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“Because why?” The frustration built in Darius like steam exploding from a kettle. “Because it was the crowning moment of my life? Because I’m this incredible athlete? The hero?” A sarcastic laugh jerked from his throat. “I’m none of those things.”
“I’m—I’m sorry.” Addisyn shrank back.
Now he felt even worse. Did he have to act like even more of a loser than he’d already proven himself to be? In front of Addisyn? “It’s fine.” He sighed and ran his hands over his face. “Just—it’s over. In the past.” If only it would stay there. “It was a lifetime ago.”
Addisyn was still staring at him, as if searching for clues to a mystery. “Why aren’t you skating now?”
He sucked in a quick breath, steeling himself against the pain of the memory. “Because of the fall. In Sochi.” No need to delve into the details. “Another skater’s blade sliced my leg.” He absently rubbed his knee. Remembering. “Broke my wrist too.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. The worst was my back. I fractured one of my vertebrae, which ended up doing some nerve damage.” He shrugged. “So, no ice now. I have to avoid high-impact sports. No lifting anything heavy, no sudden twisting or jarring.” He gave a half-smile. “Kinda rules out ninety percent of what’s done on the ice.”
“Yeah, I know.” Addisyn blinked suddenly. “I mean, I’ve seen it—on TV.”
Darius absently nodded, distracted with the fragments of his past swirling about in his brain.
“What’s it like—winning a gold medal?” Addisyn’s question was timid, soft.
Darius paused, gazing over her head. What words could describe that experience? A smile, exquisite in its rarity, gently thawed his face. His gaze found hers. “Incredible.” He shook his head and sighed, partly with joy, partly with pain.
The memory of that moment in Vancouver when he’d stood on a podium, hand over heart, with the weight of his gold medal around his neck, would never lose its magic. He could feel the tautness in his soul lessen. “It’s like—like flying over the moon. Like finding the greatest treasure on earth—inside yourself.”
“I bet.” Addisyn’s eyes held longing and wonder. She cleared her throat. “Which did you like better, figure skating or short track?”
“Figure skating.” The answer came as easily as his own name. He smiled a little sadly at Addisyn. “Did you know my grandpa was a figure skater too?”
“No!” She grinned. “That’s cool.”
“Very cool. His name was Darius Payne too. In fact, that’s why I competed under my middle name. I didn’t want people getting us mixed up.” He didn’t know if he was sharing this because he wanted to tell her or because he wanted to postpone relating his story as long as possible.
“So you’re his namesake.” Addisyn smiled. “I bet he was super proud of you.”
“He was.” Darius blinked back tears at the memory of his loyal grandpa—his mentor, his role model, his hero. “He almost made it to the Olympics himself, but he got injured and missed his chance. I think he kind of relived things through me.” He paused. “His story was my introduction to figure skating—and to the whole idea of being an Olympian.”
When Darius first started skating at age six, it had been under his grandfather’s tutelage. By then the man had been off the ice for years, but he’d still watch from the edges of the rink, making suggestions and telling tales of his own competitions. And standing on the ice, listening to his grandfather’s stories, Darius had known where his path would lead. He’d come home from the rink the first day, dumped his skates in the corner, and marched to the living room where his dad was reading a magazine.
“How’d your day at the rink go? Grampy help you a lot?” His dad was tall and muscular with a blond crew cut, the typical athlete.
“Yup.” Darius hopped onto the couch beside his dad and looked the big man solemnly in the eyes. “Daddy, I’m going to be the bestest figure skater ever and I’m going to go to the Olympics!”
His dad had laughed, but he’d stuck out his hand seriously to shake Darius’s. “Deal, son.”
That conviction had been with Darius night and day. It had warmed him on the coldest nights, comforted him in the scariest times. Most of all, it had given him a sense of purpose—as if he were poised atop a breaking wave of destiny. He wasn’t just anybody. He was a figure skater—a figure skater who was going to the Olympics.
“And you did!” Addisyn’s eyes were shining, her whole attention absorbed by the drama of his story.
“Yup.” Darius pictured himself, a teenager with dreams bigger than the Canadian Rockies. “With my dad training me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He was a professional figure skating coach. He and my mom both worked at the Centre.” Looking back now, Darius sometimes wondered if he’d been pushed into the path, if his dad hadn’t tilted the scales a little too heavily in favor of his son becoming an Olympian. But he couldn’t blame his parents. It was in his blood, his DNA. And he had wanted it, after all, had yearned for it as much as they ever could.
“Was it neat having your dad coach you?” Addisyn frowned. “I mean, I would think it would be, but there had to be some awkward parts too.”
“Yeah...definitely.” Darius paused. “Like, when your dad is your coach, you never get away from the rink. Not really. You train all day and take your trainer home with you at night. And—I think the pressure is worse.” He could see by Addisyn’s nod that she understood. “Because, you know, it’s your parents, training you, and you want to do well—not just for you, but for them too.”
These days, he wished his dad had understood that, had sometimes taken off his coach hat and just been a dad. Had reminded his son that he was his son before he was his racehorse. But the pressure to perform had always been there.
