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Chapter Text

The night after the night of the Canadian Championships, Nini Salazar-Roberts finds Ricky Bowen in a bar kissing a faceless girl. 

She shouldn’t have been out of her hotel room. After every competition, Nini spends the following night and day studying and watching what they did well, and what they need to improve on. Now, with the Olympics looming over their heads for the foreseeable month, they definitely needed to be on the top of their game. The season off because of Nini’s legs set them back—Lily and Howie have improved immensely during that time.

Nini Salazar-Roberts must be fantastic. She must be flexible. She must be the best damn partner the world has ever seen to make up for the season she fucked up and missed if she wants a fighting chance for this Olympics. Olympic gold has been her dream—their dream—since she was thirteen and he was fifteen and maybe even before that, and she will do everything in her power to see that dream fulfilled, even if it’s the last of her skating career.

So while meticulously taking notes with her notebook and pen—pink, the only one sitting in her travel bag—she’s interrupted by insistent knocking on her door, even though there’s a Do Not Disturb tag on her handle that evidentently doesn’t mean anything. She ignores it, turning back to watch the lift where Ricky spins her around his head, pausing at her entry into the lift. Before she can write anything down, the knocking comes back.

“Come on Nini, open the door! I know you’re in there!” It’s Gina, who sounds like she's either walking on air or EJ slipped her some of the Ricky-EJ proclaimed ‘good stuff’. Gina, who knows about NIni’s careful post-competition routine, is knocking on her door. “Neens! If you don’t open the door right now, I’m getting EJ to knock it down!”

There’s a fit of giggles on the other side of the door, much too maniacal to be Gina, so she knows that the taller girl would make use of her threat. Defeated and frankly, a little annoyed, Nini drops her pen on the table with a clack and makes her way to the door, turning the handle to see a triumphant Gina and rather… out of it EJ.

“Neens!” Gina Porter—who, mind you, does not squeal—does so, pulling her into a hug that constricts her lungs. “We’re going to the Olympics! And to the bar!”

She laughs, gasping a little for breath as Gina squeezes her harder. “I know! I was there when it was announced!” She taps weakly on her arm. “Let me breathe, Gi!”

“Sorry,” Gina giggles. Her dark eyes, usually clear and sharp, are hazy, and her mouth is curled into a grin so much unlike her usual smirk. She is already a little buzzed, probably from EJ’s secret stash of booze he brings for post-competitions even though all of them are of legal drinking age in Canada, and has continued celebrating from the morning. It’s understandable—Ricky did the same thing too. “I’m just so happy! We’re going to the Olympics! Together! At home!”

She smiles softly, steadying her friend as she tips over. EJ is leaning against the wall, most likely not hearing a word going on, and Nini is left with two pair skaters who clearly aren’t in the right mind to be just hanging out in the middle of a hotel in London. Her moms wanted her to stay with them in Ilderton, but Nini declined, wanting a little space to herself. She regrets it now. “We are, Gi. Do you want to come in? I don’t think we should be going to the bar right now.”

“But Nini,” she drags out the double syllables, giggling a bit as she does so, “I want to get you to be happy for one second and just relax. And smile. You don’t smile anymore.”

The grin slides off Nini’s face. She doesn’t hold it against Gina, who is clearly inebriated and not in control of what she’s saying. Still, it stings a little, but Nini holds on a smile. “That’s not true! I smile all the time. I smiled when we qualified for the Olympics! I’m smiling right now!”

Gina shakes her head. “Not real smiles.” She brings her hands to Nini’s cheeks, pulling her lips up into a smile-like shape. “See? Fake smile. You’ve been so sad lately and I want you to be happy. ‘Jay and ‘icky want you to be too.”

“Well, tell Ricky and EJ I am very happy. I just, want to be prepared, you know?” Thinking about her partner, she turns to Gina. “Hey, do you know where Ricky is anyway?”

The other woman’s mouth forms a pout, scrunching her nose. “There was a pretty singles skater down at the hotel bar, and I was about to pick her up until ‘Jay threw up. ‘Jay sucks.” Gina laughs a little, though. “‘icky is good for you, Neens! He’s totally in love with you, and you’re in love with him. You two are just gross. Just fuck it out of your system or start dating, ‘Jay and I have bets in place.” Her hands fly to her mouth. “Oops! I wasn’t supposed to say that!”

“Ricky’s in love with me?” she asks. No, it’s impossible. He sees her as his kid sister, always calling her kiddo or Nina Ballerina or something along the lines of cheesy and teasing and what skating partners call their partner whom they see as a sister. He doesn’t get a flutter in his chest every time they hold hands, or meet each other’s eyes when there’s a joke both of them think of at the exact same time. He doesn’t lay awake at night, remembering her eyes and the crinkle of her mouth when she smiles, or how the world stops when they look at each other. 

Ricky Bowen sees Nini Salazar-Roberts as his kid sister. And it’s fine. It’s always fine.

Gina nods. “Told me so himself.” After an arch of Nini’s brow, she elaborates, albeit clumsily. “Last season after Four Continents and you were upset because you guys placed second behind Lily and Howie, we went to the bar and got hammered with ‘Jay. Told me he didn’t like seeing you sad. I asked him why and he said he is in love with you but I’m not supposed to say.” She shrugs though, throwing her hands up in the air in a dance-like motion. “But I did anyway. Whoo!”

She bites her lip, thinking about all the dances they did together, all the years they’ve spent as partners and best friends, but she never thought he would put actual romantic feelings in there. On ice, they play a role—scorned lovers, two people completely besotted with one another, unrequited love—but none of it is real. Or, it shouldn’t be. Any program in skating is an act, and yes, some pairs do end up married with kids and the whole fucking package, but often, they end platonically because that’s how it works. That’s how it should work.

A good ice dancer, a good partner, would not be selfish and take this news as a grain of salt. A good partner, one that Nini has tried and tried and tried to be since she was seven, would put the partnership, the sport, over her own wants. But Nini is tired of being a good partner all of the time. She wants to be selfish. Just this once.

“Where is Ricky right now?” Her voice is strong, doesn’t waver at all, and it’s the most confident she’s been since her calves swept her career from right under her. She takes it as a good sign when her heart beats only a little faster, pushing blood to her head and brain which totally aren’t freaking out right now.

Gina looks out to the side, eyes hazy and smile distant. “Um,” there’s a groan from EJ, who throws up on the hotel’s carpet, as Nini winces, “the bar! We left him at the bar after we called him down because ‘Jay barfed!”

She bites the inside of her lip, before leading Gina into her room and sitting her on her bed, putting an empty container from the bathroom beside the bed. After that, she lugs EJ into the bathroom of her room and places him beside the toilet. Logically, she should stay and check on him, but Nini’s being selfish today and this will only take a few minutes, and they’ll be fine for that span of time. 

“You guys will be okay?” she asks, just to make herself feel better, and there’s a giggly ‘yup!’ from Gina and retching sounds from EJ, so she counts that as a sign to move forward and jogs out of her hotel room, shutting the door and placing the key in her pocket. She manages to slip in the elevator door before it closes and pressed G for the ground floor, and then she really gets time to think.

In which, she comes to the conclusion that she didn’t really think it through. First off, she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt and baggy dark Roots sweatpants, not really dressed for the “I’m declaring my love for you” speech that happens in rom-coms all the time. Second, she’s taking this information from Gina, who usually is the most trustworthy person in Nini’s life to give such information, but Gina is currently laying in her hotel room absolutely hammered, so that factor may not pan out. Thirdly, how the hell is she going to do this? Rom-coms aren’t exactly real life, and even if they were, they sure as hell aren’t Nini’s life. Should she just be up front? Or ease into it? 

She groans, placing her head in her hands. It was much, much easier in When Harry Met Sally or Dirty Dancing. That, and she’s a complete idiot.

I should turn back now, she thinks as she heads towards the bar after the elevator doors open. This is a bad, bad idea Nini, and you know it. What do you think is going to happen? He’s going to run toward you and kiss you senseless in the middle of a bunch of drunk people? 

But there’s a part of her, the romantic who is a sucker for confessions, the one who loves love and loves happiness and believes that unicorns exist and Zeus really did split the souls of mankind and created soulmates. This side believes in true love, believes that love at first sight is more than being struck by Cupid’s arrow, that it’s a deep and profound connection between two people that can never really go away. 

And it’s that side that leads her through the throng of sweaty, messy people laughing and taking swigs of their drinks as she navigates through the bar. She really hasn’t been to them often, preferring to drink at home or not drink at all, but the social scene is lively as many of the skaters from the Canadian Championships are there, celebrating the competition being over and making new friends. She sees the second place pair by the bartender, and the girl, whom she doesn’t remember the name of, gives her a nod. She smiles back at them. 

Her eyes shift over the scene, looking for him in a sea of people, and just when she’s about to give up and call it quits because come on, this is ridiculous and you’re going to ruin your relationship with him, she spots familiar curls and hears a laugh that she knows anywhere. Her heart, which was acting so well before, speeds up, and she can feel the tell-tale signs of nervousness as she approaches him. 

He doesn’t see her yet, and that’s fine, because she’s going to get his attention soon, but as she gets closer into range, she sees a girl with dark hair beside him, twirling said hair before grabbing him in and smashing her lips to his. 

Nini’s heart sinks sinks sinks as she watches him reciprocate the kiss, grabbing the back of her head and pulling her closer until she’s practically in his lap and it’s absolutely obscene for a public place. She gives him the decent and respectful response and looks away, ignoring the fresh stab of jealousy that twists through her heart like a knife.

She’s so stupid. Of course she’s so stupid. Because why else would Ricky Bowen see her as anything other than his kid sister, whom he’s grown up with and practically knows everything about—that topic, actually is up for debate, but generally everything. She shouldn’t see him as anything more than a skating partner and best friend, because that not only is a disservice to their partnership, but could jeopardize their programs and hurt their routines. 

But that still doesn’t stop the sting from hurting any less. The feelings she got when watching them—the ugly, harsh and unforgiving hold of anger, hurt, and sorrow coursing through her veins and making it impossible to stand on her legs without having her calves scream out in pain made it harder to walk away from them. At the same time, though, it numbed her. Her heart steeled up, stopped pumping the lifeblood that kept her calves painless and movable, and sometimes she thinks she must be so messed up that her emotional pain manifests itself into physical and extremely present aches and gashes and makes her weep all the same. 

Nini Salazar-Roberts must be a good partner. She must always put their partnership over her wants and needs. She must always choose to do the right thing, because without that, she might jeopardize the opportunities they have leading up to Vancouver. Olympic gold is the dream, has been the dream for over a decade now, and she’s not going to be the one to screw it up. She can’t be the one to screw it up, because it will destroy her.

So, she spends the night after the night of the Canadian Championships not studying, not sleeping, and not talking to Ricky, instead taking care of a puking EJ and a happy, but clearly drunk Gina.

And it’s fine.

It takes her a while to pick up the phone, after Gina is tucked in Nini’s bed and EJ is propped in a comfortable position in the arm chair. Nini has situated herself on the floor before dialling Lola’s number through her Blackberry, holding her breath as the phone dials. It’s 2 AM in the morning and totally unfair to expect her grandmother to pick up, but she just has to get this off her chest. She needs to.

“Hello?” Lola’s groggy voice filters through the microphone. “My Nini, what’s wrong? You are not usually calling me at this time in the night.”

She swallows. “Hi Lola,” her voice is wavering, weak, and she can barely hold it together, “I think I almost did something bad.”

“Oh, My Nini,” Lola says, her voice an ever-so comforting presence that’s there but not, making Nini feel just a little bit better, “surely what you almost did couldn’t have been so horrible.”

She shakes her head as if Lola could see her through the phone. “I almost told Ricky I was in love with him,” she admits as a lone tear slides down her cheek, “and the worst part is, I think I am in love with him. No, I know I’m in love with him. And I know he doesn’t love me back in that way.”

Lola is silent for a while, sighing. “Oh, Nini. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, Lola, really,” she tells her, “it was stupid of me to try to tell him in the first place. Thank god the random girl kissed him before I could.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “But I’m fine, you know, I promise you. I just can’t believe I was so stupid to do that.”

“You weren’t being stupid,” Lola says, “My Nini, you were following your heart. And that is what I wish for you—to be happy. Ricky makes you happy, no?”

