Chapter 2: Stefan
He’s never been a serious competitor. Not against me. But that doesn’t mean things haven’t changed. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen him. Which is odd. We have to have been at some of the same competitions. Didn’t we?
“How do you make it to the World Championships?” The words are out before I realize it, and I clamp my mouth shut. Shit, that was mean. I didn’t mean for it to be mean. I’m just confused. And way too tired and irritated. Who the hell is trying to sabotage me?
He seems to take it gracefully though, just chuckling at my. Abrupt question. “Same as anyone, I imagine.”
“Sorry,” I respond, almost automatically. I shake my head, trying to clear it.
“No worries.” He’s still chuckling. “We haven’t run into each other for a couple of years, have we? I’ve been lucky, not having to compete against you.”
“How’d you qualify?” And again, too abrupt. Ugh. I need sleep.
“I got silver at Nationals this year.”
Oh. Oh, of course. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? There’s no reason I would have gone to the Canadian National Championships. Still seems like there should have been something more. But maybe that’s enough. Just because I was in the Circuit Championships Final last year doesn’t mean everyone who’s at World’s had to be.
“Did you make it to Circuits?”
And again, he takes me being an asshole like a champ. He’s more awake now, and he slides up his bed to sit against his headboard. I catch a flash of white teeth in the dimness on his side of the room. “One of them. Didn’t make the finals, obviously. I saw your performance; it was amazing.”
“Thanks.” Of course it was amazing. I’ve put everything in my life on hold in order for it to be amazing. But no need to tell him that. He knows. “I guess I didn’t catch your performance. Sorry.”
“No worries.” He sounds calm, even lazy. Everything that I don’t feel. Would a saboteur sound this calm? If he was really good at his job, I guess. Or maybe he’s an unwitting participant. I try to remember who his coach is.
Who’s in charge of the Canadian national team? Who might have had enough of a grudge against me–or enough of a desire for their skater to beat me–to go through with this insane plot. I can’t think of anyone though. Canadians aren’t exactly vindictive. As a general rule, minus one significant exception, I get along with their team.
But who else could have done this? Who would have paired two skaters from different countries? At Worlds? One of whom is renowned for always needing his own space. In a hotel room with no possibility of escape. I’ve talked about my pre-stake routine in dozens of interviews over the year; anyone could know it. Know how important silence and stillness are for me. But do something about it?
And why? Because I fucked up so badly at the last Olympics? Did someone decide to pay me back for losing by sabatoging me at the last World Championship before the next Olympic cycle? That feels way too far-fetched. Why wait so long? Or, alternatively, sabatoge me so early? Do they want the US to lose a spot next year?
Would that even happen if I failed completely, fell on every jump? Came in last place, if that’s even possible. Could we lose a spot? Possibly, though I don’t know Chris’s skating well enough to be certain. It just doesn’t seem like a legitimatet reason to sabotage me like this.
“Did you know you were going to be my roommate?” May as well just get it out in the open, see if he’s part of this conspiracy.
A motion from his bed. A shrug, maybe. “I knew I’d have a roommate.”
That’s not really an answer. “Do you often have roommates from other countries?”
“No, but I don’t think it’s unusual when hotels are full or a country only sends one skater.”
“Huh.” Well, that’s not the case, anyway. Both our countries have huge groups. The hotel being full, on the other hand…
Shouldn’t I know whether this is normal? I skated in Juniors and shared rooms for years. On the other hand, my dad is both my coach and head of our skating club. Maybe he just ensured that I always got paired with other Americans.
When you’re just a random skater, are room assignments more random, a roll of the dice? It’s something to ask.
For now, though, I need sleep desperately. And I’m not going to be sleeping anywhere but in that stupid tiny bed tonight. So fine. That’s what it is. I will adjust. Tonight. Things had better fucking change tomorrow.
It only takes a moment to find my overnight kit. I’ve done this so many times. It takes longer to find an appropriate pair of underwear to sleep in. Evan is wearing an undershirt, and probably some kind of sleeping shorts. Should I wear an undershirt too? I didn’t bring an extra, but I’m sure there’s a laundry facility somewhere. On the other hand, I really don’t want to dig through my suitcase for one. Whatever. It’s not that important.
