Page 42 of Back Outside Edge

"That really doesn't help. If anything, it makes it worse."

He laughs, light and free. Then he pushes off, still watching me as he skates backwards, flowing like silk across the rink. "Watch my feet." I force my gaze down towards his feet, where they should have been all along. "You see that little movement I do at the end of every stroke?" He's moving slowly, letting me get a good look every time he pushes off.

After a few seconds of focus, I pick up what he's talking about. It's minor, so minimal no judge would notice. A little extra curve to his stroke. It's not efficient, not the ideal foot position drilled into me from the start. "Yeah, how come nobody trained that out of you?"

"They tried." He moves back to me, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It's a lot better than it used to be, but it's still there. It'll never go away. It's part of how I skate."

"And that gives you superhuman grace?" The smile widens a little, even as he shakes his head. He skates backward again, soaring into a turn. Another. A switch in direction and edge. And now I know what I'm looking for, I can see it. How that little inefficiency, that tiny extra curve on the rocker, lets him turn more naturally. Lets his movements flow through to one another in a way that nobody else could do with a more standard push. "Holy shit." It's barely a breath, full of awe. "That's amazing. It's so subtle, and yet it makes such a difference."

"Yep." He skates back in to me. "It's why I'm not sure how I can train you. The last thing we want to do is mess with your basic skating technique. You'd basically be starting over from ground zero, and the way you skate is already incredible. So that's a no go."

"I don't know. If it could make me skate like you, it might be worth it."

I glance up from his feet, now doing crossovers and scissors in a small circle around me, just in time to see him shaking his head before he says, "No way, I'm not going to be responsible for messing up the great Stefan Petryk's skating. The world would kill me. And they'd be right to."

A short laugh comes from behind me, and we both turn to see my dad standing at the edge of the rink watching us. "I agree with you, son. I've put too many hours into my boy’s technique. No messing up."

Evan shares a smile with him. I appreciate that they’re getting along, but—Do they have to do it by making decisions for me? As if I can't make up my own mind about what I want to do.

To prove to both of them that I’m an adult who can make my own decisions, I take a few strokes, trying to incorporate Evan's movement. It's weird. It goes against everything I've been trained into. I've spent my life trying to be perfect, efficient. And this is really just excess movement, even if it flows better. I can understand how he uses it, how that dynamic plays out, even in a single trip around the arena.

I skate back to find both of them frowning at me. Yeah, yeah, annoyed them both, whatever. Dad motions to the ice, clearly asking if he can come out with us. Evan gives him a nod. And a smile.

Well, shit, they really are going to get along, aren't they? It's a good thing, objectively, but Evan's mine. I don't want to share him with my dad.

As elegant and powerful as ever, Dad glides out onto the ice to meet us. It’s the way he's trained me to skate, ingrained in me. The quality that won him his Olympic gold.

"How does it feel?" Dad asks. He's still frowning, but I grin at him anyway.

"Terrible," I respond. "But I understand how it works. What's different about it. It's pretty cool.”

Evan smiles cautiously at me. "So you're not planning to take it on?"

I shake my head. “No. Fuck no. I'd have to change everything from the ground up. But it's interesting to try.”

They both look relieved. Did they really think I was going to change everything about my skating? Probably. I have been known to be impetuous from time to time. "So that's part of it," I add, “but what's the rest?”

"What do you mean?" Evan looks over at me, brow pinched again.

"I mean, I understand how this makes you more... I don't know. Flowy, I guess. But it's definitely not the only thing you do that makes your artistry what it is."

Evan frowns again. "Well, no, but I think it's the main thing."

Nope. He’s so fucking modest. "I think you're overestimating the power of a flick."

"A flick. That's what we're calling it?"

I shrug, laughing as I move out. Dad and Evan follow more slowly, side by side. Which is just weird. "If the shoe fits," I call back to them.

The unlikely pair start talking, heads together as they skate around the rink. I want to go interrupt them, get my Evan time back, but he’s enjoying himself, and I won't take anything he enjoys away from him. Even if seeing them together makes me itchy.

I'm sure they're talking about me, about my skating. Just like any two coaches would. Finding holes, proposing solutions.

I fly through a couple of quads, just to show off, then skate back towards them. "Ok, you told me you could at least teach me the transitions. So let's do that."

“Anything in particular?”

Evan's smile is far too intimate, and I'm going to be hard again in no time if he isn't careful. Does Dad notice? I sneak a glance over, but he's just watching us. Face a calm, unreadable mask. What is he thinking?