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When the Ice Melts

By Ashlyn McKayla Ohm

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Any minute now.
Addisyn gripped her thighs so hard she could feel the sweat from her palms, even through her tights. What was taking so long?
After the frosty temperature of the ice rink where she had performed, the backstage area felt warm, even stuffy. It wasn’t enough, though, to keep her teeth from chattering, or goose bumps from crawling up and down her arms. The climate of her mind, not of the room, was responsible for those reactions.
Addisyn glanced at the benches that lined the area. Most were occupied by competitors just as nervous as she was. The blond, willowy skater currently in first place was biting her lip and clutching a teddy bear one of her fans had tossed onto the ice. Like that of nearly everyone else in the crowded room, her gaze was riveted to the giant screen that gave the skaters isolated in the green room access to footage of the event—other performances, commentary, and of course, final scores.
Although there were almost seven thousand people in the arena, stacked row upon row around the rink, no trace of the crowd’s murmur penetrated the soundproof walls. Inside the little chamber, silence spread like a slow shadow—the silence of agonizing impatience that the chatter of the TV couldn’t begin to break.
156.65. No need to repeat the numbers to herself again. They were tattooed on her brain, the digits of the score she’d received for what was certainly the most momentous performance of her life. A good score, sure—at the time she finished her performance, she’d led the field—but would it be good enough?
Since her program had been only halfway through the whole event, she’d undergone the torturous experience of watching other competitors and waiting each time in breathless suspense for their scores. Three of those scores had been incredible—meaning that she’d been displaced, over the course of the competition, to fourth place. The pewter medal position.
For a girl who considered any medal besides gold to be a consolation prize, that was hard to stomach. Addisyn took a deep breath. She had to remember that her placement, as galling as it was to her competitive soul, was excellent for a competition of this caliber.
Anyway, this was just a stepping stone, a link in the championship chain. Brian said she only needed to medal in this event—any color would do.
And now, she’d almost done it. The very last competitor had just finished her skate, and the judges were deliberating over her score. In a few minutes, Addisyn would either be clutching a pewter medal and cruising on a smooth highway toward her dream…or…
No, she couldn’t acknowledge the alternative. Thinking about what was riding on this event made her heart rate triple. When she’d first started competing in the world of figure skating, she’d assumed that the hard part was over as soon as she struck her final pose, snapped on her skate guards, and made her way through the gaggle of reporters to the green room. She’d reasoned that sitting in that post-performance area, shaking hands with other competitors and waiting to hear the final scores, would be simple, even relaxing, compared to the rigors of competing. She’d quickly learned, however, that the most difficult moments—the ones that made souls soar or dreams crumble, the ones that could catapult skaters into glowing futures or toss them into the ditch—happened not on the ice, but afterwards.
In rooms just like this one.
Seeking a distraction, her eyes roamed over the plain, sparsely furnished area. A banner fluttering over the EXIT sign snagged her attention. LAKE PLACID OLYMPIC CENTER.
Her spirit tingled all over again at the sight. Lake Placid. Home of the 1932 and the 1980 Olympic Winter Games, now the host venue for the U.S. Eastern Sectional Figure Skating Championships.
And skating on the ice of a former Olympic rink was a good reminder: she wasn’t stopping here. She was going on—on to the U.S. Nationals—on to the Olympic Games!
At least, she hoped she was. Her mind darkened with doubts as she recalled the many setbacks she’d faced—the injury that curtailed her last season, the frustrating weeks of recovery, her disappointing performance at Regionals only a month ago. Hurriedly she shoved the fears away. Why let yesterday’s failures dampen her hopes today? That was then.
And this was Now—a glorious Now that would lead to an even more glorious future. If all went as planned…
Addisyn felt hands on her shoulders, adjusting her jacket collar, pulling it more securely around her neck. “Hey, baby. Don’t be nervous.”
She turned and tried to muster a smile for Brian. Despite his encouraging words, there was quite a bit of “nervous” written across the face of the man who’d been much more than her coach for the last three years. His hands stayed on her shoulders, soothing her. She allowed herself to lean into his supportive gesture, drawing from his strength.
“Did I do okay?” Her whisper sounded hoarse; the anticipation had turned her mouth to cotton. She’d already asked him the same question a dozen times since her performance, but she needed to hear his answer again.
“Better than okay. Great. Incredible. Undefeatable.” A proud grin spread across Brian’s handsome face. “I already told you, you’ll medal. Promise.”
