Page 85 of Back Outside Edge

My lips tremble against his. "Even broken beyond repair?" I mean for it to be a joke, but it comes out quavering. Since I’ve already given away more than I meant to, I let go and continue baring my heart. "I'll never be as successful as I wanted to be. Can you live with that?"

He pulls back a bit, enough that the furrow between his brows is visible. "What do you mean? Why would that matter?"

I tell him. Give him the ins and outs of my relationship with Caro. How she became my coach when I was seventeen, my desperate crush on her until I turned eighteen and acted on it. That she'd eventually given in to my attempts to hit on her, and we'd had a secret affair for years. How she'd convinced me to put off school so I could focus on my career, on the Olympics. The utter desolation when I came in third at Nationals and Canada only had two spots.

That the day before my free skate at Nationals someone took a picture of the two of us, then released it right after my performance. Like the picture of Stefan and me, it had shown us kissing, but with both of our faces showing. A coach and her student, a ten-year age gap, me barely twenty at the time. How she'd lost it, yelling at me for not being careful, not making it into the Olympics. That everything we'd done together had been a huge waste. A mistake.

Two days later, she'd left town without a word, leaving everything, including me, behind. I hadn't heard from her again until I called her from the hospital.

He's sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing me, and has both of my hands in his by the time I finish my story. He doesn't interrupt, letting me tell it the way I want to. When I finish, he sits silent for a minute, watching me, still holding my hands. "That's complete bullshit," he says.

It’s not the reaction I expected. "What?"

One side of his mouth quirks up into the almost smile I used to see so often. "Everything she told you before she left. You know that, right?"

"I'm starting to," I admit. "It's not easy to change a pattern of thinking I've had for four years."

"Yeah, I get that. But absolutely nothing that happened was your fault. And she's a bitch. And kind of a pedophile too."

I shake my head. "Not really. I mean, the age of consent in Canada is sixteen, and I was eighteen."

"That's cutting some awfully fine hairs," Stefan rebuts. "But fine. She's ok with some fucked-up power imbalances, then."

Remembering my reaction to thinking about one of my students hitting on me, maybe he's right. "Anyway," I say with a shrug. "It's all just fucked up. Or I am, or something."

He lifts his eyebrow. "Since when do you say 'fucked'?"

"Obviously you're a bad influence on me." I do my best to sound arch, and it must work because he exhales on a laugh.

His hands squeeze mine before he lets go. "So to go back to your original question."

"My original question?"

Another half smile. "The reason you finally told me all of that. Which I appreciate, by the way. Thank you for trusting me."

"That's very formal of you."

"Oh, shut up." He raises a hand to brush my hair back. "It's getting long. Even curlier than I realized."

I nuzzle into his hand a little, letting my head fall back against the couch. "Yeah, well, getting a haircut hasn't been the biggest priority."

My eyes are closed, but the smile in his voice is clear when he replies. "I don't care if you make it to the Olympics," Stefan murmurs. "I'm not going to dump you because you aren't one of the very few athletes in the world who do. That's ridiculous. Would you dump me if I didn't make it?"

"Of course not. I'm offended at the suggestion."

"Exactly." His hand strokes my hair again. "I'm not offended because I understand why you're worried about it, but I could be. I'd be justified if I were. How much of an asshole do you think I am?"

"A pretty big one," I yawn, causing him to laugh.

"Yeah, well, you’d be right. But for once, not this time. I'll be so sad for you if you never make it onto skates again, because I know how much you love it. But that’s it. It has nothing to do with me. I want what makes you happy. The end." My eyes are swimming, stinging. Damn it. Stefan's fingers reach up to lightly brush away the tears falling from underneath my eyelids. "I'm here, Evan. I love you. I'm not going anywhere."

I force my eyes open, tears be damned. "Yes, you are. You're going home; you're going to fight for your spot. You're going to kick ass at every competition this season. Then you're going to go to Stockholm and break your own damn record. I'm going to be the person cheering the loudest, even if it's from my couch."

He snorts out another laugh. "You're not going to be on your couch, love. If I make it to the Olympics, you'll be coming with me. No question. You're my good luck charm. How could I win without you as my roommate?"

Chapter 33

Stefan