Page 89 of Back Outside Edge

It’s ostensibly why I’m part of Stefan’s coaching team, the only way I could come to the Olympics as anything but a spectator. Certainly the only way I could spend the two weeks in Stefan’s room, and even that’s not official.

Stefan’s silent, letting me think, his finger running in little circles through my chest hair, around a nipple. He’s not trying to seduce me again, just occupying himself. He does best when he’s moving. “I didn’t know that was a thing,” I answer eventually.

The finger pauses for a moment, then continues, and his muscles bunch in a small shrug beneath my arm. “I don’t know if it is, but if not, he wants to make it one.”

With anyone else, I’d understand, a bit. But Jacques? He’s got amazing artistry all on his own; what would he need me for? With Stefan, we had clear goals, places where we could up his component scores. Jacques doesn’t need help with those. “Jacques’s component scores are always great, though. He doesn’t need me,” I argue.

“Yours are better,” Stefan responds, voice matter-of-fact. As if he’s not stating that one of, if not the, best artistry skaters in the world isn’t as good as I am. “And if he thinks he does, isn’t that what matters? He’s been dying to learn how to skate like you for ages.”

Like me? But why? He’s incredible. It makes no sense

Except… maybe it does, a little. Stefan’s component scores have been climbing all season and most of the members of my university team are improving. Maybe my being here as a coach is more than a technicality.

After a minute, his finger still moving, though it’s playing with the hair lower on my chest now, Stefan continues. “Leanna and Luc do, too. And Teresa.”

At that, I sit up straight, dislodging him. “What?” Stefan is grinning when he meets my eyes, and I search them, trying to determine whether he’s teasing me. “Are you saying we’re having dinner with a group of people who want, for some ridiculous reason, to hire me?”

“As a choreography consultant, yes.” He’s doing his best to sound calm, rational, but his eyes are dancing too much. He’s enjoying doling this information out to me, watching my reactions. “It’s not ridiculous, love. We're all aware you’ve got a gift. And if you can’t use it to skate competitively yourself—“ His eyes darken, sadness touching their blue, blue depths. “—then maybe you can make a living out of sharing it with others. Helping them. I know how much you like coaching.”

I do. So much. But… I’m a nobody, who may not be able to jump again. I’ve never even won the Canadian Nationals. Come in second a few times and third twice, but that’s nothing on the international circuit. I might be good enough to coach new skaters, kids who probably won’t compete above the Junior level, as long as they have a separate jumping coach, but skaters who are already elite Seniors? I’m not that kind of coach.

I wouldn’t have a clue where to begin; hell, I’d be coaching my own idols. How many times have I watched Jacques skate and wanted to be that good someday?

“Luc and Leanna are ice dancers. And Teresa is women’s. I don’t know anything about any of those.”

“I don’t think you need to.” Stefan reaches forward to stroke my cheek. “We’re talking about artistry training here, not elements. Transitions, expression, whatever that indefinable thing is that gets the audience and the judges eating out of your hand.”

“Not well enough,” I grumble, but I don’t mean it. I’m too busy considering the repercussions of what Stefan is proposing. “I’d be the Canadian National Champion, if it was.”

Stefan laughs, replacing his finger with his lips, a quick kiss to my cheekbone. “Every little bit helps. And you for sure would have won this year. Hands down.”

My eyes fall, and he bites his lip, sorrow immediately clouding his expression. “Sorry, love,” he adds. “I didn’t mean to—“

“No, it’s fine.” I force a smile for him. Most days, I can let go of my sorrow and resentment, not push too hard against the constraints that now envelope my life. I can accept help with a modicum of grace, appreciate it when Stefan knows, sometimes before I do, when I’m pushing my limits. Every now and then, though, the grief hits. Out of nowhere, or with some offhand comment, like just now.

His hand is cupping my cheek, returning my favorite gesture. “It’s ok if it’s not. You’re allowed to miss competitive skating. To grieve your dreams.”

I try to smile again, but it wobbles, and he pulls me in, hugging my head against his chest. “The thing is,” I manage, once I’ve caught my breath. “I’m not sure if they were ever my dreams. I loved skating; I still love skating. Nationals, though? The Olympics? Those were Caro’s dreams, and I wanted them for her. Then, after, I wanted them to prove I could, I wasn’t a failure.”

“Hm.” The word rumbles against my cheek. “That’s interesting. When did you realize this?”

“I’ve been thinking about it lately.” I haven’t been able to do much but think for a few months. “I mean, yeah, obviously, I wanted all of that too. They were my life for a long time. I don’t think being forced to quit is all bad, though. It’s making me realize I was pushing myself for some pretty stupid reasons.”

“I’m glad it’s not all bad, at least. I know that doesn’t make it easy, though.”

“Not at all.” I hug him back, relieved, as always, to have him by my side. “I’m learning that if I can keep the parts I love, that’s way more important than walking in the opening parade.”

He breathes another huff of laughter, then lets me go. “I love you, Evan. I wish I could’ve brought you.”

Shaking my head, I smile at him, at the gleam in his eyes. “I love you too. You had to take your dad. It’s fine. It would’ve been a lot of walking for my hip anyway.” Angling his head to mine, I kiss him again. “So, about this dinner.”

By the time we leave the pop-up restaurant in the middle of the Olympic Village, my head is spinning. I have three new contracts burning a hole in my pocket, because Stefan, sneaky asshole that he is, had already printed them out, basing them on the one I signed with him, his own choreographer, and whatever extra language his father had decided might be useful.

I’d read through them, as carefully as I could, putting my sports management degree to the test, and Stefan assured me he’d double checked them with his lawyers. They are, if anything, skewed in my favor. Stefan didn't let me back down from that, though. “Nope. No being all noble and shit. Even if you don’t think you need to protect yourself, I will.”

Since the rest of the table was laughing at us by then, I gave in. Albeit with a little extra grumbling. Even after that conversation, where I'd outright said I was getting the better end of the deal, they all signed. If I were their primary coach, I’d have been slapping all their hands away from those contracts.

What's more, Stefan has something else up his sleeve. I know it. That gleam hasn't left his eyes, even after all of the night's successes. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.