He leaned toward her, clearly seeking a kiss, but she jerked away and turned her head. “Brian! Not now. Please.” How could he even consider romance at a time like this, when her future dangled by a spiderweb and her emotions were stretched thin with tension?
“Okay, okay.” Brian held up his hands in a defensive gesture and shot Addisyn a disgusted look. “Just trying to make you feel better, baby.”
“This isn’t a good time.” Irritation snarled inside her soul, struggling for release, but she forced herself to keep her voice low. Fortunately none of the other contestants seemed to be paying attention to their conversation.
Brian’s eyes snapped cold blue sparks. “Yeah, well, you never seem to think it’s a good time anymore.” He folded his arms and angled his body away from her—as if punishing her for her refusal.
Addisyn pretended not to notice—either his words or his body language. No way was she going to fight this battle with him again—not here, not now, and not in front of all her figure skating peers. Like a maddening insect at a picnic, her annoyance with Brian invaded her soul, begging to be noticed. After all, she’d already explained to him over and over that she wished he would focus less on the physical part of their relationship. Why wouldn’t he listen?
Brian was intentionally ignoring the screen. Addisyn frowned and yanked her jacket sleeves down further over her hands. Fine. Later she’d have to try to calm him down, but right now, her impatience was consuming all her emotional resources. Let him sulk if he wanted to.
Wistfully she pictured them as they had been in the earlier days of their relationship, when every moment had been magic. What had happened to them, anyway?
Probably it was just the stress of the last two seasons, with the maelstrom of wins and losses and practices and disappointments. The strain was sure to fray any relationship. But after today—after the medal—things would be good again between them.
Right?
The screen was showing footage of the judges’ table. Addisyn scrutinized the scene for some sign, some clue, but saw only nine distinguished-looking people studying their computer screens, faces expressionless.
The scene changed to slow-motion replays of the last performance, given by a girl named Sheila Harbor. Watching the highlights, Addisyn had to grudgingly admit—there was no question the girl was good. Sheila had skated to a lyrical interpretation of “Bring Him Home” from Les Misérables and worn a costume to match. Still, Addisyn couldn’t help but feel that her own scarlet outfit and snappy routine to Avicii’s “Wake Me Up” had held much more pizzazz. But of course, she wasn’t on the judging panel.
And that panel could easily award the Les Mis girl a higher score than 156.65. Brian could say what he liked about the quality of Addisyn’s performance, but she knew that when it came down to it, judges were unpredictable. They might rank a skater who’d fallen three times higher than one who’d flawlessly performed multiple clean landings. Brian swore that outward appearance—makeup, hairstyle, and overall attractiveness—influenced the scoring, but Addisyn always flinched at such an idea. Surely skating wasn’t a mere beauty contest!
No, skating was about guts—real, raw guts. It was nothing less that had brought Addisyn this far. For a second, she pictured herself as she’d been at the beginning of her skating journey—a troubled kid growing up in New York City, skating at Rockefeller Center to blow off steam. She’d come all the way to who she was now…a talented, twenty-year-old figure skater looking to set the sport on fire after having trained professionally for only five years.
A miracle, Avery might have called it, with her constant tendency to see a divine hand in everything. Addisyn wrinkled her nose in skepticism. There’d been nothing miraculous about her journey. She’d climbed every step herself, with hard work, hard work, and more hard work.
Yet Avery had always insisted that the hardest work and the best-laid plans were worthless without God’s blessing—as if people’s lives had to be rubber-stamped by some sort of heavenly holiness patrol. The mere thought was enough to make Addisyn roll her eyes. Of course, Avery was wrong about most things—blinded by the confines of her religious views. All the same, Addisyn did wish Avery could see her now. She’d juggled competitions, received accolades, and salvaged her career even after the crushing defeat of her injury. And in a few seconds—fingers crossed—she’d stand on a podium wearing a pewter medal and celebrating a score that took her one step closer to the Olympics!
Yes, if Avery could peek into Addisyn’s world for just a moment, she’d have to admit she’d been wrong. She’d have to swallow all those delusional ideas she’d had, all her warnings and gloomy prophecies. She’d claimed she was worried about her sister’s “spiritual health,” whatever that was supposed to mean.
This is the wrong road, Addisyn… For a minute, Avery’s voice flickered in the back of Addisyn’s mind.
A prickle of something almost like fear crept over Addisyn. The next instant she frowned and shifted in her seat. What was the matter with her? The words were meaningless—just more sanctimonious preaching from Avery. And wrong road or not, her course had led her here. To her biggest moment yet.
