Page 16 of Hate You Most

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My room number! The door is open if you don't want it to be weird

It was already weird, Viktoriya thought. This entire thing was weird, but she still found herself glancing over at the clock on the nightstand. It wasn't even midnight yet. Her coach would be in his room just across from hers. He'd be busy for at least a couple of hours before he'd come and check if she was in her room.

She grabbed a grey hoodie from her luggage, put it on and left.

Dakota’s hotel room was identical to hers—same beige carpet, same generic artwork on the wall that had little meaning. The only difference was Dakota herself, sitting on the edge of the bed with her phone in hand.

She looked up as Viktoriya knocked lightly on the open door, eyes flicking briefly to the hallway behind her.

“Hey.”

“Hello,” Viktoriya replied, stiffly.

The door closed behind her with a soft click and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Dakota broke the silence first. “You fell on your lutz. I’ve been there.” She said it gently, as though Viktoriya couldn't handle a normal tone.

Her eyes narrowed in on Dakota. “You don’t get to analyze my skating tonight.”

Dakota had changed out of her competition dress. Her hair was loose and curled slightly more at the ends as if she’d showered in a hurry. It fell around her shoulders in uneven waves, no longer pinned in place. She wore an oversized T-shirt with the colors of the American flag, faded from too many washes. If she was wearing shorts under her T-shirt, Viktoriya couldn't see them.

Dakota held up her hands. “Okay. Fair.”

She shifted, sitting back further on the bed, giving Viktoriya space. “I didn’t text you just to rub it in, if that’s what you think.”

“I didn’t think that,” Viktoriya said, though she wasn’t sure she believed it.

There were no cameras around to perform for, and no people around to see. Just two gold winning figure skaters, alone in a hotel room. They were already pinned against each other by the media, and Viktoriya knew it was only going to get worse with time. There would only be one skater taking home gold at the Olympics, and that was going to be her. A part of her hoped they'd be competing against each other by then. It would certainly be more interesting.

Dakota studied her for a long moment. “Yeah, well—I'm pretty sure you hate losing more than you hate me,” she said.

“That’s not saying much.”

Dakota smiled faintly. “Getting bronze still hurts, though.”

“It shouldn’t,” Viktoriya replied. “But it does.”

Dakota nodded. “Yeah.”

They talked like that at first—about the judges and competitions and about how figure skating was as a sport. It was the thing they had in common and could agree on.

“You ever think about quitting?” Dakota asked quietly after a while.

Viktoriya's eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Sometimes I do.” She shrugged.

“Why?”

Dakota hesitated, then laughed softly. “Because sometimes it feels like the only thing people see when they look at me is the figure skater. The sweet girl that can do no wrong.”

Viktoriya swallowed. “That is the whole point, yes? You're a champion figure skater, you should be proud of that.”

Dakota’s smile was gone, replaced with something more serious. “Probably.”

Viktoriya frowned slightly. “Are you not proud of being a figure skater—because you just won gold and you are amazing on the ice?”