Page 90 of Ice Dance

He tensed. His hand gripped mine harder. Then he relaxed, and his body loosened against mine. He sighed, leaning into me, letting me take his weight. The surrender came suddenly and so thoroughly that I almost staggered.

“Camden?” I broke my grip on his hand and brought mine up to his face.

His pained gaze met mine, silently pleading. I didn’t understand what that look meant, but it touched my heart, made my breath hitch. If we hadn’t been in public, I’d have thrown both arms around him and pulled him close.

“Is everything alright over there?” Dylan asked.

He tensed again, going into the dancer’s stance and taking control back. He pulled from my hold and skated away, breathing heavily enough to be noticeable in the rise and fall of his chest.

The moment had barely lasted a few seconds, but it resounded through my chest.

“Give me fifteen minutes and we’ll do the quad axel spin,” he said, voice flat.

Clearly, he was not going to allow himself a break. “Alright.”

“Are you sure?” Dylan asked.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

One dancer performing a quadruple axel spin was difficult enough, but having two do the spin in synchronization as we planned to? Unheard of. It had never been done in ice dance. And it would go a long way to winning us the Meridian.

I left the ice to hydrate and watch Dylan coach Navarro. She had him warming up, doing a few toe spins that didn’t have the height. Other skaters had entered the rink, and a few people milled around outside by the benches, warming up, chatting.

On the first try for the quadruple, Navarro fell on the landing. But he’d carried in sustained momentum, no interrupted flow, and made the parts of the spin that had worked look effortless. The natural talent of the man was astounding.

He fell on the second try.

I winced, feeling him hit the ice from my own muscle memory of doing the same in training. Ice did not forgive mistakes, especially in spins with height.

On the third try, as he built up speed, I leaned against the gate, water bottle halfway to my mouth when I caught the precision in his approach, the strength in his leg swing, and the height in his jump. He spun—tight, fast, perfect—and landed with an elegant exit that, had this been the Olympics, would have had the spectators on their feet and commentators exploding with praise.

As it was, several people in the crowd around me cheered, recognizing what they’d just witnessed and how rare it was.

Navarro grinned, skated up to Dylan, and threw his arms around her.

“Navarro, you did it! You did it!”

I couldn’t have stopped smiling if I’d wanted to, and took a sip of water. To go from the chaotic and emotional mess he’d been on arrival to that level of elite? He was nothing short of brilliant. Navarro and I were on track to win the competition, with a performance that couldn’t fail to cement our place as one of the best teams in ice dance.

He came off the ice, grinning hard. “Did you see?”

“I missed it, can you do it again?”

His mouth fell open, but I couldn’t bear to be cruel a second longer.

I pulled him close, making him stumble into me, and briefly allowed us a moment of intimate celebration. “Of course I was watching. You’re amazing,” I told him.

I felt his breath on my neck, his smile press to my skin, and then we were apart again, allowed no more than a second to feel. My heart lurched, reaching for him as he stepped away.

Dylan came off the ice and went straight into the debrief with the both of us, about how we were going to set up a quad axel in synchronization.

Navarro buzzed, suddenly alive, and very different to how he’d been earlier.

I needed some way to show him how impressed I was, something to show him how special he was. Some way to let him know that this meant so much to me, and not just because of the competition, but because he deserved it.

I rarely suffered from nerves. Trembling from exertion was one thing; trembling because a scenario had yet to happen was unnecessary. I’d been nervous when asking Navarro to dance in the gender open with me, after Alisha’s withdrawal. And ridiculously, as I stood outside his apartment door, carrying a bunch of extravagant flowers, the same nerves fluttered low.

Was this the right thing to do? Did a man buy another man flowers? Would he think I was trying to feminize him? Flowers were a woman’s gift, weren’t they?