I head into the bathroom to get ready for bed.
The shower feels like heaven. For once, a hotel that doesn’t scrimp on its water pressure. Or maybe hotels are just better here in Frankfurt. Due to the fatigue dragging me down, and that nice hot strong water, it takes me longer than usual to get out of the bathroom. When I do, the room is silent. Evan is facing the window again, curled up under his blankets.
At least he’s not snoring. That’s one point in his favor. Hopefully that continues through the night.
Our alarms go off simultaneously in the morning. We reach for our phones, practically in unison, and slide them off. I take a moment to stretch. And then I’m up, sitting on the side of my bed. No time for snoozing. I glance back at Evan, who’s still laying in his bed. He’s on his back now, hands tucked behind his head, the knee closest to me up under his blankets. He must sense my looking because he raises one hand to wave languidly toward the bathroom door. “Uh, go ahead. It’s all yours.”
Which is remarkably generous of him. What if I were someone who took an hour in the bathroom in the morning? I’m not, but he doesn’t know that. Doesn’t he have to pee?
“Thanks.” My voice is almost as gruff as his was. Morning roughness, exacerbated by how little I slept last night.
Which, to be fair, was not Evans’s fault. I’m a very light sleeper, and even so, didn’t hear him snore once. He hardly even turned over. If I’m going to be stuck with a roommate, I guess this is the best I could have hoped for.
When I step back out of the bathroom, he’s sitting on his own bed, holding a pile of clothing. I try to give him a smile as we pass each other, and he lights up at it. Wow. Ok. Maybe I should smile at him more often. Or apologize more for last night. He’s probably just amazed I’m not being an absolute asshole.
The bathroom door is apparently paper thin. Great. So both of us will know all kinds of things about the other by the time this week is done. Hopefully, our schedules won’t cross too much.
Though the fact that his alarm went off at the same time as mine is a little worrisome.
Or we’re just training on the same schedule. That doesn’t mean we’ll actually see each other in our room. How much time will I be spending here, anyway? Not much. I’ll have training, media appearances, meals, whatever the team decides to do. And competition, of course.
I’m about to roll my yoga mat out on the floor when I hear his shower turn off. Shit. I always start my day with meditation and a yoga warmup. This is one of the reasons I need a single. Because how is my new roommate going to feel about me meditating in the only available open space in our room?
Well, I guess I’ll find out. I need to try to keep this from impacting my day as much as I can, so it’s meditation and yoga. With a snap, I roll out my matt, then settle on it, closing my eyes, spine straight and hands on my knees. I take in my first deep breath. Let it out slowly. Then another.
I’m trying not to focus on the sound of him brushing his teeth. To let myself slip into the calm that I need. The water rushes again, and then he’s opening the bathroom door, and I can all but hear him take in the scene. I take another deep breath, but it’s perfunctory, as he tries to close the door soundlessly. He’s hovering, just standing there above me, and I let my eyes open. “Do you mind if I meditate for a bit?”
“No, of course not. That’s fine. I’ll try to be quiet.”
I try to give him another smile, though he doesn’t light up at this one. He does, however, finally move around me, and I close my eyes again. Ok, starting over. Deep breaths.
Evan’s rummaging through his suitcases. He’s obviously trying to be quiet, but my mind is buzzing, and I can’t stop listening to him, picturing him, wondering what he’s doing. This isn’t working.
With a groan, I stand back up and reach for my carry-on. The outer pocket holds my earbuds, and I stick them in, then turn some music. That’s better.
I can’t hear him anymore, not through the noise canceling. But I can feel him.
Fuck. If I can’t even focus in my room with one other person, there’s no way I could do this in the gym. I just have to try harder. Let go, Stefan. Sink into it. Just keep breathing. In… and out. In. Out. I’ve almost managed to relax when there’s a click from his bed, the sound of metal hitting metal. He’s probably getting his workout gear together, which might mean that he’s leaving soon. Maybe I’ll have the room to myself.