She thinks of snowball fights and races at the rink. She thinks of choreography sessions and him imitating a ballerina. She thinks of him and her overlooking London, where the city lights shined just for him and her. She knows the answer. She doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yes, he makes me happy. Of course he makes me happy. I’m in love with him. But I can’t tell him, Lola. I just can’t.”

Her grandmother hums, something she always does while thinking. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Embarrassingly enough, she balks out a laugh. “He rejects me and we can never work together again, leaving us to fail miserably at the Olympics and crush our dreams more so than they’ve already been because of my legs.”

“Alright then,” Lola remarks, “if you think it is best, then don’t do it. But My Nini, please do try to do what makes you happy. I know that you will always put skating first—your partnership first—but that puts a toll on your body and mind. One day, I’m scared you won’t be able to handle it.”

“I’ll be fine Lola,” she swears, “I promise.”

There’s a beat of silence between them. “You’re never going to tell him.” It’s not a question.

“No,” she admits, “I don’t think I will. I don’t think it’s a smart move in the long run. Feelings complicate things. We don’t need it right now.”

There’s a sigh from the other side of the phone. “Are you sure you can do this? I know you can, My Nini, but will you be happy with yourself? With him?’

“Happiness is arbitrary,” she states as if she’s trying to convince herself and not her grandmother, “it comes and goes. Some days I’ll be happy, some days I won’t. My happiness will not rely on a single person, Lola, and I promise you that one day, I’ll be completely happy with myself.”

“One day,” Lola sounds tired, “you will have to put yourself first. I want you to put yourself first and make yourself happy, not wait until the moment arises and you are. Please My Nini, I do not ask for much. You don’t smile anymore. You do not laugh unless it’s from sadness, anger, or frustration. You don’t sing anymore or dance around your room. Why are you so troubled?”

I don’t know, she wants to say. I don’t know why I’m so troubled. I don’t know how to make myself happy.

A beat later, unable to say the words on the tip of her tongue, she replies instead, “I’ll try to be happy, Lola, I promise. Now, get some sleep. I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Good night, My Nini. Please sleep well. I will talk to you in the morning.” Her grandmother doesn’t sound convinced, but as if knowing that she will not get any further with Nini on this topic, at least for the night, she steps back. Nini couldn't be more grateful for that.

“Night, Lola. I love you.”

Knowing that she is in love with Ricky Bowen doesn’t change anything. Nini Salazar-Roberts is a good partner. She is professional, cool, and a friend that would not risk her friendship or Olympic gold on a trivial little fact that would eventually fade away. So even if her heart does beat a little faster when Ricky whispers something funny in her ear, or when they hold hands it does make her feel a little dizzy, she squashes that piece of her down into a small little cube locked into a small little box with a key thrown away. 

Ice dancing is all about touch. It’s emotions, it’s spinning a narrative for the audience to fall deep into, but it’s not real. It’s not a perfect snow globe where the ice dancers go ‘round and ‘round, always circling each other, so very in love. And if Nini deludes herself into thinking that the roles they play—the fictional roles they play—are real, then, well, she’s not a good ice dancer after all. Or a good partner at that.

She has her own apartment now in Canton, having moved out of the Diamandises after World Championships last year, and Ricky’s just happens to be a floor above. It’s not entirely coincidental, seeing as their parents were much more comfortable with them closer together, but it’s nice to carpool with him and well, see him outside of practice.

The girl from the bar, Reagan, has become a fixture within Ricky and subsequently Nini’s life, seeing as they started dating shortly after the Championships. Reagan is a singles skater who’s been to the Olympics in 2006, won gold in the single skaters category, and is unfairly gorgeous with unbroken legs and scarless skin. Nini thinks that she’s nice enough—a little fake, if anything, with a smile that always seems too large, dark brown eyes that seem a little too innocent, and a voice that always seems too agreeable. 

But that could also be because Nini passes by Reagan on the way on the gym sometimes, from elevators to quick hellos in the lobby, and there’s a clench of white hot something—which she will not admit it’s jealousy because it’s not thank you very much—and it’s always awkward. The other woman is nice enough, sharp and attentive and always asking how Nini’s doing in the god awful annoying voice of hers, and always nods along and compliments Nini. There really isn’t something to expect from the way Reagan acts to her: Nini is Ricky’s skating partner, maybe best friend (although, Big Red or EJ would surely take the cake over her), and there’s nothing written within the partner-bound code that prompts Reagan to be nice to Nini because, well, Nini isn’t Ricky’s life. She doesn’t dictate what he does, where he goes, who he’s dating, and she shouldn’t, because that would cross far too many lines and Ricky is grown up enough to be making his own decisions and mistakes—not saying Reagan will be a mistake. Ugh.

And there’s really no ground for Nini being mad at Ricky for dating, since he’s been doing it for years now and she’s never voiced objections before, and she knows she’s being absolutely ridiculous, so she bottles it up (like always) and smiles her way through everything. It’s what a good partner who’s in love with their partner who doesn’t love them back does, or what she thinks they do, because she hasn’t heard of this before, and Nini Salazar-Roberts will be the best damn partner there is. Besides, there are more important things to think about, like, oh, the Olympics.

There’s no use crying over spilt milk, which is the energy they’re taking into training for Vancouver for the next month. Turin has gone and passed, and there are no more “what could have beens” and “what ifs”, since there are evidently much more pressing matters that require their full attention and devotion. Jenn has cracked the whip with Zach analyzing each movement, and each time they rehearse their original dance, arguably their weakest program of the three, Nini swears up and down that they could skate the entirety of Farrucas while blindfolded.

It doesn’t matter though. They placed second in their original dance and first in their free dance at the Grand Prix Final behind Lily and Howie. Nini wants to win the Olympics right at home. She has to win the Olympics.

So what if it’s something to prove—to whom she doesn’t know yet, but it’s something she has to do. After the surgery, after basically giving up on a dream that has never seemed closer, she kissed Vancouver 2010 goodbye, but now… 

She laughs to herself quietly, in the dark of her apartment after a particularly gruelling practice. It’s just her, Gina and EJ practicing for the Olympics, Ricky out with Reagan, and she sits alone in the dark with nothing but Taylor Swift playing in the background. Photos of her and Ricky paint the walls, taunting her in her isolation, each smile and laugh frozen on sheets of film that were once blank jeering at her, friendly grins turning into sneers. 

Her snow globe from Ricky sits on her table, and as the dancers skate around each other in the same pattern they always go, she realizes that from some angles, the dancers are situated further apart than she thought previously. From a distance, the figurines look almost inseparable, closer than ever to the casual eye, but as you get closer, you realize that they were never near each other to begin with. 

Let’s learn how to love skating again together, she thinks, watching them spin ‘round and ‘round as she sips some white wine. What a load of bull.

The sad thing is that she thinks she does love skating again. She thinks she loves the scrape of the ice beneath her feet, the movement of air circling around her, and the feeling of being on her two feet and not feeling an ounce of pain. She thinks she loves how she learns how to love her calves again, with the white lines—battle scars—painting a tale of regret, heartbreak, and, maybe, just maybe, redemption . She thinks she loves floating to the beat of the music, how every soft plink of the piano or thrum of a violin fills the rink as if it’s the Roy Thomson Hall and people are there for a field trip, this one being her dance, and it’s easy to get lost in it and forget the real world. 

But he lied. They didn’t do it together. They haven’t done things together in a long, long time.

“What if I can’t get over Ricky?” she asks Lola in the dead of the night. 

There’s a pause. “I believe that you are strong, My Nini. I know that you can get through anything you put your mind to.” A sigh. “But, if you truly believe that you cannot, you either tell him, or find someone else to love, like yourself.”

“I’m trying, Lola.” Her voice is trembling and she doesn’t know why. “I will love myself eventually. I know I will. It just takes time.”

Her grandmother’s voice is gentle, soothing, and patient, always waiting for Nini to finish and takes time to give her good answers. Lola is everything to Nini—even more so than Ricky Bowen. “I just want you to be happy and love yourself. Please, that’s all I ask.”

“And I will,” she promises, “I will. I won’t tell him, Lola, because the Olympics are in less than a month and I don’t want to mess anything up. I don’t need a great romance to make myself complete. I know I don’t.”

Her words ring in the silence, pandemonium within the gentle quietness that often occurs during these calls. They are hollow, broken, and split, splintering crashes in the stillness, and both women know that they are nothing more than empty. In all the work she is doing to try and convince her grandmother, she fails to convince herself.

There’s a day where they fly to Toronto to get press done for the Olympics. Nini is used to press, having done interviews since provincials with Ricky all those years ago in Woodstock, and she’s appeared on television many times for competitions, interviews, and the occasional advertisements. 

Still, there’s something about doing press for the Olympics that really gets her heart pumping, and the array of cameras are almost dizzying as she and Ricky sit down at the table in front of overzealous reporters. Nini, used to dressing herself, was given a stylist beforehand, and is now dressed in soft pinks and white—maybe to capitalize on their free dance? Or the fact that this will be their Olympic debut and they’re the innocent Canadians? Whatever it is, Ricky’s stylist must have done the same, dressing him simply as well.

And sitting close to him, smiling together because this is what they do—they’re projecting an image, the ever perfect Canadians who found salvation in each other after their fall from grace, and they smile because they’re okay. They can’t be a month from Vancouver and not be okay, because that’s when Lily and Howie and the Russians can swoop in and take the gold right under their nose at home. At least, that’s what Nini is telling herself, because the weight on her shoulders only build up more and more and it takes ballerina discipline and her own will to make sure she does not crack like the display glass at the Olympic ice dance exhibit.

The questions are nothing out of the ordinary: “How does it feel to be one of the two teams representing your country in the Olympics?” one reporter asks after Nini manages to find her voice and shush the crowd, taking note of how people just seem to quiet down when she talks, like there’s something she’s about to say that matters. It’s taking all she has to not be cocky about it, to not let it get to her head, because square up little girl, you’re playing in the big leagues now. Don’t screw up now. You can’t screw up now.

Even with that in mind, she can’t help the little smile come to her face, and after waiting for Ricky to say something—she has the habit to speak first, always a little over excitedly, and they had a fight about this days before—she bites. “It feels amazing,” she answers truthfully. “It’s a lot of pressure, because we do want to win here at home,” this draws a laugh from the audience, “but we are so honoured to be representing Canada.”

“Odds have you 5 to 1 against the Russian team. After the Americans, Lily Keegan and Howie Ashman, beat you in the Grand Prix, you are placed as the third most likely team to win the Olympics after the Russians and Americans. How do you feel about that?” another asks, thrusting the camera closer to their face.

Nini bites her lip, unsure on how to answer this question. Lily and Howie—forever thorns in their side not only as competitors, but training partners as well—are always on the top of people’s minds when they think ice dance. To even be close to beating them again after her surgery, especially when the Americans won the Grand Prix Final back in December, feels surreal. There’s something crawling under her skin, something vindictive, viscous, and almost bloodthirsty as she contemplates the question. She wants to win. She wants to be an Olympic champion. She wants to beat them. 

Nini Salazar-Roberts has spent her life trying to be the best. The best ballerina, whose hair was always perfectly glued in a bun and whose spins are always the tightest, never a pointe out of place. The best student, pushing to work her hardest and always stay on top of work, even if skating is killing her, because she needs an education since she can't skate forever. The best partner, who turns a blind eye to her own aching heart and stuttering breath, who would rather hold the weight of their failings, expectations, and tiredness on her own shoulders, even if she cracks and falls into the ice, before she would share it with him. 

But most importantly, Nini Salazar-Roberts has been working towards being one half of the best ice dancing team in the world since she was nine and he was eleven and she gave up her dream of becoming a ballerina, tossing away baby pink pointes and bleeding feet for powder white skates and scarring calves. This isn’t one of those Lifetime stories to success, where people work hard until they don’t, because Nini has never once stopped, not even when her calves threatened to make her collapse where she stood, and that has to mean something to someone. It has to. 

The question makes her head spin, and she can feel her heart pump the lifeblood through her veins as she prepares to answer the question, before Ricky jumps in and saves her from a potentially very mortifying response—because really, you have to be confident yet humble, more than enough yet have room for improvement, and the perfect poster person for your sport, and that’s the only way you’ll make it. 

