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“Like, when I was fifteen...”
That was the year that Darius took the world of Canadian figure skating by storm. His life had become a lightning rod, crackling with the possibilities, in the weeks leading up to the national championship in London, Ontario. His dad had watched his meals relentlessly. Monitored his workouts. Reminded him to soak his legs in Epsom salts every night. They’d worked straight through the holidays because his dad’s meticulous training plan had to be followed so that Darius’s form would peak the middle of January—competition time. He could even remember having a workout—a shorter one, but a workout nonetheless—on Christmas Day.
Looking back now, it was a wonder to him that he had made it to Nationals at all, that the huge top-heavy load of expectations hadn’t flattened him under its own weight. Right before he’d gone on the ice, his dad had gripped him by the shoulders and stared him straight in the eye. “Go out there and win.” His dad had been breathing hard, eyes like chips of ice, face cut from iron. There was no mistaking the passion in his voice. “This is the moment you were born for. Everything hinges on now.”
Addisyn let out a low whistle. “Some pressure.” She took a sip from her glass of water, but her eyes never left Darius’s face.
Darius sighed. “That was just the beginning. But I delivered.” He clenched his jaw tightly. “I always delivered.”
He had gone out on that ice and done his level best. He’d choreographed his own routine, a beautiful, lyrical number set, of course, to an instrumental rendition of “Hallelujah.” His moves were soaring, exalted. His whole being had flowed with the beauty and grace of the song. It had been the performance of his life.
And he had won.
The exhilaration he had felt had shot fire through his veins. He’d skimmed off the ice, screaming with pure joy. His dad and granddad were both waiting at the edge of the rink—and Darius saw something he’d never seen before. His granddad was crying.
“It was like a dream come true for him.” Darius pressed his fingertips together. “His grandson, following in his footsteps.” He looked up at Addisyn, his own eyes now moist. “That was my qualifier for the Olympics.”
He rose and crossed to a small desk. He’d never wanted to see this again, but he was too far into the story to turn back. Might as well go all the way. Using just the tips of his fingers—as if his past might somehow burn him—he carried the eight-by-ten photograph back to the table.
It was too hard to look at Addisyn, after all he’d said, so he studied the picture instead—studied it with the eyes of the stranger to the moment that he now was. A young boy was standing on an ice rink in black pants and a blue sequined V-neck top. His fists were raised to the skies, and the expression on his face was one of complete victory and raw joy.
Darius exhaled. It was him—a million years ago. Shorter hair curled about his forehead and brushed the tops of his ears. His smooth chin framed an enormous smile. If only there were still some part of that dreaming boy alive in him—in him, a beaten-up, broken-down, old-souled man.
“You look pretty happy.” Addisyn’s words were gentle, almost whispered.
“Yeah. Yeah, I was.” Darius sighed.
Was.
That had been the high point—the Vancouver Olympics. He’d surpassed himself, skating in his hometown area with an amazingly supportive audience. Overnight he’d become Canada’s sweetheart—the precocious golden boy who was skating in the Olympics at the age of fifteen, the youngest age allowed for a figure skater.
The excitement and dream of it had filled him with unspeakable joy. He’d been flying high, on top of the world. When all was said and done, he’d come back to Whistler with a gold medal—and an unquenchable thirst for more Olympics.
“So what happened?” Addisyn was staring at him, eyes enormous, lips slightly parted. Clearly she was hanging on his every word.
“Oh...” Darius sighed, waving his hand disgustedly in the air, trying to shoo away the memories. So far, telling the story had been simple, effortless, like floating in a hot air balloon. But now the balloon was collapsing, and he was ready to be done. Before he crash-landed into the hard ground of reality. “I—I switched to short track instead.”
“But why?” Addisyn’s voice was soft. “When you loved figure skating so much—why did you leave it?”
He gritted his teeth. That was the question, wasn’t it? The question that never died. He rose abruptly and walked to the window. In the dusk, the profile of Whistler was still visible against a sky of deepening indigo.
Even with his back to her, he could feel her watching him, waiting, for the answer that never came. Not even to him. The choking bitterness of the past rose like bile in his throat—the same mocking malignancy of mistakes and heartaches and a life forever marred.
All because of that one question.
He turned and faced her—her impossibly gorgeous eyes, her hair that shimmered in the light. She looked like all that was good and right and true in life. All the things he wasn’t.
Darius tightened his jaw. No way was he going to tell her. Ever. No way in all the world.
“My coach wanted me to switch.” He sat back down at the table. He couldn’t decide if he was more relieved or disappointed that—for now—the deep pain would stay hidden.
Mr. Fobb had contacted Darius’s father after the Vancouver Olympics and offered to train Darius. It had been a dream opportunity. Chuck Fobb had been training figure skaters for forty years—working with some of Canada’s brightest stars. He’d been a gruff old goat, not one given to much emotion—or tact. He had his opinions—and his clients always knew exactly what they were. “You’re too fancy, boy,” he’d huffed almost from the beginning, wilting Darius’s intricate choreography.
He had another complaint too. Darius remembered the day he’d been skating practice laps just to warm up. An exhilaration had overtaken him, and he’d fairly flown around the ice. When he glided to a halt in front of his coach, hands on hips, he noticed something shiny in the man’s hand. A stopwatch.
“Boy,” he demanded gruffly, “do you realize what you just did?”
“What?” Darius had no idea what the old guy was talking about.