Actual, blessed aloneness. Yeah, he’s definitely transferring items from bag to bad. It’s a good sign.
But why the fuck can I still hear him? He’s not being loud. He’s obviously making every effort to be quiet. But even from six feet away, I can sense his every movement.
This meditation is a joke. It’s gone. All I’m doing is sitting with my eyes closed, listening to my roommate. There’s a little shuffle that I can’t make out, and it starts to drive me crazy. So I pull out one earbud to really listen.
Surprisingly, the sound of his breathing is more soothing than my music. It’s even, steady, his movements unhurried. My eyes are still closed, but I picture him. He’s probably got the same grace off ice and on, and doing something that he’s probably done as many times as I have, I’d bet it looks like a dance.
A minute later, I hear his footsteps coming closer, the squeak of a messed up wheel on his suitcase. He pauses next to me, then hefts one bag, trying to pull the second around me, but it bumps my leg. It’s a small collision, but enough to take me the rest of the way out of whatever calm I was reaching for. “Sorry.” His whisper sounds like a wince.
I lean back, pulling my legs in, and watch him. “Going to breakfast?”
“Yeah, my first session starts at seven,” he answers from the doorway, looking back over his shoulder at me.
“Mm. Seven thirty here. Thirty-minute sessions are pretty tight.”
He shrugs. “I guess they’re getting us ready for competition day?” He does that whole body lighting up thing again, and it’s magical. A little startling in its intensity, but in the best possible way. I want to keep making him do that.
In fact, I’m going to make it my mission, for the rest of the day. Make Evan smile like that as many times as I can. Which means it’s breakfast time. I stand. “Mind if I join?”
Evan just stares at me, so I roll up my matt, sliding it into my own rink bag. Then I look over at him again, eyebrow raised, and he blinks, opening the door for us.
The End
In the Edge Work world, medals are always on the line. There are high stakes, high heat, and a lot of ice time.
MM Sports Romance featuring elite level figure skaters and the men who love them.
Chapter 2: Stefan
He’s never been a serious competitor. Not against me. But that doesn’t mean things haven’t changed. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen him. Which is odd. We have to have been at some of the same competitions. Didn’t we?
“How do you make it to the World Championships?” The words are out before I realize it, and I clamp my mouth shut. Shit, that was mean. I didn’t mean for it to be mean. I’m just confused. And way too tired and irritated. Who the hell is trying to sabotage me?
He seems to take it gracefully though, just chuckling at my. Abrupt question. “Same as anyone, I imagine.”
“Sorry,” I respond, almost automatically. I shake my head, trying to clear it.
“No worries.” He’s still chuckling. “We haven’t run into each other for a couple of years, have we? I’ve been lucky, not having to compete against you.”
“How’d you qualify?” And again, too abrupt. Ugh. I need sleep.
“I got silver at Nationals this year.”
Oh. Oh, of course. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? There’s no reason I would have gone to the Canadian National Championships. Still seems like there should have been something more. But maybe that’s enough. Just because I was in the Circuit Championships Final last year doesn’t mean everyone who’s at World’s had to be.
“Did you make it to Circuits?”
And again, he takes me being an asshole like a champ. He’s more awake now, and he slides up his bed to sit against his headboard. I catch a flash of white teeth in the dimness on his side of the room. “One of them. Didn’t make the finals, obviously. I saw your performance; it was amazing.”
“Thanks.” Of course it was amazing. I’ve put everything in my life on hold in order for it to be amazing. But no need to tell him that. He knows. “I guess I didn’t catch your performance. Sorry.”
“No worries.” He sounds calm, even lazy. Everything that I don’t feel. Would a saboteur sound this calm? If he was really good at his job, I guess. Or maybe he’s an unwitting participant. I try to remember who his coach is.
Who’s in charge of the Canadian national team? Who might have had enough of a grudge against me–or enough of a desire for their skater to beat me–to go through with this insane plot. I can’t think of anyone though. Canadians aren’t exactly vindictive. As a general rule, minus one significant exception, I get along with their team.