Her partner, like always, is all of those things. Ricky in private is cocky. He is arrogant to the point of insufferable, where Nini wants to rip her hair out and scream at him because they can’t be presumptuous now, they can’t. He is an amazing skater, one better at following the beat of the music and losing himself to it, but sometimes it’s impossible to pull him out, and once he’s broken, it’s hard for him to stitch himself back together. Nini can’t hold the crazy glue and duct tape and the braces all together, but she has to, because there is no one else willing to do it, who can do it, and it takes all she can to keep the ship from not crashing into the boards into millions of shattered snow globes. He is the perfect Canadian athlete, a boy from a small town that grew up playing the very Canadian sport of hockey. He’s a huge advocate for making sure all children have equal learning opportunities, the perfect son, the perfect boyfriend, and the perfect partner. 

Everything—perfection—comes to him easier than it comes to her. Being the best comes to him the same way breathing in the oxygen that fills his lungs, pumps his heart, will be simpler and more effective than ten of Nini’s deepest ones. Every step he takes—lazy and relaxed because why would he need to be anything else?—is four of her carefully measured ones, and she can’t be the one to throw all caution to the wind, because then there’ll be no one to tether them down when the breeze becomes a storm and blows them all away. 

His answer, like him, comes as easy as air, as if he deliberated the question for many nights, but delivered in a way that shows that he is not overly pressed about this matter. It’s not a front, because Ricky is still one of the worst actors she’s ever met, but it’s a semblance of either false confidence or very, very real arrogance, as he responds, “We’re obviously not too happy about the standings, but I’ve always felt that being the underdog gives you a chance. There’s something about defying all expectations put on you that just feels like you’ve won a million bucks, or, well, the Olympics,” she finds herself laughing along with the reporters in the room, because he’s always been able to make her laugh, “and we’re excited about what’s coming. You aren’t ready.”

It’s a promise, she would realize after the press conference, when she and Ricky are whisked into a car and driven to yet another event. Not one to the press, but to themselves, to her, because they aren’t ready for the Olympics. No matter how many times they perfect their programs, sync their twizzles, or master the goose lift, the performance won’t be the same as having all eyes of the globe on you in the rink at Vancouver. 

It’s a promise in a way that they’ll be ready together. 

They have to be. She doesn’t want to think about what would happen if they aren’t.

Flames flicker and go. Fire can fluctuate with a single breath of air, and if not controlled, will spread and run and grow, and all it leaves in its wake is ash and smoke. The orange-golden flames dance, crackling and sizzles as sparks spit out from the flickers, with threats of destruction in its wake, but also the promise of warmth and comfort. 

The duality of fire is one debated over for centuries. Prometheus himself found that humanity needed the golden tongues of the hearth of Olympus, and stole its soul, as well as his own, to ensure that the people got fire. The flames did not just bring warmth, but an age of development that would lead to humanity scaling into what we see today—busy, destructive, arrogant, and selfish. It lit candles on the mantles for lost soldiers to come home to their beloved. It cooked the food and ensured that the people could eat.

But it also produces fear and pain, with the trail of red embers and gold tongues and white shimmers leaving nothing behind but ash. It leaves burns, some only on the surface of the skin, but others deeper, with the loss of loved ones that are lost to the Underworld, where their fate is decided by the judges three of the God Hades. 

The Olympic Games started as a tribute to the king of the gods Zeus, and have developed into almost a myth—almost—with children and athletes alike wishing that they could be there, for only then you know you’re worth something. A torch is lit in the ruins of the Peloponnese and travels all across the globe chasing Prometheus’ flame, until it ends up in BC Place with all eyes of Mother Earth and her children on it.

Her own are fixated on the torch, which cast the enclosure in a warm glow that chases away the darkness. The structure in the middle of the stadium is organic, with pure white beams leaning across one another like a slip and slide. She can hear the hitch of breath beside her, probably Ricky, who couldn’t stand with Reagan for a reason she really couldn’t care about (but she does) as the flames tip forward.

In almost an instant, the fire spreads quicker than Nini’s heart races, travelling and climbing up the beams as vines would, but these are no vines. They are brilliant—flashing orange and yellow and gold—enfluging the white in glorious warm pillars. There’s the excited screaming of the crowd, but she can’t hear any of it as she feels a hand make its way around hers, and she doesn’t need to turn to know it’s Ricky.

The lines are familiar, hands impossibly smooth despite the callouses. She could be blind, deaf, and mute, and still know him anywhere. 

Despite her better judgement, she squeezes his hand as they watch the light show together. The cauldron is blazing hot orange flames, with the crowd at its peak, but she can’t find herself to care as he strokes her hand with his thumb.

They’re at home.

And so, the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics begin.

That night, after one too many flutes of champagne, she breaks down crying in her apartment. 

They’ve got to win. She’s got to prove it to herself that they can win.

I want you to be happy, Lola’s words ring.

Lola, she thinks, when I win Olympic gold, I’ll be happy then.

Snow falls softly on the balcony of Nini’s apartment at the Olympic village. She stands out, overlooking Vancouver from her spot on the balcony, watching the crowds clambering over one another to go to different events. She can see the lights of Whistler in the background, peaked even brighter and taller than the tallest skyscraper in the city, and the cheers that could be heard even from a distance.

It’s February 14th, 2010, and the third day of the 2010 Vancouver Olympics. The highlights of today include Canada taking home gold in the men’s moguls, which is the first medal they took, as well as the first gold medal won by the Canadians on their own soil. She can still hear the ringing of O Canada all the way from the misty base of Whistler Blackcomb, and the clinks of glasses from her terrace. The entire country is alight, commemorating the first of hopefully many more golds to come. Fingers crossed, she’s going to be one of those golds.

There’s knocking on her door, one insistent and impatient, and Nini puts down the express coffee she got from the cafeteria and locks the balcony. Her life these days are filled with anxious movements and anticipation, with her circle being on their toes now that the Olympics are finally here. All athletes and coaches are dialled to a hundred, on high sensory alert, and just keep going and going and going, because once they stop, someone is going to run them over.

“Ballernina!” Ricky greets as she opens the door, a little flushed—probably from a few drinks—but jubilant nevertheless. He lets himself in, shoes thankfully rid of all snow, and is practically bouncing on his toes. “Do you have any condoms?”

She scrunches her nose in disgust. “Ew, Ricky, just ew. No, I don’t have condoms, and even if I did, I certainly haven’t actively looked for them. Sex isn’t my first priority here, you know.”

“Don’t be a prude kiddo,” he teases, ruffling her hair, which was perfectly styled. She winces, not because of the hair—which bothers her too—but at the jibe. She’s not a prude, despite what people think about tightlaced Nini Salazar-Roberts. “Plus, Reagan is somewhere with the Canadian women’s hockey team—” her heart constricts, stopping the lifeblood through her veins and making her bones feel very, very cold, “—and it’s the short dance for pairs today. I thought you’d want to cheer on Gi and EJ.”

Her eyes run over him—him, the perfect and unfairly unattainable man, with an attitude about him that’s just carefree and relaxed, and a smile that is more blinding than all the lights in Vancouver. He’s dressed in a Team Canada sweater, hands tucked in the pocket of his sweatpants and mouth curled into that stupidly gorgeous half-smile of his, and her heart can’t take it with the stop and switch. It thumps now, against her chest to carve a place just for him, only him, and it makes her ache all the same. He has her, but she’ll never have him. 

She can never have him.

She blinks, shaking herself as Ricky arches an eyebrow, presumably at her silent musings, and she sends him a shaky self-assuring smile. “Yeah, sounds great,” her voice is steady, controlled, all the more perfect-partner Nini Salazar-Roberts. “Give me a second to close all the lights and then we’ll go.” 

He nods, helping himself to her kitchen as he quickly prepares tea. He knows his way around it better than she does—he’s the cook, the one who can make something other than scrambled eggs and doesn’t burn toast. There were times, when it was just the two of them, where he cooked for just them. He made some of her favourite dishes when she was homesick, chicken noodle soup when her periods were giving her hell, and they always laughed together over dinner. It’s nice to have him there, a little piece of home. He always insists on cooking when it’s just them, a way to show her that he cares about her. 

Her partner is a tea person, preferring green tea over coffee despite initial assumptions. He drinks it with a spoonful of honey, because he has a massive sweet tooth, and will only drink Japanese green tea as a result of the Grand Prix Final being hosted in Japan a few years ago. Nini’s not the biggest fan of tea, having grown up on jasmine from her Lola and black from her mother, but Ricky’s just so good at making it that it switches up her usual order of black coffee.

“Hope you made some for me,” she nudges him, checking her hair in the mirror one last time before turning around. She’s always been a little engrossed in ensuring that she appears the best she can, especially now that they are Olympians—medal or no—and with paparazzi around, it’s not such a bad thing. She’s matching him with the Team Canada sweater, but it’s tucked into grey Lulus she had lying around in her suitcase. 

He chuckles, handing her a to-go cup with the lid balanced on it, not quite on and therefore still steaming from the sides. “Always got you, Salazar.” 

The double meaning isn’t there, but it makes her smile nonetheless. They’ve always got each other’s backs, whether it’s on the ice with them dancing in a snow globe together, trips across the globe for competitions, break ups and heartaches, or just the little things, like cooking or making tea. For so long, it’s just been them against the world, working towards the goal of winning Olympic gold, and now that it’s in arm’s length—

Ricky slings an arm around her, cutting out of her train of thoughts. “I can hear you thinking.” His breath is hot on her ear, the faint scent of beer filling the air, and she scrunches her nose. “You don’t need to for another six days.”

“I know,” she sighs, locking the door behind her as she makes a weak attempt to get his arm off her shoulder. “Where were you before this, anyway? It’s only 4, you shouldn’t already be drinking.”

They make their way down the hallway, waving at fellow teammates as they pass by. “Women’s hockey was playing at 12,” he explains as he opens the door for her with a mock bow. She laughs, swatting his arm. “The States against China.”

“Still doesn’t explain the beer,” she jibes as she waves a taxi over. “Pacific Coliseum,” she tells the driver, who nods before starting the car. 

He rolls his eyes. “I was doing a drinking game with Howie for the game. Every time China scores, I drink, and every time the States score, he drinks.”

“And China won?” she asks doubtfully. The States, as much as she loathes to admit it, has a good women’s hockey team. Nothing that can touch the Canadians, but something substantial and respectable. They have about a 9-to-1 chance for gold, or whatever Ricky prattled about the other day. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

His laugh is clear, still a little boyish for a 22 year old man, but it makes her heart thrum and hands ache, because she’s his and he’s not. It’s unfair, really, because Nini Salazar-Roberts has been working for her entire life to be an Olympian, but no one really explained to her what it meant to fall in love with her partner and not be able to have him. The urge to hold him, to put her hand on his heart for a non-ice dance related scenario is almost too much, but she resists. It’s not her place. 

“China lost 12 to 1. Howie, as nice as he is, doesn’t know hockey for shit.”

She scoffs. “Then why do you smell like that?”

“I may have taken some extra shots throughout.” He looks down at her sheepishly, as a child does when caught doing something wrong by their parents. “You should have seen the other guy, though, he’s absolutely wasted.”

“I can imagine,” she drawls, glancing at the passing Vancouver landscape outside, “but what were you doing with Howie anyway? It’s so close to the ice dance competition, shouldn’t he be, I don’t know, devising ways to destroy us? Not fraternizing with the enemy.”

Ricky, for his part, looks absolutely appalled and frankly, a little offended on behalf of their ice dance rival. “We train together in Canton, Neens, and we’re friends. He’s a fun guy, we hang out, we—” he trails off, turning a little red, and she opens her mouth to ask him what he means by that, but he cuts her off, “we’re not enemies, Neens. We just both want to win. It’s understandable.”

It is. She knows that Howie is friendly, sweet and affable with a heart of a golden retriever. She’s not the biggest fan of Lily, the tiny blonde who stares her down with the iciest blue eyes one has ever seen, but her partner is the absolute sweetest. It makes sense that Ricky is friends with him, except for the fact that Jenn pins them against each other every second she gets. The relationship between her and Lily soured because of it, but perhaps Ricky and Howie remain unaffected.

“Yeah,” she concedes, and there’s nothing that really could be said after that, so she spends the rest of the drive staring out the window, admiring Vancouver before the cab comes to a stop.