Anyway, why was she thinking about Avery? She shook her head, annoyed with herself. Her big sister was out of her life. And most of the time, Addisyn kept her out of her thoughts also.
“Here it comes, baby.” Brian’s words slipped over each other in his agitation. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, their earlier spat apparently forgotten—or temporarily overlooked.
Sure enough, the echoing voice of the announcer was reverberating over the speaker system. A vacuum seemed to suck the air from Addisyn’s lungs. She felt Brian’s arm tighten. “Sheila Harbor has received in the free skate a score of”—impressive pause.
Addisyn leaned forward, tingles rushing up and down her legs. If she had subscribed to Avery’s school of thought, this might have been the moment she said a prayer. The tension was a giant balloon, expanding, expanding, and preparing to burst any second.
“—156.68.”
No.
Addisyn didn’t hear what came next. She didn’t see how Sheila Harbor reacted. It no longer mattered that there was a Sheila Harbor in the world as she slumped forward, face on her knees, collapsing under the weight of every fallen ambition, every plummeting hope.
All she could feel was the world dropping out from under her, crumbling, falling in pieces. All she could hear was the cracking and crashing of her dreams toppling, shattering into shards as hard and brittle as the ice itself.
She’d been balancing on a knife edge, a skate blade width between her and her goal. Now the tightrope walk was over.
And Avery had been right.
* * * *
Three months hadn’t lessened the pain.
Addisyn slumped in one of the ornate chairs in the main room of Brian’s swanky apartment in New York’s prestigious Upper East Side—her apartment, too, since she’d moved in with him over two years ago. Normally the opulent furnishings and the incredible view comforted her, but since Sectionals, nothing seemed able to soothe her heart.
Brushing her palms over the stiff taffeta weave of her fuchsia dress, she wished for the hundredth time that she could just snuggle in some comfortable pajamas and spend the bitterly cold night at home—curled up with a good book, maybe. Instead, Brian had insisted she accompany him to a Valentine’s Day gala—some fancy get-together he’d snagged tickets for.
Irritation swelled inside Addisyn’s soul. Surely Brian could see how depressed she was. Valentine’s Day or no, did they have to go out tonight? She was in no mood for small talk, didn’t want to force a glamorous façade—especially since she was more than a little miffed at the man. He’d always had an uptight personality, but over the last couple of months, he’d been extraordinarily cranky. Oh, she knew he was disappointed by her defeat at Sectionals, but really, shouldn’t she have the most right to grieve? After all, it was her plans—her dreams—her whole life that had vanished in a nanosecond, like her breath on a freezing New York day. Brian’s emotional investment wasn’t nearly as high. Couldn’t he shrug off his own frustration and try instead to help her through her pain?
Well, no use thinking that way. She was going, certainly. Brian could pitch a royal fit if he didn’t get his way. Addisyn tried to shake off her pessimistic mood. Maybe the party could help them rekindle their bond. It was Valentine’s Day, after all. And Brian always went big for this holiday. Last year he’d bought her a box of real Swiss chocolate truffles, a dozen long-stemmed red roses, and some fancy Parisian lingerie.
Addisyn glanced at the clock. What on earth was taking Brian so long to get ready tonight? She had been ready half an hour ago—mostly because wasting time agonizing over her appearance wasn’t high on her priority list right now. She left her chair and strolled to the window, gazing out over the city.
Square towers and skyscrapers stretched as far as she could see, sprawling over the earth. If she looked down—down—down into the narrow slits between buildings, she could see the yellow smears of taxis, darting this way and that. And even from the height of the townhouse, she could hear the horns blaring and sirens wailing and the music from Times Square—an unnoticed backdrop for anyone living in the Big Apple.
Home to over eight million people. Did any of them feel as lost and lonely as she did on this frigid night? Did any of them feel as if the cold and sadness had soaked deeply into their soul, double-dying it in melancholy?
She returned to her tufted wingback chair and tucked one leg under her. The longer she thought about going to the party tonight, the more she felt as if her emotions just would not cooperate. How could she possibly keep everything together without falling apart?
And if she had a meltdown while at the party, it would undoubtedly embarrass Brian to death. He’d drilled into her the need for glamorous appearances and correct social behavior. She winced, remembering how mortifyingly frequent her faux pas had been when she’d first come under his tutelage. Avery, of course, had seen teaching her younger sister socialite manners to be about as useless as teaching her how to skydive.