But who else could have done this? Who would have paired two skaters from different countries? At Worlds? One of whom is renowned for always needing his own space. In a hotel room with no possibility of escape. I’ve talked about my pre-stake routine in dozens of interviews over the year; anyone could know it. Know how important silence and stillness are for me. But do something about it?
And why? Because I fucked up so badly at the last Olympics? Did someone decide to pay me back for losing by sabatoging me at the last World Championship before the next Olympic cycle? That feels way too far-fetched. Why wait so long? Or, alternatively, sabatoge me so early? Do they want the US to lose a spot next year?
Would that even happen if I failed completely, fell on every jump? Came in last place, if that’s even possible. Could we lose a spot? Possibly, though I don’t know Chris’s skating well enough to be certain. It just doesn’t seem like a legitimatet reason to sabotage me like this.
“Did you know you were going to be my roommate?” May as well just get it out in the open, see if he’s part of this conspiracy.
A motion from his bed. A shrug, maybe. “I knew I’d have a roommate.”
That’s not really an answer. “Do you often have roommates from other countries?”
“No, but I don’t think it’s unusual when hotels are full or a country only sends one skater.”
“Huh.” Well, that’s not the case, anyway. Both our countries have huge groups. The hotel being full, on the other hand…
Shouldn’t I know whether this is normal? I skated in Juniors and shared rooms for years. On the other hand, my dad is both my coach and head of our skating club. Maybe he just ensured that I always got paired with other Americans.
When you’re just a random skater, are room assignments more random, a roll of the dice? It’s something to ask.
For now, though, I need sleep desperately. And I’m not going to be sleeping anywhere but in that stupid tiny bed tonight. So fine. That’s what it is. I will adjust. Tonight. Things had better fucking change tomorrow.
It only takes a moment to find my overnight kit. I’ve done this so many times. It takes longer to find an appropriate pair of underwear to sleep in. Evan is wearing an undershirt, and probably some kind of sleeping shorts. Should I wear an undershirt too? I didn’t bring an extra, but I’m sure there’s a laundry facility somewhere. On the other hand, I really don’t want to dig through my suitcase for one. Whatever. It’s not that important.
I head into the bathroom to get ready for bed.
The shower feels like heaven. For once, a hotel that doesn’t scrimp on its water pressure. Or maybe hotels are just better here in Frankfurt. Due to the fatigue dragging me down, and that nice hot strong water, it takes me longer than usual to get out of the bathroom. When I do, the room is silent. Evan is facing the window again, curled up under his blankets.
At least he’s not snoring. That’s one point in his favor. Hopefully that continues through the night.
Our alarms go off simultaneously in the morning. We reach for our phones, practically in unison, and slide them off. I take a moment to stretch. And then I’m up, sitting on the side of my bed. No time for snoozing. I glance back at Evan, who’s still laying in his bed. He’s on his back now, hands tucked behind his head, the knee closest to me up under his blankets. He must sense my looking because he raises one hand to wave languidly toward the bathroom door. “Uh, go ahead. It’s all yours.”
Which is remarkably generous of him. What if I were someone who took an hour in the bathroom in the morning? I’m not, but he doesn’t know that. Doesn’t he have to pee?
“Thanks.” My voice is almost as gruff as his was. Morning roughness, exacerbated by how little I slept last night.
Which, to be fair, was not Evans’s fault. I’m a very light sleeper, and even so, didn’t hear him snore once. He hardly even turned over. If I’m going to be stuck with a roommate, I guess this is the best I could have hoped for.
When I step back out of the bathroom, he’s sitting on his own bed, holding a pile of clothing. I try to give him a smile as we pass each other, and he lights up at it. Wow. Ok. Maybe I should smile at him more often. Or apologize more for last night. He’s probably just amazed I’m not being an absolute asshole.
The bathroom door is apparently paper thin. Great. So both of us will know all kinds of things about the other by the time this week is done. Hopefully, our schedules won’t cross too much.