While Ricky pays the cab driver, despite Nini’s vehement insistence that they split the fare fifty-fifty, the driver turns to them with a smile. He’s aging, about Lola’s age with a gap-tooth smile and greying hair. “You two remind me of my wife and I,” he says with a kind twinkle in his eye. “How long have you been together for?”

“Um,” she sputters, turning to Ricky in a wide-eye panic, “we’re—”

Ricky cuts her off with a charming smile. “We’re not dating sir, just friends.” A punch to her stomach. “She’s like my little sister, we’ve been skating partners for about thirteen years now.” A brick on her lungs. “Thank you though, this is a great compliment, because we do need to convince the world that we’re in love starting Friday.”

I don’t have to pretend that I’m in love with you, she thinks. I do, Ricky. I love you.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” the man apologizes, looking sincerely sorry. Nini doesn’t want any of this, just wanting to be alone and, oh, she doesn’t know, curl up into a ball on her bed back at home, with Ricky’s stupid snow globe spinning ‘round and ‘round beside her. “Wait, you’re the Canadian ice dance team, right? Salazar/Bowen? My granddaughter is a huge fan, she watches all of your performances and wants to be a skater like you, miss, one day. Is it okay if I get an autograph from you two?”

She manages a smile, rummaging through her pockets for a pen and only producing a pink gel pen. The man gives her a sheet of paper. Keep working hard and loving the sport, and you’re going to be amazing! she writes in cursive pink, before signing her name and passing the paper off to Ricky. She doesn’t see what he writes, but she can make out the words amazing partner and nothing more. 

There’s an itch there, a want to know what he wrote, but he smiles and hands the paper to the old man. Later, much much later, she’d get the courage to ask him about what he wrote, but now, it’s a mystery that disappears into the man’s hands.

“Thank you so much,” the man gushes, folding the paper up gently and placing it into his pocket. “Good luck you two! You gotta know that the entire country is behind you!”

She echoes her thanks after Ricky, before heading to the Pacific Coliseum and finding their seats. It’s nice, having people that believe in them other than their families and selves. But at the same time, the struggle against the current, the need to keep swimming and pushing and kicking because if you stop for one moment, one millisecond, you get dragged back into the trenches of the unknown, only gets hundreds of pounds just dumped on her. 

She doesn’t know how much longer she can keep swimming before the tide pulls her back. Just a little longer. Keep going, if only for a little longer.

Skaters start going on the ice for warmups, and she can see Gina and EJ practice a jump. They’re on the ice now with the first Chinese pair—projected with a 6-to-1 chance of winning—and the Russian pair—the favored winners, because they’ve always had an advantage when it comes to figure skating. Gina and EJ, she checks, is favored with a 4-to-1 chance, but she knows better than anyone that odds don’t guarantee anything. She and Ricky had a 5-to-1 chance of making it to Turin 4 years ago, and they still missed it. Things can only be theorized, not guaranteed.

“When are they going again?” she asks Ricky, who has been furrowing his eyebrows while looking down at his phone. Started, he looks up, and she sighs, repeating the question. 

“They’re going up in a few minutes,” he replies, eyes flitting distractedly across the rink. He doesn’t say much after that.

What’s wrong? she wants to ask. What’s on your mind? Why don’t you talk to me anymore?

Like always, though, she bites her tongue, and when Gina and EJ go onto the ice, she stands up and cheers with him beside her. 

“Our first competitors,” the announcer starts, “représentant du Canada—representing Canada—are Gina Porter and EJ Caswell.”

Gina, looking as beautiful as always in a dark sequined dress and curly hair pulled up into an impossibly smooth bun. There’s a smile on her face, one less genuine than she’s seen on her best friend’s face, but colder, icier, determined. EJ is beside her, looking less like the goofy guy who always made bad jokes and snuck in beer after practice, and more like a pastor in a church—serious, strict, but like Gina, determined.

And then the music starts, and their faces snap into smiles as the beat carries on throughout the rink. They start skating, Gina crossing over before sliding under EJ’s arm, and then they’re off, gliding across the ice, a slight scrape of their blades as they start a triple lutz. 

She always liked watching Gina and EJ skate. It’s not like ice dancing or ballet—their moves aren’t about grace and flow and the overall feel of a dance, but all power. When they started their lutz, it was power. When they smiled at the crowd, it was determination. When EJ threw Gina up in the air as she spun, only to catch her perfectly in his arms, it was strength.

If ice dancing is grace, a story, a fable, then pair skating is the major leagues. It’s all raw power and measured movements, not little steps but huge strides, and it’s evident with the end of their performance, when Gina bends halfway over and EJ spins her around and around, not a snow globe but stronger. She’s up on her feet after that, cheering and screaming and waving her arms up in the air because they did it, and deserve it more than anything.

She can feel Ricky’s arm wrap her into a hug, and a kiss press to the nape of her neck, and her heart is just so full right now—because Gina and EJ are some of her favourite people in the world and they might win the Olympics at home. She turns around, squeezing her arms around Ricky and pressing her face into the junction where he neck and shoulder meet, just standing there, because holy shit.

“That was amazing, wasn’t it kiddo?” he says, breath hot on her ear, and she can’t even find the words to say anything back so she just nods wildly. They’re not allowed to see Gina and EJ until after the end of the competition, so they sit together, laughing at each other’s stupid jokes and taking note of how the Russians and Chinese do as well.

She runs down after it’s over, Ricky hot on her heels as she goes to the change rooms after flashing her pass. Gina is there with EJ and Jenn, who all look ecstatic and why wouldn’t they? “You guys!” she exclaims, and it’s only a few seconds before the four of them—Gina, EJ, Ricky, and Nini—get tangled in a group hug with flailing limbs and ever-racing hearts.

“I can’t believe that happened still,” Gina breathes out after they manage to untangle themselves. “That’s our best score of the season, and we’re leading by half a point at the Olympics, I—”

“You deserve it so, so much,” Nini cuts her off, pulling Gina into another hug. “I’m just so proud of you guys.”

EJ, who looked more aware than ever, asks with large eyes and a huge grin, “Want to get drinks to celebrate?”

“Hell yeah,” Ricky replies, before receiving a disapproving shake from Jenn, who quickly changes his answer, “actually, you guys still have the free program tomorrow. Maybe a celebratory small dinner with lots of vegetables, huh?”

Jenn nods with a tight smile, before sweeping out of the room with a phone in hand. Nini opens her mouth to say something, but there’s a quiet knock on the door. 

“Reagan?” Ricky exclaims, eyes wide before strolling over and greeting his girlfriend—ugh—with a kiss. “What are you doing here?’

The other woman smiles, always with that fake smile that only Nini seems to see and no one else. “It’s Valentine’s Day, silly.”

“Oh it is? Sorry, I forgot.” Her heart, pure and clear and shiny and glass, is dropped from his hands, scattering all over the floor of the dressing room, and she doesn’t know where to look but at the shards of what remained. She’s a good actress, hardened and perfected from years of ballet training and ice dance practice, so she thinks that she maintains a poker face well as Reagan’s dark eyes pass her in a dismissive glance. 

Nini Salazar-Roberts has worked to be the best partner for Ricky Bowen. It’s not her place to speak out about his relationship. It’s not. It’s not.

“I was thinking we could go into town and grab a bite at this place I heard about from the ladies’ team? To celebrate?” 

He shakes his head. “I was going to celebrate Gina and EJ with them and Neens today. You could come though, I’m sure they don’t mind.” He searches the room, and she watches EJ jerkily nod, as well as Gina, who smiles back, just as cold as the chill of the ice. His eyes meet hers, and she finds herself nodding slowly, because it’s not like she can say no, she’s hoping that it could be like old times again. 

“But Ricky—” she whines, clutching onto his arm, and Nini almost snorts, before biting her lip, hard, to stop it, “—it’s Valentine’s Day. We’ve been dating for a month now, don’t you think we should do something? Alone? In the Olympic city?”

“Reagan, I—”

“Yeah, it’s fine Rick. Hang out with your girl. Tomorrow,” EJ cuts off, smiling at Regan tightly. 

Ricky looks hesitant. “You sure?” 

“Totally,” EJ replies. “Go, it’s fine.”

“Thanks, guys,” Ricky says, taking Reagan’s hand, who blinks innocently at them as her boyfriend continues, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? And Gi, EJ, if I don’t see you before your free program, good luck. You guys are absolutely fantastic and I’ve seen you kill it every single time. You’ll be great.”

Gina nods, smiling at him, and when Ricky and his girlfriend are out of sight, pulls Nini into a hug. “I’m sorry, men suck.”

“I don’t know what you mean, this was celebrating you and EJ,” Nini says. “I’m upset that he’s not celebrating you guys.”

Her friend shakes her head, dark eyes looking kindly at her. “You’re in love with him.” It’s not a question, but a statement. “You have been since at least the Championships, maybe longer. And he’s just putting you aside like you mean nothing to him.”

“Gina—”

“No, Neens, I know I’m right. And I’m sorry he doesn’t. You deserve love more than anyone else.” She loops her arms through Nini, and EJ follows, rubbing Nini’s hair and messing it from her perfect ponytail in his big brotherly way. “But let’s not get wasted and have fun tonight, okay? We have an Olympics to win tomorrow.”

And she smiles, because she doesn’t need a big romance to be complete. She has her friends, her family, and the Olympics looming over her shoulders, and a stupid guy can’t take that all away from her.

Even if that stupid guy is Ricky.

“How does it get better?”

There’s a stroke of her hair, a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I don’t know. But it will.”

And for the first time, she can’t find it in her heart to agree with Lola.

Gina and EJ end up taking home the silver after the Chinese pull ahead with a stunning, world record setting free dance. 

Nini’s there, holding her friends tight as Ricky steams on the results of the pair skating event, but there’s no denying it: the Chinese were better.

“What are you going to do?” Ricky asks them, as Gina dries up tears and EJ blankly stares at the glimmering silver medal on his lap. Nini glares at him, because now is not the time, but he presses forward, eyes angry but blazingly determined.

And EJ, strong and kind and hardworking EJ, who never was really the most serious of the bunch, with tightlaced Nini, undaunted Gina, and unfazed Ricky, looks up from the aching mnemonic that lays in his lap, and states, “We keep working.”

Then, it’s now, it’s Friday, February 19th, 2010, and Nini’s nerves couldn’t be higher. The ice, for all the times she’s been there before to not only cheer on Team Canada and Gi and EJ, but also to practice for the event leading up to today, seems larger. It’s white, with the Olympic logos printed in it and slowly becoming marked with the blades of those who would all strive for a place on the podium. 

As per tradition, she spent last night pacing back and forth, losing precious sleep. She hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep before a performance ever, and she doesn’t think it’s going to change, even if they get Olympic gold. 

If. So much hangs on the balance, a precarious little thing that keeps tipping and shifting and bending and wobbling, really not on any set path and not strong enough to keep itself afloat. There’s only so much NIni and Ricky can do, but damn, they’re going to do the best they can. They’re at home. They’re going to make Canada proud.

Mint mingles on her tongue from the breath mint she took after throwing up yet again before coming to the rink. She’s sewn into her dress, red to represent the fire of the tango, which is the compulsory dance for this season. The Olympics have gone underway, and she and Ricky are slated to go last.

Ricky is bouncing beside her, wringing his hands and balancing on his toe picks. He’s nervous—it’s understandable—and calm and cool Ricky Bowen does get nervous for large-scale competitions such as the Olympics, but it’s still unnerving to see him just as terrified as she. The eyes of the globe are on them, and there’s not much she can do but watch. 

Lily and Howie rank first in the compulsory dance, all sharp movements and precision, and their score is fine—no, it’s great, higher than Nini and Ricky’s highest score all season—but they’re quickly overtaken by the Russians, who beat them by 2 points. Their dance is larger, covering most of the ice, and Nini’s heart is beating so fast that she doesn’t know if she could calm down.

But then, then it’s their turn, and even before they’re on the ice, there are screams from the crowd. “Ricky! Nini We love you!” she can hear from the crowd, and Ricky takes her hand, squeezing it once, twice, and looks down at her with the largest smile on his face.

“We can do it, Nina Ballerina,” he says, moving her hand up and down in his, emphasizing his point. “We’ve got this, alright? We know we’re good, we know we’re going to kill it.”

