Fire on Ice: The Olympic Claim

rly

black except for one strip of light across the ice. Air carried the sharp bit

nkle that had followed me for ten months through doctors and silence and headlines that called my

e turn, two, three. The landing jarred through the boot but the ankle held

e into

e far side of the rink in helmet, pads, and suit, with arms pumping and head down. Knox Mercer, short-track s

ov

ankle gave, and balance vanished. He saw

the boards rushed up. The impact knocked the air out of both of us

with his weight pressing me flat and his chest

too close, with breath hot on my skin. Hands brac

at his chest and foun

my face. Something flickered there that could have been recognition or irritation

rough. "What the hell are you do

is my ice from five to seven rese

h his teeth, and tossed them aside. "I'm prepping for nationals. You

on and then stood so the light behi

ed my knees and refused the limp. Distance did not

came around the corner with your head

kate where I want. You're the problem with loud music and ridiculous cloth

l. You've been in trouble half your career for being too aggressive. Yo

ntil I had to tip my head back. Heat rolled off him with size an

that

pt my voice steady. "A

ut under it something else pulled tight with awareness and friction of the kind that

of you-cu

ice and papers crushed in both hands. He looked pale and shaken

e schedule." I kept my eyes

as he reached the gate and gripped it with hands that tremb

sharp. "I've got an hour l

with something like pity. "Nobody's coming. The city inspectors just l

hrough my c

hole roof's shifting. Building's a safety hazard.

the air: safety ha

stone. "The competition is in six weeks, and every other sheet in the city

ot meet my eyes. "Nothing I can do,