Though the fact that his alarm went off at the same time as mine is a little worrisome.
Or we’re just training on the same schedule. That doesn’t mean we’ll actually see each other in our room. How much time will I be spending here, anyway? Not much. I’ll have training, media appearances, meals, whatever the team decides to do. And competition, of course.
I’m about to roll my yoga mat out on the floor when I hear his shower turn off. Shit. I always start my day with meditation and a yoga warmup. This is one of the reasons I need a single. Because how is my new roommate going to feel about me meditating in the only available open space in our room?
Well, I guess I’ll find out. I need to try to keep this from impacting my day as much as I can, so it’s meditation and yoga. With a snap, I roll out my matt, then settle on it, closing my eyes, spine straight and hands on my knees. I take in my first deep breath. Let it out slowly. Then another.
I’m trying not to focus on the sound of him brushing his teeth. To let myself slip into the calm that I need. The water rushes again, and then he’s opening the bathroom door, and I can all but hear him take in the scene. I take another deep breath, but it’s perfunctory, as he tries to close the door soundlessly. He’s hovering, just standing there above me, and I let my eyes open. “Do you mind if I meditate for a bit?”
“No, of course not. That’s fine. I’ll try to be quiet.”
I try to give him another smile, though he doesn’t light up at this one. He does, however, finally move around me, and I close my eyes again. Ok, starting over. Deep breaths.
Evan’s rummaging through his suitcases. He’s obviously trying to be quiet, but my mind is buzzing, and I can’t stop listening to him, picturing him, wondering what he’s doing. This isn’t working.
With a groan, I stand back up and reach for my carry-on. The outer pocket holds my earbuds, and I stick them in, then turn some music. That’s better.
I can’t hear him anymore, not through the noise canceling. But I can feel him.
Fuck. If I can’t even focus in my room with one other person, there’s no way I could do this in the gym. I just have to try harder. Let go, Stefan. Sink into it. Just keep breathing. In… and out. In. Out. I’ve almost managed to relax when there’s a click from his bed, the sound of metal hitting metal. He’s probably getting his workout gear together, which might mean that he’s leaving soon. Maybe I’ll have the room to myself.
Actual, blessed aloneness. Yeah, he’s definitely transferring items from bag to bad. It’s a good sign.
But why the fuck can I still hear him? He’s not being loud. He’s obviously making every effort to be quiet. But even from six feet away, I can sense his every movement.
This meditation is a joke. It’s gone. All I’m doing is sitting with my eyes closed, listening to my roommate. There’s a little shuffle that I can’t make out, and it starts to drive me crazy. So I pull out one earbud to really listen.
Surprisingly, the sound of his breathing is more soothing than my music. It’s even, steady, his movements unhurried. My eyes are still closed, but I picture him. He’s probably got the same grace off ice and on, and doing something that he’s probably done as many times as I have, I’d bet it looks like a dance.
A minute later, I hear his footsteps coming closer, the squeak of a messed up wheel on his suitcase. He pauses next to me, then hefts one bag, trying to pull the second around me, but it bumps my leg. It’s a small collision, but enough to take me the rest of the way out of whatever calm I was reaching for. “Sorry.” His whisper sounds like a wince.
I lean back, pulling my legs in, and watch him. “Going to breakfast?”
“Yeah, my first session starts at seven,” he answers from the doorway, looking back over his shoulder at me.
“Mm. Seven thirty here. Thirty-minute sessions are pretty tight.”
He shrugs. “I guess they’re getting us ready for competition day?” He does that whole body lighting up thing again, and it’s magical. A little startling in its intensity, but in the best possible way. I want to keep making him do that.
In fact, I’m going to make it my mission, for the rest of the day. Make Evan smile like that as many times as I can. Which means it’s breakfast time. I stand. “Mind if I join?”
Evan just stares at me, so I roll up my matt, sliding it into my own rink bag. Then I look over at him again, eyebrow raised, and he blinks, opening the door for us.
The End
Back Outside Edge, Jan's story, Luc's story, and at least one more... Expect a new release about every six months for this series.