She squeezes it once, twice, three times, and beams back, keeping her eyes on him and his on her as they make their way around the rink. The roars of the crowd and the comments from the announcer don’t even register as she looks at him, and him at her, and everything just seems right.

When they get into their starting position, her hand in his, his other on her waist, and the opening beats of the music play dramatically, it starts.

Their dance is sharp lines and precise. Smooth glides, even lines, and the quick moves of a tango are made as their skates scrape across the ice that is marked now, because of the 20 or so partners that have also clawed their way to the top and want it just as bad as they do. She doesn’t even register the stop, just looking at Ricky and getting lost in the dance, until it’s over and the crowd is on their feet, roaring and clapping and cheering because this is home, the ice is home, and it’s where she belongs. 

Ricky pulls her close as they get off the ice, chest heaving as he murmurs, “Good job,” to her, and Jenn gives her a tight hug. She doesn’t even know how she got to the Kiss and Cry, but she’s there, sitting with Ricky, Jenn, and Zach, with Ricky’s arms around her. It doesn’t feel right to not do anything, so she blows a couple of kisses at the camera, smiling and waving because that’s what skaters on the T.V. have done all the time, and holy shit, she’s one of them now.

“That was fun,” Ricky says as she states, “That was good,” and she doesn’t manage to say anything else until the commentator comes in, cheers following closely.

“Beautiful, just beautiful,” Jenn says as they look at their skate on the screen ahead of them. “Look at you. Just beautiful.”

And then the scores come.

42.74. 1.02 points behind the Russians.

She can hear a slow clap from Zach, Ricky’s shoulders slump slightly, and she knows it’s good—a new season’s best, second place right now—but still. They’re in it to win. There are screams from the crowd, jubilant and joyous, as she manages a smile, one that hopefully looks real, and nods at the score. 

They’ll just have to be better tomorrow.

And they do, placing first in the original dance with a season’s best score, pulling ahead to first, and Nini has to lock herself in her room after celebrating, because how can they keep this up.

They have to keep it up.

Nini Salazar-Roberts throws up twice in the changeroom of the Pacific Coliseum away from the rink before she gets ready to warm up. They’re the last group to do so, as they are the third to last group to go, and she fiddles with the hem of her white dress, waiting for the announcer to call her and Ricky on the ice to perform.

Lily and Howie, who are in second place behind them, performed their free dance two performances ago, and got a season’s best. It’s one point higher than their season’s best, which isn’t daunting at all, but it doesn’t mean they could just sit there and be complacent. It would take a better performance than the Canadian Championships, a better performance than the Grand Prix, and a better performance than every other dance they’ve done in their life, which is daunting and exhilarating and make-your-knees-wobble terrifying. But they have to do it. They’re going to do it. 

Ricky takes her hand and they skate on the ice, in circles and circles and around and around. “Are you nervous?” she asks him, voice shaky and small like they’re seven and nine and Claire told them that they were competing in their first provincial competition. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “I believe in us. I always have.”

She’s sure the grin she gives him is brilliant, maybe large enough for the cameras trained on them for the world to see to catch it, and she vaguely remembers to raise her hands up and around when they’re announced. Ricky’s eyes meet hers one last time as they assume position.

Are you ready?

She smiles back. More than anything.

Mahler’s Fifth Symphony plays, the gentle beats carrying across the ice, and they start. When she feels Ricky’s hands on her collarbone, she turns, cusping his hands with hers and she steps back. Every push she gives is met with a pull from him and the delicate thrum of the strings from Malher’s Symphony crescendo. With moves from ballet, every step feels familiar. Ghost hands guide her through the steps, wizened hands from her first ballet teacher, the ballerina at the National Ballet School, Miss Claire, Suzanne, Jenn, and then it’s Ricky—it’s always Ricky, staring back at her with the determination and freedom she’s always loved about him. 

The ache doesn’t start until the first lift. She’s dropped into Ricky’s arms and thrust over his shoulders, and ice creeps up her veins, freezing them at every moment. Ice turns to fire from the Phelegton, as Ricky grasps her calves, maneuvering her into a sitting position in his arms. Liquid fire burns through her calves, dissipating the lifeblood in her veins, and it takes all she has not to cry out in pain.

She grits her teeth into a smile as he spins her around in the air, calming her breath by locking eyes with him. His warm eyes anchor her, and she ignores the spasm of her calves as he sets her down. The dismount is smooth, and every step after the dismount is met with shooting pain, lancing and travelling up her shins and settling under her skin with tiny shards of glass. 

Temptation to fall, to give up like she did two years ago in Arctic Edge is insistent, but she’s too far gone and it’s the Olympics, and they’re close to winning gold, and it’s everything she’s been dreaming about since she gave up gliding across shiny hardwood floors to glide across silvery chilling ice. This moment, this chance—she can’t screw it up now even if the worst pain she’s had since her surgery, maybe before that, is pounding on her legs. She can’t do that to herself. She can’t do that to Ricky.

And it’s in that moment, she realizes, that she does love skating. She loves it not because she has to, even if the love for it started in bleeding feet and fading white figure skates, but because of the determination and want she has for it. It’s all she’s wanted, and the closure is everything and nothing as she completes her step sequence with Ricky. Everything they do is in sync. One step, one slide, one beat of their hearts. And it’s fucking amazing.

Adrenaline pumps through her veins as they complete their twizzles, the ancient fight or flight method erasing the pain, erasing the stabbing throbs in her shins, and she almost cries in relief as she dances with Ricky, one heart, one team, one partner, as she fully immerses herself into a girl in love. This girl does not have pain in her legs. This girl is not fighting to be an Olympic Champion. 

The boy spins the girl around on the ice as imaginary flecks of artificial snow falls on the sheet below them. There is no music but the sound of their beating heart to guide them. One-two, one-two, one-two thrums through the spheric glass globe that encases them in their own world as skates turn into pointes. There is no pain in the girl’s calves as she keeps up with the boy, the brilliant and extraordinary boy who looks at her like she hung all the stars in the light speckled sky. 

This girl is in love with a boy, a boy who she would give up everything for, and maybe, she and Nini may not be so different after all.

She lowers into Ricky’s arms, hearts beating faster than Vivaldi’s Summer from The Four Seasons, as the crowd erupts into roars. His cheek is pressed against hers, and all she can hear over the cheers is his breathing. She can feel herself smiling, and maybe he is too, as he whispers in her ear, “That was so good.” 

She pulls herself up after, and after he gets to his feet, he clasps her hands in hers before pulling her into a hug. Her chin rests on his shoulder, arms around each other, embracing like they’re seven and nine and have won their first competition ever, but it’s not just some little provincial ice dance competition in London, Ontario. It’s the Olympics, and they’ve just skated the best they have in their life, and holy shit, maybe they’ll win now. 

Bowing is something routine, but even that feels different. Before they finish their last round, she turns to him. Her eyes trace over his jaw, his eyes, the little bead of sweat coming down his forehead, and she smiles despite it all, before the eyes she was memorizing meets hers. 

The adrenaline must have worn off by the time they’re due to get off the ice, because the tell-tale pricks of glass shards dancing in her muscles return. Ricky doesn’t seem to notice anything, popping on the boards to meet Zach in a hug, but Jenn, observant as always, notices her pain with a slight frown. Helping her off it, Jenn pulls her into a hug. “Best skate of your life, sweetheart,” her coach whispers, and Nini smiles despite the pain. The crowd is chanting their name—if they don’t win, if they aren’t placed first, she doesn’t doubt that the biased home crowd would boo the judges. 

She doesn’t even know how she makes it to the Kiss and Cry, but Ricky is saying something she doesn’t catch, and then it’s the scores. “The free dance score please,” the announcer blares on the speaker. “They have earned 110.42 points in the free dance, which is a new season’s best.” Ricky jumps up at the mention of the score, roaring along with the jubilant home crowd who may finally earn an ice dance medal for their country. She already knows what place they’re in, but has to hear it from the announcer’s mouth as she shifts to the edge of her seat. “Nini Salazar-Roberts and Ricky Bowen have a total competition score of 221.57 and are currently in first place.”

Cheers. Screams. The roar of the crowd bows into a crashing crescendo as Ricky pulls her from her seat and into his arms, squeezing her tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter. He kisses her cheeks over and over again, and she pulls away. “Ricky, we won the Olympics!” 

He nods, grin widening as he replies, “Yeah kiddo, we did it,” before grabbing her into a hug and rocking side to side. She doesn’t register when Zach and Jenn join in, but the crowd in the Pacific Coliseum seem to be enjoying themselves, especially as Ricky breaks the hug to pump his fists.

They sit in the victor’s booth beside Howie and Lily, as well as the third place team, the Italians. Howie greets Ricky with a fistbump and Nini with a kiss on the cheek, as well as congratulations, while Lily pulls Nini into a hug and kisses Ricky on the cheek. The Russians, arguably the biggest threat to their current standing skates next, and Nini can’t bring herself to watch as they make their way backstage.

“How did they do?” she asks, taking a sip of Powerade to quell her nerves as she leans against the wall to limit the pressure on her calves.

Ricky looks solemn. “222.01,” he says, “we’re in second.”

She stands straight up, ignoring the pain as her heart drops to the pit of her stomach. Even the solid length of the wall isn’t enough to support her calves, which threaten to collapse in at any moment. “Oh. Good for them.”

There’s a second in between before Ricky cackles and swoops her into a big hug. “They scored 207.64, Nina Ballerina,” he exclaims, his rambunctious laughter travelling throughout the arena, “we won! We won the fucking Olympics!”

“We did?” she asks faintly, before a smile spreads into a grin and turns into laughter, and she giggles with Ricky as he rocks her around in his arms. “We did! Oh my god Ricky we did it!”

He lifts her off her feet, spinning her around. “I can’t believe it,” he says, pressing his forehead to hers. “Nini, it finally came true.” 

She smiles. “It did.”

“Nini, Ricky, over here!” she breaks out of her trance as a reporter bounds over, sighing as Ricky pulls away to answer some questions. They have about twenty minutes until the medal ceremony, so that means that it’s more time for the press.

And it’s okay, because she’s with him. Her life is finally complete.

Gold medalists and Olympic Champions, representing Canada, Nini Salazar-Roberts and Ricky Bowen!

It all seems like a blur as she and Ricky skate onto the ice, met with cheers and roars from the crowd. They bow again, turning and bowing and blowing kisses, and it has to be a dream, it has to be, because she’s dreamed up this moment for over thirteen years and it’s finally happening now.  

As they mount on the podium, the Russians give them hugs, as do Howie and Lily, and she finally knows what it feels like to be an Olympic Champion as she steps on the podium for the world to see. She’s bouncing on it, more excited than ever as Ricky squeezes her shoulders, and she still can’t believe it’s real. Her arm hurts from pinching herself, so it has to be.

The medal feels strange around her neck. It’s heavy, shiny, but seems like it’s meant to be there. Her calves, screaming in pain, do nothing to stop the giddiness that builds in her chest as she stares at the round metallic object. It fits well, and after the cheers and accolades, after the ceremony, Ricky pulls her aside.

“Want to see if they’re real gold?” he asks, eyes sparkling as he flits the medal around his hand. 

She grins, tracing over the engravings. “I mean, it’s a gold medalist’s tradition, isn’t it? We sort of have to now.”

“If my teeth don't indent it, I want a refund,” he jokes. “So we’re doing this? Okay, three, two, one—”

Her teeth sink in the side of the metal, not wanting to ruin the design, and when she releases her hold, there are faint teeth marks on the outer rim of the medal. “Wow,” she exclaims, voice airy from awe, “it’s real.”

“Yeah, it is,” he says, adjusting the medal around his neck and slinging his arm around her shoulders. “I keep pinching myself because I don’t know if this is real or not, but it is. Holy shit Neens, we’re Olympic Champions.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” she replies, jibing his ribs with her elbow playfully. “Love ya, Ricky.”

He kisses her forehead. “Love you, Neens.”

Nini Salazar-Roberts is twenty years old with faded white scars on her calves and a heart made of broken glass. She is an ice dancer with delicate feet cramped into white skates, careful glue keeping her from shattering across the rink. She spent her life trying to be good, then better, then the best, drowning in crashing tides that only tempt her to sink. But now, with a heavy gold metal around her neck and Ricky beside her in the heart of Vancouver, maybe all that uphill swimming was worth it.