In his career, image was important, Brian had often told her. It was the main reason he went to these parties—to project a good vibe, hobnob with connections who might be valuable later. And as his date, her behavior and appearance were a reflection on him.
Yes, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed best to skip the party altogether. Just as the conviction settled into her mind, Brian arrived in the doorway, tugging on his navy bowtie and whistling a catchy tune. His eyes gleamed when he saw her.
“Hey, baby.” He sidled up to her and grinned. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he looked her up and down. “Wow. You sure look hot tonight. That color suits you, all right.” Without waiting for a response, he leaned forward and kissed her on the neck, snuggling her into his chest.
“Thank you.” His words didn’t leave Addisyn glowing and giddy, the way they once would have. Why couldn’t Brian compliment her every now and then on something besides her appearance? A feisty surge of irritation surprised her.
Well, but she couldn’t waste this opportunity. Maybe now was the time to ask—while he was in such a good mood and happy with her. Addisyn took a deep breath. Here goes! “Brian, could we—well—would you mind if I stayed home tonight?” Seeing his frown, she rushed her next words. “I mean, you could still go, of course. I wouldn’t mind. I just—just don’t want to go out right now.”
With a grimace, Brian pulled his arms from around her waist and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his Calvin Klein suit. “Look, baby, I know you’re still upset over the competition and all, but don’t you think a night out might help you?” His voice changed, the way it always did when he was pleading with her—forsaking the annoyance and taking on a cajoling tone. “I don’t want to go all by myself. No fun that way.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Anyway…” he reached for her hands, lacing his fingers through hers and tugging her closer to him. “It doesn’t look right, us not going together. Makes people talk.” His breath on her face smelled like mint. “Come on, baby, you know how people talk.”
“But, Brian—” Never mind. Addisyn clamped her mouth shut. Any protest would only put him in a foul mood. “All right.” She nodded meekly. “I’ll go.”
“That’s my girl.” A satisfied grin spread over Brian’s face. “Ready?”
Without another word Addisyn took Brian’s arm and prepared to follow him outside. Time to put her smile on and be Brian Felding’s girl.
* * * *
The room was much too warm. Addisyn took a deep breath, trying to find fresh air somewhere that wasn’t suffocatingly heavy with the aromas of cologne and champagne.
She glanced at the stylish mirrored clock on the wall. She’d been there for half an hour, with probably another two hours to go. The thought of spending another two minutes at the party, never mind two hours, made her feel as if she might scream.
She’d spent the time since she’d arrived gliding across the room attached to Brian’s arm, mingling with the other distinguished guests. Like a parrot, she’d said every perfect thing to every perfect person and somehow said nothing at all. Now Brian had excused himself to look for a colleague, and she’d immediately sought refuge in the shadows created by the potted palm in the corner. Finally, a moment of relief from the mental exertion of maintaining her mask.
It was hard to believe now that there had ever been a time when she’d found these parties wonderful—the height of excitement and enjoyment. But she had, when Brian had first ushered her into his world. The glitz and splendor had been intoxicating to a girl who’d grown up poor on New York’s Lower East Side. She had felt like a princess come home to the enchanted castle—introduced to a life she could have only dreamed of while she pinched pennies with Avery in a one-bedroom flat. She’d been impressed by Brian’s affluent, successful friends, captivated by their luxurious surroundings, and thrilled with the rush and twinkle of social life.
Of course, she’d also been fascinated by Brian himself. Maybe it was the glitter and glamor of being in love that had made everything else so titillating—and maybe everything was fading now because her hypnosis with Brian was waning, a candle burning ever and ever dimmer.
Guilt over her recent irritation with Brian heated her cheeks. He loved her, that’s what he said. He claimed she just had unrealistic expectations. Which could be true. After all, she couldn’t explain why his caresses had begun to annoy her. And was it very kind or realistic of her to expect him to forgo his dinner plans just because she was upset? Maybe she was being too hard on him.
And Brian was such a wonderful guy, most of the time. Sure, he lost his temper some, but apart from that, he was impeccably charming. And he was as devoted to her career as she was. She reminded herself that she’d be nowhere if not for his patient tutelage and support.
Perhaps none of this was Brian’s fault—just a natural reaction to the letdown of Sectionals. Given the stresses they’d both been under, it was no wonder their relationship was tense. For crying out loud, she’d probably been pretty hard to live with herself for the last few weeks.
