Page 7 of Hate You Most

“I noticed.”

Dakota turned around, and they watched the city for another moment. She laughed softly. “I guess that’s my one fatal flaw, I love skating too much.”

“That and smoking,” Viktoriya added.

“So,” Dakota said, suddenly, as if having made up her mind. “This might be a terrible idea, but would you want to go skating?”

“Right now?”

Dakota hesitated for a moment and pulled away slightly.

Viktoriya’s first instinct was no. Rules, curfews, coaches, expectations—all of it lined up in her mind like neon warning signs. Her second instinct was colder and more dangerous.

“Yes,” she said.

Dakota's smile widened. “Okay. And, um, we should probably not tell anyone.”

“Obviously,” Viktoriya replied.

April 30th, 2011.

— World Senior Figure Skating Championships. Training Rink, late evening. Moscow, Russia.

Viktoriya leaned against the concrete wall, staying close to the door that led into the training rink. The area was dim and quiet, lit by a single fluorescent streetlight that made the air feel colder than it already was.

This was a mistake.

She checked her phone again for the time, even though it had only been a minute since she last checked. If Dakota didn’t come, Viktoriya would leave. She would go back to the hotel, sleep, skate in the morning, pretend whatever this was had never happened.

Leaving was the sensible thing to do.

Footsteps echoed faintly around the corner.

Viktoriya straightened her back as Dakota appeared around the corner, jacket slung over one shoulder, skates hanging by the laces from her fingers. Her dark hair was loose, falling into her face as she walked.

“Do you always look this intense before practice?” Dakota asked, slowing to a stop in front of her.

“Fuck you. I was about to leave,” Viktoriya said.

“Sure,” Dakota replied, smiling. “Is that why you’re still standing here?”

Viktoriya ignored that. “You’re late. You said fifteen minutes, it's been twenty-five.”

“Fashionably late,” Dakota said, glancing at the door and then back at Viktoriya. “Still want to do this?”

There it was—the chance to say no, to erase whatever was about to happen. Viktoriya reached for the handle instead. “Try to keep up.”

Dakota laughed softly and followed her inside.

The rink was dark except for the emergency lights along the boards, the ice washed in a dull blue glow. The two of them were completely alone.

“Okay,” Dakota whispered behind Viktoriya. “This is either the best idea I’ve had all week or the one that gets me sent home.”

Viktoriya sat down and laced her skates with quick, practiced movements. “If you are sent home,” she said, “it will not be because of me.”

“Comforting,” Dakota murmured, lacing her skates beside Viktoriya.

Viktoriya stepped onto the untouched ice, and Dakota followed a moment later. For a second they both stood in the entrance, Viktoriya avoided her gaze. Dakota pushed off first, skating a loose circle around center ice.