And for the first time in her life, the world is enough.

Partying, cheering, and celebrations ring out for Team Canada as Nini and Ricky’s win registers for the Canadians. It’s the first medal in ice dance ever won by the Canadians, and although not the first gold for Team Canada, it’s still a special moment.

She spends the night partying and dancing amongst teammates and friends, the buzz of her win offsetting the pain from her calves. Gina laughs with an arm around Nini as they scream the chorus to You Belong With Me, the taller girl pressing a kiss on Nini’s lips, drawing wolf whistles from the crowd. The kiss turns into a rather long one, with Nini pulling away and giggling, “Did you slip in tongue?”

Gina rolls her eyes, pecking Nini on the lips one last time before downing another shot  

Her mood doesn’t even tamper when Ricky leaves with Reagan, with EJ patting him on the back and cheers from the rest of the team. Her heart, as fragile and carefully mended as it is, does slightly crack, but the high from her win and the buzz from the shots she took earlier kept it together as well as it could.

As the sun sets in Vancouver, the celebrations only rise.

“Will you finally rest?” her Lola asks through the silence after the celebrations have ceased for the night. 

She bites her lip, staring out at the Vancouver skyline, drawing circles on her medal. Her legs shift to a more comfortable position to alleviate her calves as she slides them on her bed. “After Worlds,” she replies simply.

“And after that?” her grandmother queries. “You’ve been so tired lately, my Nini. You do not smile as often. You do not laugh. All I want is to see you smile again.”

“Skating makes me smile,” she answers, and it rings true in the air, but still, she can see her grandmother remain unconvinced. “Really, it does. I don’t think I’ve smiled more than I ever did today.”

Through unconvinced with worry simmering in her kind eyes, Lola says nothing. “Lola, I’m taking a break after Worlds, really. My calves—they’ve been hurting again, but I don’t want to worry anyone. I’ll get them looked at and probably see if I need surgery again.”

Lola presses a kiss to her forehead. “Will you be okay?” 

She says nothing to that.

Salazar/Bowen Take Home Gold Following a Stunning World Championships

TURIN, ITALY -- Following their historic win at the Vancouver 2010 Olympics, becoming the youngest ice dance team to ever take home Olympic gold and the only non-European team, Canadian ice dance duo Salazar/Bowen, consisting of Nini Salazar-Roberts, 20, and Ricky Bowen, 22, take home gold at the World Championships in Italy. With a world-record setting score of 224.43 points, setting ISU records in the original dance and overall score, Salazar/Bowen beat American ice dance duo and training partners Keegan/Ashman by 1.40 points.

Salazar/Bowen made history together back at home in Canada for the twenty-first Winter Games, as they are the only ice dance duo in history to win gold in their Olympic debut since the event was introduced in 1976. In addition, Salazar-Roberts is the first person of Asian descent to win both titles of Olympic and World Champion. 

The Canadians placed yet another set of titles under their belt with their programs to Farrucas and Mahler’s Fifth Symphony. Coaches Jenn Reinders and Zach Hough did not respond for a comment.

It’s after their exhibition for Worlds in Italy that she tells Ricky about her decision. He’s on a buzz, having won another gold—this time, World Champions—and she can’t find it in herself to tell him now. He and Reagan broke up two weeks after Vancouver for reasons he won't say, but he’s not exactly upset about it or anything, and yet she still waited to tell him. 

Ricky Bowen, as always, is insufferably unshakeable, while Nini can barely stand on her two feet without support. 

“Hey Ricky,” she starts, voice shaking as she fiddles with the hem of her dress. “Can we talk?”

He looks at her, a big smile on his face. “Yeah, Ballernina? Shoot.”

“Um,” she hesitates, unable to find the right words. His eyes are large, imploring, and searching as he waits, “you know how my calves were hurting before the Olympic season? Back in 2008?”

He nods. “Yeah. I was really worried, Neens.”

“Well,” she clears her throat, “they’ve started hurting again during the Olympics and haven’t stopped. I’m getting surgery in when we get back to Canada”

He blinks. Then blinks again. Nini, unsure about what he’ll say, stares at him, waiting for his answer. “Your calves have been hurting again?” She nods. “Since the Olympics?”

“The free dance,” she clarifies, “but I couldn’t let that get in the way of our win—I couldn’t do that to us, Ricky. You know that.”

His expressions are indecipherable. “No, I understand that. But they’ve been hurting for a month now? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Ricky, I couldn’t just spring it on you. We just won the Olympics, remember? And then I was going to tell you after the Olympics, but then you and Reagan broke up, and then we had to prepare for Worlds. There was really no good time to just tell you.”

He shakes his head. “Nini, you can’t hold it all in. We’re partners, you know? You can’t just keep things from me just because you don’t think I can handle it.”

Frustration is welling up in his voice while anger blooms in her chest, hot and spiky and roaring. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t know that! You never talk to me anymore! Everything is a secret from me; I can’t even ask you about Reagan or what even happened between you two!”

“Some things are private, Nini, you’re not my girlfriend. You’re my partner, okay? Those things are not the same. I’m not obligated to tell you every fucking thing that happens in my life.” She recoils, her heart falling from his hands and onto the ground. She can’t even make a move to pick the shards up—they’re far gone, melting and disappearing and spreading, pieces flown out and gone.  

“Yet I’m supposed to tell you about my calves, huh? How are those things different?” Sorrow attempts to replace anger, warring for domination in her mind, and she holds onto the wall as her calves threaten to collapse in on themselves from the lack of blood flowing through their veins. Hands shake as they grasp onto the smooth plaster, attempting to hold on so she doesn't sink onto the ground.

His eyes are hard now—angry and unrelenting. “We’ve been partners for thirteen years, Nina, and for things that affect the both of us—like your calves—should be things we should both know. Personal matters aren’t necessities.”

I’ve been in love with you for thirteen years and I mean nothing to you. Does that mean anything to you? Did I ever mean anything to you?

“I see,” she sucks in a deep breath. “I just wanted to give you a heads up, you know? I’m so sorry that I’m burdening you with this. See you after I recover.”

Ricky is fire—hot, burning, passion, whose anger and madness flare up in explosive bursts. He’s sudden, not subtle, but glaringly obvious. Every word he says is spoken in the madness of the moment, uncalculated and graceless with no true footing on what he’s saying. Anger for him goes as it comes. White hot and blinding, stabbing and painful in the moment, but forgotten in the matter of seconds.

If Ricky is fire, then Nini is ice. Anger does not come and go as quickly and passionately as it does for him, but builds and grows and elongates and distorts, her own feelings an anamorphosis of his own. She wishes she could let go. She wishes she could let it out. She wishes she wasn’t angry all the time, where all she wants to do is let it all go, let it all out, but she can’t. Nini has held Ricky by the seams with tape and glue and braces as she falls apart. His blinding brilliance shatters her, melts her, and evaporates her need to do something for herself. God, she just wants to do something for herself. 

Ricky is quick to forgive. Nini is not.

Her eyes flicker to Ricky’s once more, his own hazel hot, glaring, and with nothing more to say—yet everything on the tip of her tongue—she turns her heels and leaves. Every step feels like she’s walking on the shattered glass of her broken heart.

She doesn’t look back.

“Did he call?” is the first thing Nini asks after she gets out of surgery on an April morning. Outside, the rain is picking up, splattering on the windows of her hospital room. She can’t feel her legs, the anestesia making her mind fuzzy and groggy. 

Beside her, with Momma D at her side, her mother shakes her head. “No, sorry sweetheart, he didn’t.”

“Oh,” is all she can say, before the painkillers kick back in and steal her to sleep.

“Did he call?” she asks when she wakes up. It’s been two days since her surgery, and her legs are painted with new scars, horrid angry red lines that dance on her calves. She can’t find it in herself to look at them.

Momma C, smiling and strong, replies regretfully, “No, sorry Neens, no call. He could be busy though—he’s in Canton, remember? Jenn is probably working him extra hard since you’re in surgery.”

“Yeah,” she echoes, staring at the rain outside the window of St. Joseph’s hospital.

“He’s not going to call, isn’t he,” she states drily five days after her surgery. It’s not a question, merely a statement. The doctors are preparing to discharge her, having kept her under close monitoring for the past five days. Her calves don’t burn the way they do, but still, she can’t find it in herself to look down at them. She can’t. 

Packing up the flowers and the gifts and the cards from multiple well-wishes, Lola looks up from what she’s doing. “You don’t know that, My Nini. Ricky is a very busy man. Surely he’ll call to get updates on how you’re doing. Your mothers have talked to Lynne and Mike already to discuss your condition.”

“But he’s not,” she says flatly, staring at the starch white sheets that dress her hospital bed. “He won’t.”

Lola sighs. “My Nini, no matter what has happened between you two, you have something special. You have been partners for thirteen years and know each other very well. He’s just busy.”

She thinks of her fight with him in Italy, the daggers they spat at each other and the anger she rarely saw in his eyes. She thinks of the poison that grew between them, the wall that emerged to divide them. She thinks about what he said. He’s not that busy.

“Sure,” she says plainly, looking at the multiple cards and flowers and gifts on the table and not seeing a familiar scrawl on any of it, “he’s just busy.”

He can’t be that busy. She refuses to think that he’s too busy to pick up the phone and say hi.

Her own cell phone taunts her sometimes, sitting on her bedside table and lighting up with different notifications. There’s a lot of well-wishes, ‘how are yous’, and even people asking if she would like to attend parties, but for every contact name and photo that pops up on her screen, there is no Ricardo Boowen. There are times where she toys with the call button, hovering over his contact photo as she rereads the last texts from him.

She opens his contact on her phone, staring at his photo—eyes and mouth bugged open after trying wasabi by itself in Japan—and hovers over the call button. 

It’s so easy to do it. It’s just one press.

Her fingers shake as she fights the urge to call him, to hear his voice, but she decides against it. She throws the phone on her bed and groans, deciding to take a nap instead. It was a bad idea anyway.

Maybe he just is that busy.

She’s in her childhood bedroom by herself once again. She isn’t strictly confined to bed rest, but there is an itch of restlessness that resides deep in her core. Momma D and Momma C dote over her tirelessly, bringing her food and drinks, and she can’t help but feel guilty. The food is nice, however. Back in Canton, Nini couldn’t do more than make scrambled eggs and burn toast.

It’s been a little over a month since her surgery and her legs are functioning well, thank you very much. She’s scheduled to go back to Canton sometime in July, probably after Canada Day, so ensure that her legs heal properly, but besides that, Nini’s been pretty productive.

She hasn’t seen him in over a month. She hasn’t heard from him since that day in Italy.

From peeps and whispers from her mothers, she knows that he’s doing well. At least he’s alive and functioning, which is all she got from the quiet chatter of her parents, but it would have been nice if he called or something. Ricky forgives as easily as he breathes, and this shouldn’t have been any different. He can’t be that upset, can’t he?

Except today is May 17th, 2010, and she would hope to see him here. It’s her birthday—her 21st, to be exact—and she hopes that even if he’s horribly pissed at her, he’d still show up. She’s having a small party with her moms and the Bowens, and she knows that her parents extended the invitation to Ricky, but she doesn’t hold her breath as time passes by. He hasn’t talked to her in two months. 

Every birthday she’s had since she turned eight years old was the same: Ricky would knock on her door at 9 AM with a big birthday sign—homemade in his very Ricky Bowen way—and flowers. When they were younger, it was just a bouquet of flowers that Ricky probably picked out of the neighbours’ gardens, but as they grew up, it was always a bouquet of pink peonies. She’d spend the way with him and her family, bouncing around Ilderton, and in Canton, they would go to Heritage Park and overlook the city. She’d get a chocolate cake with strawberries on top, her favourite, and spend the rest of the night playing Clue and Pictionary with friends and family.

She doubts it would happen this year. But still, she holds out hope.

It’s too late, she realizes, as the day dies down. It’s almost time for dinner and after calling Gina and EJ, who send her the best and shower her with sorries that they couldn’t make it, she lets go. It’s fine. Maybe Turin is the last time Ricky will ever look at her the same. Maybe Turin is the last time they can skate together. Maybe Turin is the last time she’ll ever see Ricky again.