Yes, that was all. Addisyn stepped out from behind the palm with a renewed determination to give her boyfriend the benefit of the doubt. She needed to find him and be with him. He was probably wondering where she was. Addisyn glanced around the room and finally spotted Brian talking to a few other men. She edged her way through the couples until she was close enough to hear their conversation.
“…one of the best in the field,” Brian was saying. He nodded seriously at the other man. “Definitely, if you can get her case, take it.”
“I’m just not sure about the opportunity cost.” The man rubbed his chin. “I have a full caseload already, so…”
Brian never looked around. Addisyn waited a few moments and then turned away. They were engulfed in the business conversation, and evidently her disappearance wasn’t bothering Brian in the least. Annoyed, she made her way through the room, weaving among the tables covered with dainty white tablecloths.
The weight of disappointment flattened her own defense of Brian’s character like the flimsy barricade it was, powerless against the rush of strong emotions. Really, it had been downright inconsiderate of him to insist on going to this party tonight. Never giving her feelings any priority. Only focused on what he wanted. Addisyn was no expert on happy couples—goodness knew her mom and dad hadn’t given her any role models—but still, even she figured that a good partnership required some give-and-take from both sides.
Instead, she was doing the giving, while Brian enjoyed the taking. Like tonight. She didn’t want to be at this party. Certainly not. Yet here she was, plastered against the wall, waiting for her wonderful boyfriend to notice she wasn’t around.
All of this was too much to try to ponder right now, when the room was full of chattering elegant people. Addisyn drifted over to the table of hors d’oeuvres, an elegant arrangement complete with effervescent puffs of red tulle and live flowers. An array of alcoholic beverages sat nearby, some already poured into glasses. Addisyn glanced at the labels—cabernet, bourbon, pinot noir, champagne. She didn’t drink, except at dinners or parties like this one—Brian had always told her that waiting until twenty-one to drink was a senseless formality, as long as you didn’t overdo it, but she still had reservations. Residual outdated morality from Avery, probably. But tonight she needed something to help her survive this ordeal. She selected a glass of the champagne and took a pungent sip as she glanced around the room.
Perfectly paired couples dotted the grey-veined marble floor, talking and laughing in the stringently choreographed dance of social etiquette. Occasionally a man’s hearty voice or a woman’s rippling titter would rise above the general murmur of conversation. In the far corner, a chamber quartet provided a soothing string number while a handful of couples danced slowly.
For a moment, Addisyn experienced a surge of insecurity, strong enough that she glanced down at herself, with the sinking fear that she had been so distracted by her emotional turmoil that she’d neglected some aspect of her personal appearance. No, on the outside, she looked impeccable—flawless makeup, beautifully tailored dress, glistening stiletto heels.
It was more about her heart than her body, a sudden weariness of this life of the rich and famous, a floundering feeling that she didn’t belong. Like a tap on the shoulder from a voice inside her spirit. Deep inside, where a girl had once lived who was radically different from the Addisyn of today.
Stop it! Why was she having such troubled feelings tonight? What a rollercoaster her mind was! At a Valentine’s party to boot. Addisyn sighed and took another sip from her glass.
“Miss Miles?” A voice sent her ramshackle thoughts scattering in all directions. Startled, Addisyn turned to see an older gentleman standing at her elbow. His neatly combed silver hair reminded her of an old silent film star, but the lines about his eyes seemed less than open. Immediately she donned her most charming smile—more out of habit than anything else. “Yes, sir?”
He held out his hand, and she quickly switched her glass of champagne to the other hand so she could daintily offer her fingertips. “I’m Martin Moorehouse, Marty Moorehouse, they call me. I heard you were looking for a new job, and I think I just might be able to offer you one.” The man smiled in a pleasant, grandfatherly way. As though he expected her to be overjoyed by this news.
“Looking for a—I’m sorry?” Addisyn furrowed her brow. What was going on? Surely the man had confused her with someone else. “I—I must have misunderstood.”
“Yes, forgive me for being unclear. I’m the general manager at the Showtime Dinner Theater here in town. Corner of Forty-sixth and Ninth. We offer meals with entertainment—all kinds. Burlesque, drama, singing, all that. I’m looking to hire three or four talented skaters.” Mr. Moorehouse waved his hand in the air, as if gesturing to his grand scheme. “You know, skating exhibitions during dinner. Guests’ll love it.” He studied the drink selection and chose a glass of bourbon. “Anyway, I thought you might be interested. My theater is top-notch.”
