasegawa asking me to dance the gender open, the dirty dancing clip and how it had muddied everything between us, then how close we’d gotten, how I’d fallen for him, head and heart first. The press, the pressure, the expectations.