Mike and Lynne come bearing gifts and bottles of wine with no Ricky in sight. Dinnertime is polite chatter, mostly the parents taking up conversation as they sip white win. Nini tries to not play with her food; it’s ungrateful and rude, especially when the Bowens are here to celebrate her birthday, but she can’t help but drift her eyes towards the empty chair across from her. 

“Neens, we’re so sorry Ricky isn’t here. He’s been so busy lately, but we know he wanted to come,” Mike tells her, dark eyes crinkling as he gives her a soft smile. 

Sure, she wants to say. Sure he did. But instead, she nods, forcing a smile. “No, I get it. Jenn must be working him pretty hard, right?”

“Honey, he just wants to be his best when you go back, that’s all,” Lynne says, taking Nini’s hand. “He hates missing your birthday, especially one as big as your twenty-first. He sent you this though.”

It’s a hairclip, small and red and gleaming. She thinks it’s a red rose when she first looks at it, but looking closer, it’s a peony dripping crimson. She gives them a small smile. “I’ll tell him I say thanks. Thanks for giving this to me, Mike and Lynne. And for being here. I don’t think I said it yet.”

“Oh Neens,” Lynne kisses the crown of her head, “you don’t need to thank us for being here. You’re practically our daughter. Of course we’ll be here for you.” Adding softly while looking at the pin, Lynne drops her voice into a hush. “He got the pin on the last day before leaving Italy, you know. He wanted to stop by a jewelry store before leaving and returned with this.”

Her smile wavers a little as she can feel her eyes water. She opens her mouth to say something, but a swift knock on the door cuts her off. She gives a quick look to her parents as she races to the door, hope soaring in her chest as she opens the door. Her heart lurches.

“Hey Nini, I just wanted to say happy birthday? I heard from Ricky that today was your twenty-first. That’s pretty cool.” Big Red stands in the doorway, smiling awkwardly as he can see the hope fade from Nini’s eyes. It’s not his fault, she just thought that maybe Ricky would come after all. “Are you okay?” The redhead adds on awkwardly.

She waves it off, schooling the disappointment from her face. “I’m fine, Red. Thanks for coming, I really appreciate it.”

Stupid, stupid girl, she thinks, when will you ever learn?

“Um, also Ricky told me to give you this? Just a little something.” She tries to hide her surprise as Red hands her an envelope and can barely contain a gasp as she opens it. It’s a handmade Ricky Bowen original, with the awkward stars and smiley faces drawn on the cover. One of the smiley faces has “Happy 21st Neens!” written through a speech bubble, and when she opens it, she almost sobs.

Dear Ballernina, it reads in his ever familiar scrawl. Happy 21st birthday! Wow, you’re growing up pretty quickly, I still remember the time you turned eight. You would not stop dancing and forced me to dance with you, and we established that I could not be a ballerina pretty quickly. Anyways, I’m sorry that I’m not here right now, but I think I have one more thing for you. Look up.

Her eyes flicker up from the card as she reads the last words and her mouth drops as she sees him standing in the doorway, a bouquet of pink peonies in his hand and a sheepish smile on his face. She can hear gasps behind her from Lynne, but she stares at him, slack jawed, unable to look away. 

He looks good. There are no black circles under his eyes, and he’s dressed better than he usually is, wearing Levis and a Leafs t-shirt with a jacket over it. He looks better than he did in Italy, when she said all those horrible things to each other. 

“Ricky?” her voice comes out as a whisper, unable to believe it. 

He cracks a little side grin. “Hey kiddo.”

She runs into his arms, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face into his neck. He smells the same, like sandalwood and sea salt, and she can feel tears well up in her eyes as they press into the sleeve of his t-shirt. This has to be a dream. She hasn’t seen him in two months. “You’re here?” she mumbles in his shoulder, not wanting to look up because then he’ll see her crying, and she doesn’t want him to know that he made her cry or worry for the past two months.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he responds from her neck. She’s on her tiptoes, locked in his arms, and she doesn’t want to let go because then he might just disappear, and she won’t know what to do with herself when he does. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t here before.”

“I missed you,” she breathes out, “I thought you hated me.”

He laughs, not pulling away. “I could never hate you.”

A smile builds onto her lips. “I could never hate you as well.”

Ricky forgives as easily as breathing and perfection come to him. He doesn’t hold grudges, he rarely loses his temper, and she loves that about him. She loves the way he smiles, the way he just loves, and she loves the way he can forgive and forget at the shift of the tide. They do need to talk it out, they really do, but right now, all she wants to do is get lost in his arms and enjoy the moment while it lasts.

After all, for how long it takes Nini to forgive, she never forgets.

Olympic Silver Medalists Keegan/Ashman Take Home First Gold at Four Continents; Salazar/Bowen Withdraw

Following a stunning performance at the Grand Prix Final in December, American ice dance duo Keegan/Ashman kept up their stunning season by taking home gold at the 2011 Four Continents Championships. After placing second to reigning champs Salazar/Bowen, consisting of Olympic Champions Nini Salazar-Roberts and Ricky Bowen, they went ahead to win the free dance after the former dropped out due to unspecified reasons. 

This is Keegan/Ashman’s first gold in a major international event besides the Grand Prix Finals, which they’ve defended since 2009.

Americans Take Home First Gold at World Championships

TOKYO, JAPAN -- Not to outdo their performance at the Four Continents Championships in Taiwan, American ice dance duo Lily Keegan, 23, and Howie Ashman, 23, went on to take the gold medal at the 2011 World Championships. After placing second to former World and Olympic Champions Salazar/Bowen in the short dance, who have been out for the majority of the season due to Salazar-Robert’s injuries, they set a season’s best in the free dance, beating the Canadians and fellow training partners by 3.48 points. 

“Their improvement since the Winter Olympics is absolutely unheard of,” Tanith Litchemen, American ice dance silver medalist at the 2006 Turin Olympics, said in an interview with NBC. “The massive leap they took from being second best in the world to the first is absolutely phenomenal. [Keegan/Ashman] have sharpened up their technical game, and the results are showing.”

When asked about the downfall of Salazar/Bowen, Litchemen said, “Well, there’s really no good indicator to say if it’s really a downfall, seeing as they’ve been out of most of the season for Nini’s [Salazar-Roberts] injuries. It could just be a bad season. They didn’t win all of those international titles just through sheer luck.”

The 2011 World Championships concluded the 2010-2011 season.

“Do you really think it’s just a bad season?” Nini asks Ricky after a particularly gruelling session. Jenn has been working them extremely hard after Nini came back from surgery, and she’s been particularly displeased after they dropped out at Four Continents because of Nini’s calves. 

It’s not like she can control her pain. It’s not like she can stop the glass flowing through her lifeblood and cutting her at the knees. God, she wishes she could, she wishes she could take all of her pain away, instead of always leaning for support. She wishes that the two surgeries she’s already done worked, so she doesn’t have to always be the one holding her and Ricky back. She wishes, sometimes, in her room in the dark, that Ricky would realize that she’s holding him back, that she’s the anchor that prevents him from moving forward when all he wants to do is swim.

No matter what she does, how many surgeries they do, the pain just doesn’t fade.  

He shrugs. “It could be. I think so, seeing as how hard it’s been for the both of us.” She bites her lip. “Neens, don’t be worried. A bad season is a bad season. Your health and your well-being will always come first.”

She takes a deep breath, running her eyes along the white scars that paint her calves. They’re not ugly per say, having been surgically done and are certainly not butchered by any means, but they’re not aesthetically pleasing to the eye. Eventually, they’ll fade, but as she studies them, the way they seem to etch their way onto her skin and never wash away, she doubts it.

“Should I get another surgery?” her voice is tiny, small, like she’s nine years old again and she’s trying her hardest to be the best ballerina at the school. 

He looks up at her. “Do you want another surgery?”

“No,” she admits, eyes lingering on the scars that have not yet turned white, that are still angry and red against her tanned skin. “They don’t seem to work. The pain just doesn’t go away, not matter what I do.”

He takes her hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of it in the stupid comforting way that always makes her relax. “Then don’t,” he says, “don’t do it. Do physio instead. Just do what works best for you.”

“Yeah,” she sucks in a breath, memorizing the calluses on his hands as she laces her fingers with his, “I think I’ll do that.”

Salazar/Bowen Claim Second World Title

After a frankly disappointing 2010-2011 season, Olympic and World Champions Salazar/Bowen rallied to defeat Americans and fellow training partners Keegan/Ashman at the 2012 World Championships in France. This marks their second victory over the Americans since the Four Continents Competition earlier this year, which was the first time they’ve beaten the Americans since the 2010 World Championships. 

Salazar/Bowen stunned in their short dance to a medley of Hip Hip Chin, Temptation, and Mujer Latina, where they set the ISU world record for the short dance and placed first in. They went on to place first in the free dance as well, solidifying their win against Keegan/Ashman.

Ouch! Canadians Lose World Championships to Americans in Hometown

LONDON, ONTARIO -- After losing once more to the Americans at the 2013 Four Continents Championships, the Canadians go on to take the silver medal at the World Championships in their hometown of London, Ontario. Keegan/Ashman, for the second time in their career, have spent the entire season undefeated, while Salazar/Bowen seem to lose their footing on their world status. 

With the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi looming ahead for the following seasons, bets for who will take the title of Olympic Champion have risen in favour for the Americans. While the title of World Champions have shifted and forth between the Canadians and Americans, with the Americans’ solid streak and record-setting programs, it’s unlikely the Canadians could rally enough to defend their title.

There’s a day where Nini just wants to lie down and quit. Jenn has spent a lot of time perfecting Lily and Howie’s programs, so much so that she’s cut into Nini and Ricky’s own practice time to work with the Americans. The filming crew sent by Lifetime to film a short 7 episode docu-series about Nini and Ricky’s road to Sochi just wrapped up as well, and everything just feels like too much.

She just wants to sit down and breathe. Sochi is in a month, the Canadian Championships in two weeks, and there really is no time to rest. It’s just pushing and pushing and pushing, every movement forward is met with a wall, one that Nini doesn’t think she has the strength to push against anymore. She’s just so tired.

“I just don’t think I can do this anymore,” she confesses to Ricky in her apartment while studying their short dance. “I mean… it’s been a long time running. Our skating career, that is. It has to come to an end one day.”

He’s quiet, thoughtful as he sips his green tea. There’s a bowl of Lindt in front of them—hazelnut, her favourite—and she reaches out to get one while trying to gage his reaction. “I agree,” he replies simply.

“Really?” her eyes widen, not expecting that answer. Ricky loves skating the way he loves hockey. He loves dancing as much as he does a good beer on a hot summer day. He’s a good Canadian small town boy, a poster boy for every Canadian child wanting to go to the Olympics. He’s not the one to just quit.  

Maybe she is though. Nini Salazar-Roberts has spent her entire life building herself piece by piece, each glass shard carefully sculpted into someone who is worthy of respect, one who won 1 Olympic, 6 Worlds, and spent 17 years with her best friend and partner. There has to be a moment where they just stop. But she doesn’t want to make him stop unless he wants to.

“Don’t say this because you want to please me,” she adds, fidgeting with the Lindt wrapper. “I’m not one of your girlfriends; I don’t need to hear what I want to hear, but what you want to say.” She takes his hand. “We’re partners.”

He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb soothingly. “I know, Nini, I know.” She watches him as he sighs, running a free hand through his messy hair. “It has been a good run, right? We’ve done some pretty cool stuff together.”

“We won an Olympic together, two World Championships, multiple Canadian Championships, and got to travel the world since we were eleven,” she smiles, thinking of the antics they’ve gone through since travelling for skating. “One more to go.” The smile slips off her face. “Do you think we’ll do it again? Do you think we can do it again?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Jenn has spent a lot of time with Howie and Lily lately. They’ve improved a lot too, and let’s be honest, they’ve been kicking our ass since 2011. But,” he looks in her eyes, “I believe in you—in us—even when no one else will. And I think that we can, Ballernina, I truly do. I think we can do it.”

“And after that?” she quirks a wry half-smile.

He shrugs, breaking their gaze and staring up at the ceiling. “Come what may.”

“She’s marching with the Americans,” he informs her, a grimace on his face. 