Confusion squiggled through Addisyn’s chest. What in the world had this man heard? The very thought of displaying her skating in that way—lumping her soul-fired performances in with burlesque and opera, selling her heart like a cheap commodity—nauseated her. “Mr. Moorehouse, I’m—” She caught her breath. Remembered to be polite. “Thank you very much for the offer, but I’m a competitive skater. On my way to the Olympics. Brian—Mr. Felding is my coach.” She knew her smile was weak. “Perhaps you weren’t aware.”
Mr. Moorehouse’s eyebrows rose in sharp peaks. “Well, yes, I was aware.” He paused. “But Brian told me that competing hadn’t worked out for you—that you weren’t going to be able to make the Olympic team after all. Said you had a real bad loss at Sectionals and didn’t have much hope of getting any further.” He shook his head contemplatively. “No surprise there. Sectionals gets harder every year. Kids are skating younger and younger. Last statistic I heard, something like only five percent—”
“Brian told you I would want a job at your theater?” Addisyn felt as if she might laugh. Or maybe cry. Or maybe run across the room screaming and wallop Brian over the head with the champagne bottle.
“Well—” Mr. Moorehouse seemed much less confident now, apparently sensing tension between them even if he couldn’t diagnose the cause. “He—he told me you needed a job, yes. We’ve known each other for years, him and me. We always help each other out like that.” He sipped his bourbon, then shrugged. “Just think it over. I pay good wages. Solid benefits. And working for me, you can still skate, even if you can’t compete.” He clinked his glass to hers. “Cheers.” And with that he was gone.
The room spun crazily around Addisyn. With shaking hands, she set her drink down before she dropped it. There had to be some mistake. There had to be. Brian was her coach. He was supposed to be encouraging her, training her, helping her fight to the top—not going behind her back like this!
Of course there was a mistake. Brian would never, ever do such a thing. But to make her heart beat normally again, she had to hear it from him—had to see the shock on his face when she told him what Marty Moorehouse had pitched to her. Addisyn felt alternately hot and cold as she threaded her way through the crowd, muttering “Excuse me” indiscriminately.
Brian was still rapt in business chatter with his associates. She tugged on his sleeve, oblivious to all but her angst. “Brian, I need to speak with you.” Her teeth were chattering; she could barely get the words out.
He turned with a frown. “Baby, I’m busy right now.”
Busy? No, she needed him now. The gaping hole in her heart was threatening to suck her into it. Only his reassurance could possibly ease this moment. “This is important.”
He shot a smooth smile at his group. “Excuse me one moment.”
The others cheerfully obliged, with one man cheekily cracking some joke about a lady being in charge of “her man.” At any other time, Addisyn would have been indignant over the weak humor, but now nothing mattered except the truth. She all but dragged Brian to the edge of the room and launched in without preamble. “Why did Mr. Moorehouse come and offer me a job at his theater? He said that you told him that I—” Addisyn choked over the words—“That my career was ruined. And that I needed a job besides competing. What is that about?”
Brian’s face flushed. He glanced around the room. “Moorehouse said that?”
“Yes.” His obvious exasperation slowed her breathing and calmed her nerves. See, Brian hadn’t really done such a low-down thing. Of course he hadn’t. He’d explain to her that he was innocent, and then he’d find Moorehouse and give him a piece of his mind.
“Well, baby, I—” Brian ran his hand over his hair. “I mean, Moorehouse said he had this job opening. I thought it would be a good fit for you. You still get to skate, you know, and—” His words seemed to fizzle out. “I—I didn’t really expect him to bring it up here…”
“So you told him that? You told him I wasn’t going to be competing anymore?” Addisyn’s stomach was cold inside.
Defensiveness glazed Brian’s eyes. “Look, you know this—your career, your skating—it’s just not going well. I mean—it’s a sinking ship.” He spread his hands helplessly. “I just thought this would give you the—”
“Never mind.” Addisyn blinked back the stinging in her eyes and lifted her chin. She would not let Brian see the tidal wave of emotion that was drowning her soul. A sinking ship? Really? She was one of figure skating’s fastest rising stars. Hardly a sinking ship. A few small losses couldn’t stop her. “I’m leaving.” She gripped her clutch in both hands. “I’m taking a cab home.” She spun and began walking for the exit as fast as her stiletto heels would allow.
“Addisyn, wait!” Desperation rang in his voice, but she didn’t look back.
She’d already heard enough from him. More than enough.

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