Ink and Ice, Erin McRae [primary phonics .txt] 📗

his gloves and moved to the sink to wash fish bits off his hands.

The phone barked again.

"It’s still him,” Ari announced as Aaron was drying his hands.

He grabbed the phone off the shelf and accepted the call. “What’s up?”

“Where are you right now?” Huy asked urgently and without preamble.

Huy Le, Canada’s top men’s figure skater who currently ranked third in the world, had a knack for both friendship and quad flips. He was usually energetic and outgoing, and Aaron had rarely heard him upset. He was definitely upset now. Aaron found it jarring. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a drunk dial.

“The restaurant.” Aaron took a deep breath and tried to calm the sudden pounding of his heart. Something was wrong.

“You’re working?”

“Yes, I work all summer.” Aaron hoped he didn’t sound sharp but was quite sure he did. There were two types of people who skated: Those who could afford it comfortably and those who would always be struggling to afford it. Huy fell into the first category. Aaron did not.

“Take a break.” The tone sounded suspiciously like you had better sit down for this, which did not lessen Aaron’s sense of unease.

He pulled the phone away from his ear.

“I’m stepping out for a minute; let Mom know?” he said to Ari, already on his way out the door.

Aaron stepped out the kitchen’s back door and took a deep breath, letting his lungs fill with the fresh air. The sun was out, and the lake breeze blowing in off the water kept everything cool and somewhat damp. There was a bench by the door in the shade of the massive maple tree still in the process of putting out leaves. Summer came late to the islands and left early. Aaron propped his foot up on the seat to stretch while they talked.

“All right, I’m taking a break. What’s happening?” He tried to keep the worry out of his voice as he continued to run through possible disaster scenarios in his head.

“Go on the internet,” Huy said briskly. “Actually, no. Don’t do that. There’s video.”

That was not remotely clarifying. Or reassuring. Had something happened to the rink? “Huy, what are you talking about? Is everything all right?”

“Luke Koval had an accident. At the ice show in Regina.”

“What happened? Is he okay?” Luke and Aaron weren’t close, but the world of elite competitive skating was like a family. Everyone knew and cared about everyone else.

“Well, he’s not dead. But no, he’s not okay.”

“How not okay?” Aaron asked.

Huy paused. “It happened on a spin. A spiral fracture.”

Aaron made an agonized noise and tried very hard not to imagine what that would look like, much less feel like. The physical pain would be agonizing, and an injury like that was career-ending. The fact was obvious to both of them, but neither said it out loud. Skaters—and, Aaron suspected, most competitive athletes—were superstitious.

“Yeah,” Huy said. “Yeah, it wasn’t good. And obviously he won’t be skating for the rest of the season. Which means—”

“The whole field just opened up,” Aaron breathed.

It didn’t seem like the sort of thing that should be said too loudly. No one wanted anything bad to happen to a fellow skater, in part because you always knew on another day it could be you. But the reality was that the top U.S. men’s skater was suddenly and unexpectedly out of the running or the foreseeable future. In an Olympic year.

Which meant opportunity.

Huy made a noise of agreement.

“I need to get back to Minnesota.”

“My favorite ambitious murder kitten of the sea.” Huy sounded proud. “Yeah, you do.”

“But—” Almost as soon as the idea had occurred to him, Aaron saw the obstacles. Of which there were several. But one was the most pertinent. “Is anyone there right now?”

“If they’re not, they will be soon. Everyone’s going to want Luke’s—well, everything. Funding. Sponsorships. Grand Prix assignments....” his voice trailed off for a moment. Aaron knew what Huy was going to say next, because he’d done the math, too. “His Olympic team spot.”

“That’s a really long shot,” Aaron said to try to contain the wild excitement that was building in his chest. Rushing back to training months early didn’t necessarily make sense. And wasn’t necessarily feasible. The restaurant needed every hand it could get this time of year...and training was expensive. His federation covered some of his costs, but not all of them; he wasn’t ranked highly enough.

“I know,” Huy said. “And I know the situation with your family and your island and your funding is complicated. But you really do need to think about getting back to TCI.”

“Lucky you’re going to the Olympics anyway.”

“Hush, don’t jinx anything,” Huy warned.

Huy was too good a skater and too good a friend for Aaron to resent his medals or his consistency. Still, Aaron was glad they were only in competition with each other for international medals, not national team spots. This upset was a sliver of a chance for him, not a guarantee. Aaron would have to fight tooth and nail for a chance to go to the winter Olympics in Almaty, while a spot on the Canadian team was Huy’s to lose. But as Luke’s accident proved, those losses did happen.

Aaron wanted to run inside and book his flights. Instead he sank down onto the bench.

“I’ll work on it,” he said into the phone. He couldn’t promise more than that. Not to Huy, and sadly, not to himself. Not yet.

“You should,” Huy said. “You’ve always been better than your results.”

After they hung up, Aaron sat there feeling like he’d had the air punched out of him by Huy’s last comment on his skating. There was validation in it, but it also stung. Aaron had a potential—he knew it, the people around him knew it—and he wasn’t meeting it. And no one could figure out why.

He needed to get back inside; Ari couldn’t deal with all that perch by herself. But first he needed to text his coaches.

Katie Nowacki and Brendan Reid had won Olympic gold as a pairs