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CHAPTER 2
Asinking ship.The words throbbed in Addisyn’s ears as she paced the room, her footsteps leaving impressions in the thick Oriental rug.A sinking ship.
Was that really what she’d become? A failure so pathetic that even her coach—her boyfriend, for crying out loud—was trying to pawn her off as a cheap entertainment skater?
Her thoughts whirled, refusing to settle on any one idea for very long. She’d kicked off her uncomfortable heels as soon as she crossed the threshold—she’d only worn them because Brian liked them—but her mind was far too agitated for her to even consider changing the rest of her clothes.Sinking ship?
All the time she’d ridden the taxi home, she’d only felt fury, a bonfire in her chest that snapped with heat despite the cold night. But now, that burning anger was freezing into the ice of despair. What if Brian was right? What if her skating days were behind her?
Sure, she’d known her career was in trouble. She’d been uncertain of her next step. But until tonight, she’d always believed that a next step existed, always believed there was a way to climb out of the mess. And to hear the opposite—from Brian, of all people, the man who’d hugged her in the green room and cursed viciously at the nosy reporters as they left the arena—to hear that made it real. She, Addisyn Miles, was a failure at the age of twenty.
Just as Avery always said she would be.
Snatches of her sister’s lectures tumbled around inside her head. “You’re making a big mistake, Addisyn...God won’t bless your choices...”
God?Addisyn tossed her hands in the air, defeated. Okay, so she’d made mistakes. Done all the wrong things, apparently. And evidently God—like Avery—wouldn’t accept anything less than perfection. Was He truly punishing her? Her mind slipped and slid in its frantic search for logic. Nonsense. Why blame a supernatural power for her demise? She didn’t have to. The answers were as close as herself.
She drooped into a chair as the realization wrapped a cold, numbing pain around her heart. More out of compulsion than desire, she reached into her clutch bag and pulled out her iPhone. Woodenly she typed her name into Safari and stared at the list of articles, photos, and videos that rose to the screen.
She clicked on one of the links. “Addisyn Miles: A Greater Skater.” This was an article from three years prior. There was a picture of Addisyn herself, seventeen years old but looking thirteen, grinning with a little-girl joy as she flourished her medal over her head. That had been a good year, when her career really began to soar. She’d made the regional championships.
And she’d met Brian.
The next article was from last season. Her eyes flicked over the words. “One of figure skating’s fastest-rising stars, Addisyn Miles, has suffered an injury while practicing for...manager and coach Brian Felding has stated that Miles’s injury, while not expected to have long-term effects, will still prevent further competition this season...”
Addisyn could still remember the frustration of that moment. Just two weeks shy of Regionals, she’d torn her meniscus practicing a jump sequence. The immediate pain had been nothing compared to the agony of facing defeat on the very doorstep of her dreams.
Just like this time.
Back to the search results. Another link, this one only three months old. This title felt like a punch to the gut. “Dreams Over for Addisyn Miles.” A video from Sectionals.
“...in a performance that showcased her artistic flair,” a female voice-over cut in. The footage shifted, and there was Addisyn herself, gliding over the Lake Placid ice. Addisyn kept her eyes glued to the image of herself, reliving every moment of that skate.
The woman’s voice continued. “At twenty years of age, Miles was on a fast track to success in the field of figure skating. After her astounding performances last season were curtailed by injury, Miles had come from behind this season in a bid to reach the U.S. Championships.
“Miles’s performance at the Upper Great Lakes Regional Championships was disappointing, with a final score significantly lower than her average pre-injury ratings. However, she advanced to Sectionals and was still considered a strong contender, especially given the fact that she remains one of the first American females to perform two quad jumps successfully in a non-Olympic routine...”
Yes. Those quads. The feat that had catapulted her into the spotlight two years before. Addisyn’s legs ached just remembering the hours of practice she’d poured into the perfection of that movement. Yet another feat she hadn’t been able to duplicate since the injury.
“—all eyes on her in this year’s Sectionals. With the help of manager and coach Brian Felding, Miles had choreographed a snappy routine to Avicii’s ‘Wake Me Up.’ Her performance was impressive, and Miles ...”
It was so surreal, watching herself skate. Like the girl on the ice was someone else. In one sense, that was true. No longer was she the starry-eyed dreamer.
“...unfortunately, at the end of the day, Miles was three hundredths of a point behind her nearest competitor, Sheila Harbor. This has to be a disappointment since speculation had abounded that Miles, who did not begin training professionally until her teens, intended to try for the U.S. Olympic team. Her chances of appearing on Olympic ice have noticeably slimmed with this inability to advance to Nationals, and...”
Addisyn swiped the video closed, abruptly cutting off the sportscaster’s bland tones.
Why hadn’t she accepted this before, realized what all these defeats meant? They weren’t just setbacks—they were endings. Endings to everything she had ever hoped to have and do in her life. Endings to her life itself. She moaned, a low cry wrung from her soul by the pain, an intense ache behind her heart that momentarily prevented her from getting a deep breath. A feverish sensation swept over her as she stared blindly at an abstract art painting on the other wall. Trying to block the cruelty of the moment, she closed her eyes.
And then she was jerking herself awake as a key clicked in the door. Had she dozed off? Rubbing the back of her neck, she realized the answer was yes. She glanced at the clock—ten forty-five. The key continued to rattle in the lock. She set her jaw. Brian hadn’t hurried getting home, even knowing how upset she was.
When she felt his presence in the doorway behind her, she maintained her rigid position on the chair. She expected he’d try to apologize, maybe get a little defensive. Well, if he was feeling his way, he wouldn’t get any help from her. This time she wasn’t buying his excuses. Nothing he could offer would atone for what he’d done.
“I’ve never been so embarrassed.”
The shock brought Addisyn out of her chair. Jumping to her feet, she spun to face Brian. She saw not guilt or sheepishness on his face, but—anger?
“What?”Hewasembarrassed? What about her?
