Page 18 of Back Outside Edge

“He kind of got stuck being my roommate. We've been trying to work it, but I think he let it get to his head. He was so freaked out over it."

Her nose wrinkles. “Oh, wow, that's shit. But that's not your fault.”

"Yeah, well, I'm a little worried he'll think it is. He looked pretty pissed off out there."

She reaches over another one of our teammates to pat my arm consolingly. “It'll be all right. He's mature enough to understand.”

Teresa, our women's silver medalist, pipes up. “I don't know. I heard he had to go to anger-management therapy.”

Really? It tickles something in my memory, but I can’t place it. “Why?”

“Um, fighting, I think.” Teresa sits back in her seat; I lean further forward, watching her. "After his breakdown at the Olympics, he lost it. He started getting in fights and stuff."

Stefan? Fighting? I've seen the temper, the tightly coiled frustration, but I can't picture him fighting. Isn't learning not to fight the whole point of anger management therapy, though? “Did his dad make him go to therapy?”

"I don't think so... There was something else." Teresa taps her lips, brow scrunched, trying to remember the story.

Some of our teammates leave, less interested in gossip than the rest of us. The few of us left circle, consolidating our little group. “Oh, I remember this,” Luc, one half of our top ice dancing team, exclaims, his Québécois accent as strong as ever. He’d just as soon never speak English, but we aren’t all Stefan. “It wasn't right after Innsbruck. It was only a couple of years ago. He went to court and everything. Big deal on all the sports sites.”

“Do you remember what happened?” Teresa asks, which I appreciate, because I can’t bring myself to do so. I can’t decide if I want to know. I shouldn't be gossiping about my roommate, I'm sure. I don’t move, though.

Luc’s brow creases as he thinks. “I don't remember the details. Just that there was a fight, and he got arrested. Maybe at a bar?”

Teresa shakes her head. "I don't think so. I think it was something else. Bigger."

We’re all silent for a minute, Teresa and Luc on their phones. Looking it up, I assume. Suddenly, Teresa sits up straight, her eyes wide. "Oh shit, here it is. It was Alexandre. How the hell did we forget that? And it was Worlds, two years ago. Stefan got suspended and couldn’t compete, remember?”

“Alexandre?” I echo, horrified. “Like, Alexandre Boudreaux?” My biggest competition in Canada, the man I’m in the process of subbing in for. The man who Stefan thinks sabotaged him by putting us together in our room. Well, crap. It makes a lot more sense now.

She nods, face troubled, and we all look at her in horror. Alexandre can be a jerk, but getting in a fight with a competitor? The idea is anathema. A little verbal sparring, sure, but the last thing we'd want to do is injure one another. Our bodies are how we express ourselves, make a living. We don't mess with that lightly.

“What prompted it?” Luc’s voice is almost sad.

Teresa shrugs again. "No idea. This site doesn't say."

I sit back in my own chair, focusing on the empty ice in front of us. The Zambonis are out; their constant roar soothing, a sort of white noise for my thoughts. “Was he badly hurt?” I'm not sure which ‘he’ I'm talking about.

“Not sure. But Alexandre pressed charges, even though he did fine in the short program two days later.” Teresa answers.

“So the anger management was court mandated?” I ask.

“Looks like it.”

We fall into another silence, my little group staring out at the rink, contemplating the story. “Well, plus side, that means he has the training to not beat the crap out of me,” I say, trying to sound light, positive, to bring the mood back up.

It works, and a couple of my teammates laugh.

“Well, at least there's that,” Luc agrees. “If you need a hand, let us know.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be ok.” Even knowing the story, and that the person Stefan fought with was my teammate, I can’t see Stefan as a risk to me. It doesn’t fit the guy I’m getting to know. When he was livid about the room situation, beyond being a little rude, he never took it out on me. He’s been nothing but polite, friendly, since the first night. He's also reassured me it's not my fault. He won't forget, right?

After our group whittles down to Teresa and me, the two of us sit in a restaurant, finishing our lunch. Teresa’s watching the room through half-lidded eyes, slumped back in her chair. She's always been good about taking her moments of relaxation. “Going to come to ice dancing with me?” she asks. “I’ll have to leave midway for my practice session, so I'll miss Luc and Leanna, but I should be able to catch Davis and Shulyova.”

“Yeah.” I bite into an apple slice. Its flavor is a weird combination of apple and my lunch, so I set it back down. “We’ve got a bit, though. I think I’ll head back to my room, drop off my rink bags.” Lie down for a few minutes. “Meet you there?”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right alone with Stefan?” She sits up straighter, eyes intent on my face.

I smile at her, grateful for the support. She’s one of the nicest people I've met, and getting to spend time with her this week is yet another bonus to taking Alexandre’s place. “It’ll be fine. He’s probably off with his dad figuring out plans of attack for Friday or whatever anyway.”