She bites her lip. “New golden children now, right? We expected it.”

“Yeah,” he says, “but she’s been spending more time training them than she has us.”

She adjusts her Team Canada hat, checking her watch. Only an hour before the Opening Ceremony. “You don’t really think—”

“—that she’s favouring Howie and Lily? It’s an obvious conflict of interest, we’re projecting for first and second. It’s just frustrating. She shouldn’t be showing favoritism. Nini, we’ve been coaching ourselves for the past few months. You have to know that's not okay.”

Her eyes shift to the Olympic Village below. Canada House didn’t look different from the rest, but the lights speckling the skyline below cause her heart to ache. “One more time,” she reminds him. “Let’s try to have fun, you know? Last Olympics.”

He breathes out. “Yes,” hazel eyes flicker to her, “one more time.”

“My Nini, please make sure you enjoy yourself. You have just been so tired lately.”

“Don’t worry Lola,” she says, “it will be over soon.”

Her grandmother stands up abruptly, dark eyes widening. “My Nini, what do you mean?”

“We’re done after this,” the words fly out of her mouth. She sounds more bitter than she should. “No more ice dancing competitively. It’s over.”

“Is this really what you want?” her Lola asks.

Nini fiddles with her fingers. “Yes, I think it is.”

“My Nini,” her Lola says, taking her hands with her own wizened ones, “You can do whatever you want. It’s your life. All I ask of you” Nini looks up into her grandmother’s eyes, lined with age but just as kind over time, “is to try to make sure you are happy.”

She nods. There’s nothing more that she can do.

Four minutes.

Liquid gold tumbes from her hands, spilling and spilling and spilling over the ice. 

Four minutes.

Silver chains wrap around her scarred legs, binding her in her place. They force her to watch.

Four minutes. 

A smile is forced on her lips as she sees the Americans win their first Olympic gold, bathed in light and pure yellow as Howie spins Lily around in his arms, looking happier than all the times they’ve ever won World Championships, Grand Prixs, and Four Continents. 

Four minutes.

It took that long for their end of season, no, end of career sendoff to be shattered. Gone. Erased. For a foolish four minutes after their routine, she thought that she and Ricky did it. Two gold medals to end their seventeen year long career, erased with silver ink blemishing the page.

There’s tension beside her, a long line of just anger—but what is there to be angry about? They lost. They’re not good enough for good. It’s obvious now, really, why Jenn chose to dedicate all of her time to the Americans. It’s there, painted in gold and shining, clear as day. 

Sharp breaths turn from the side of her, and she takes his hand tightly, gripping it harder than she ever has. She can see the cameras turn to them—to the losers—and for a second, she toys with the idea to fume, to be angry, to be a sore loser. But she’s nothing but a professional, and anger does not come blinding hot to her. No, it drips slowly, sparingly, small droplets running off cool ice, and she must keep her own feelings under wraps. Now is not the time to get angry.

Anger is for the villains in the fairytales that always lose to the heroes, the ones written badly about and never redeemed. History is written by the victors, and while she knows their name will still be noted down, it won’t look good on either of them to throw a fit.

“Come on,” she says quietly, pulling his hand towards where they need to go for the medal ceremony. She can feel the heat radiating off him, just waiting to burst. Ricky Bowen does not simmer, he boils. “We need to go.” Almost half-heartedly, she adds, “They earned it.”

He stills, but after she pulls a little more, he relents. It’s not the first time they’ve come second to them. They’re used to it, playing up the friendly competition through being training partners, being pitted up against each other since Vancouver four years ago. It’s nothing unordinary, but still, it feels different.

Silver hangs heavy from her neck, threatening to drag her down. She and Ricky fake smiles, giving Howie and Lily handshakes and smiles, small congratulations, and they wave at the camera. She knows what a silver medal feels like. She’s gotten one earlier this week for the team event, where Canada got silver, but this is different.

Four years of rebuilding, reworking, rebranding all melted and ran down the drain within four minutes. She doesn’t know if she should laugh or cry.

Defending Olympic Champions lose their place to American training partners. That will make the headlines for sure.

The Star-Spangled Banner blasts in the arena. Nini never wants to hear it again.

Interviews are booked. Media exposure and coverage of the Olympics is expected for the rest of their time in Sochi. Nini just wants to take a bath and drown in it.

She and Ricky just finished doing press following the medal ceremony, and she’s locked herself in her apartment in Canada House since. Her costume is splayed on the floor, Ricky’s Team Canada sweatshirt she stole a few years ago hanging on her, and she sits in the shower, turns it on, and cries.

Droplets from the overhead shower mix with the salt of her tears, running down her face and soaking her. She wraps her arms around her knees, rocking back and forth on the tiles of the shower. Pitter patter. Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

Their free dance plays in her mind, each step executed to perfection, each movement done perfectly. She tries to map what went wrong, what happened, how they lost points, but her brain refuses to budge. Did they even lose points? Or did they just not get the ones they gained. A drop of water goes into her eye, and she wipes it, seeing the perfect performance that didn’t win gold.

Already, there are whispers about under the table deals, points not being given where they should, and the Russian-American deal. The Americans get first in ice dance and the Russians win the team event. Those both happened.

But she refuses to dwell on the rumours. She doesn’t want to think about where she’ll go or what she would do if they’re true.

She used to think that her calves were the worst thing to happen to her, that the permanent damage would forever offset her and Ricky’s career until they couldn’t dance anymore. Before that, she thought not going to Turin was the biggest disappointment in her skating career. The desperation that she drowned in after those two moments were what she thought was the lowest in her career, but now…

If she didn’t stop after 2010 for surgery, would something be different? Vancouver was the best moment of her life, still is today, but even with everything they’ve gone through with Sochi, she thought that maybe… maybe they would win again.

A sharp knock cuts her out of her thoughts. Slowly, she drags herself out of the shower and opens the door.

“Ricky?” she says, voice hoarse from all the crying. He takes her in: her dripping hair, running mascara, and small figure being dwarfed in sopping wet sweatpants and his sweater. Slowly, stepping in the puddle that’s already started to form around her, he takes her into his arms, burying his face in her neck.

The silence doesn’t speak, doesn’t scream, doesn’t cry as she’s wrapped into his arms. She sobs into his shoulder, letting the last of her tears out, ugly hiccups filling the dark room as his grip on her waist tightens. He doesn’t say much, stroking her hair with his large hand, and they just stand there.

He pulls his head back, moving a wet strand plastered on her face to behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on her forehead. Her eyes flicker to his lips, but she moves them back up, knowing that it’s not the time for it. The temptation is there, but she doesn’t fall for it. She can’t fall for it.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, eyes focused on hers. 

She smiles ruefully. “No.”

“Me neither.”

“I don't think you’re going out today, aren’t you?” Gina already tried dragging her to one of the many Canada House parties, but she didn’t budge this time. After a while, her friend gave up. “Gina wanted to, but I just didn’t have the energy to.”

He laughs. “EJ tried getting me out too. He knows what it feels like to get silver, they’ve won silver for the past two Olympics, but still, I just don’t want to.”

“Jenn is probably out with Lily and Howie, calling them her perfect babies like she did with us four years ago,” Nini lets herself be bitter for a moment. “Sorry, I just killed the mood, didn’t I? Ugh, I’m such a buzzkill.”

“No, no it’s fine,” he chuckles, and she savours it for a second, his beautiful laugh on perhaps the worst day of her life. “She probably is.” His voice drops an octave. “Did you hear about the rumours? Neens, they could have—”

“—I don’t want to hear it,” she cuts him off. “I don’t think they’ll change anything, and we’ll both be driving ourselves insane. It’s not worth it.”

His face falls. “They did it for Pelletier and Salé in 2002,” he notes, but she shakes her head. 

“They won’t do it this time.”

“So much for our last performance competitively, huh?” he tries to bring the mood up. “Two silver medals and a points scandal, huh? Our Olympic legacy.”

“Yeah,” she forces a laugh, “at least they’ll have something to remember us by.”

The silence falls upon them again, comfortably this time. “I should go,” Ricky says, “press tomorrow. We need to look like we didn’t cry all night.”

She nods, watching him turn his back. “Wait!” he turns around sharply. “Do you, uh, want to stay? For tonight?”

“Nini, there’s only one bed,” he notes, eyes sparkling, “and it’s a twin.”

She takes a deep breath. “It’s fine,” her heart hammers, “just like all those late night study sessions, right?”

“Sure,” he says as he follows her to the bedroom. She quickly grabs a dry pair of sweats and puts them on in the bathroom, tossing him some sweatpants. She crawls into bed, staying on the left as she turns to face the wall. 

His breath is hot on her shoulder as an arm comes to wrap around her waist, and soon enough, they’re fast asleep.

After the Olympics, after it all, when Nini is sitting in her new place in London overlooking the city, Lola would come to her. “Are you happy?” she asks Nini quietly as the girl watches the World Championships take place. Lily and Howie just won their third gold. 

“I think I will be,” Nini replies, shutting off the television and making her way to the window. “I think I will.”

“Good,” Lola says, and although Nini can’t see her grandmother, her dark eyes glitter with tears. “That’s all I wish for you.”

Life is good, relaxed even. Nini finishes the degree she was gradually getting over the years at Western University for psychology in May, with Ricky, her moms, and Lola all by her side. She and Ricky have been keeping in touch, still seeing each other every day to train for Stars on Ice. Her worst fears about only seeing each other when skating, when they were in an orbit faded, and she finds herself smiling more and more everyday.

She trains and teaches younger kids how to skate at Ilderton Rink with him on Sundays, Taylor Swift and Hall and Oates blaring in the speakers as she sees the next generation learn to love the sport she’s dedicated over seventeen years to.

Laughter comes quicker to her as she learns to let go. Howie and Lily have retired as well, and Nini finds herself talking to the pair more and more. She and Ricky don’t travel to Canton though—that’s something she refuses to do. 

The last few years felt like she was pushing against invisible forces hellbent on keeping her back and knocking her down. The wind was ferocious, unrelenting in trying to make her fall and get pulled back with no chance for relief. Every breath felt like a gasp for air, a necessity that she was deprived of because there was no choice but to keep going, to keep moving, to keep being perfect.

The world kept spinning, but Nini was stuck in stasis.

Now, every moment feels like a step forward. There is no resistance anymore, just open air that she can jump and twirl in, casually or formally or however the hell she wants it. She meets Gina for coffee every Tuesday to catch up, and it’s nice. She misses normalcy.

There are some times she passes through the foyer of her house and sees the dancers in her snow globe. Dust does not collect on it, as Nini keeps a conscious effort to make it look as good as the first time it showed up on her nightstand in the Diamandises from all those years ago. The ice dancers are no longer spinning, stuck in stasis, but she doesn’t feel like she needs to make them move anymore. She’s happy the way she is now.

That is, until she gets the phone call.

“I remember all those times during Thanksgiving when I was little, she would show me pictures of her growing up in the Philippines. She would point out the places she would love to visit—there was this specific spot in Manila, a little café in the corner that she would go to as a kid and order ube ice cream in a cup, and she would just have purple cream all over her face in the photo, but smiling wider than anything I knew,” there is a chuckle in the audience.

“She never got to see that spot again after she immigrated to Canada,” her smile drops, “but she would always tell me, ‘My Nini, one day I will take you there and you will finally try real ube ice cream’, and I would laugh because yeah, one day after my life finally calms down. I actually made a plan for June to surprise her with a trip back to Manila and have her show me all the places she had photos of and showed me every Thanksgiving.” A sob builds up in her throat, but Nini takes a sip of water to try and calm it down. “I guess I can’t do it with her anymore.”

“Lola was always the first person I would talk to when I just needed someone to listen. She was always there for me, even when I was being the absolute worst during my teenage years, and still, even during the stupidest things I’ve done, she listened.” Tears run down her cheeks as Nini dabs them with a tissue. “And she would always tell me the same thing. ‘All I ask of you is to try to make sure you are happy.’” Her eyes meet Ricky’s from across the crowd. He mouths, you got this. Her hands shake as she remembers the lengthy conversations with her grandmother, the ones that can’t happen again no matter how hard she wishes for it. “I would always say something dumb about one day, after the Olympics or Worlds or just any bad excuse I could think of, and that’s when I’ll be happy. The sad thing is that I think I was happy.”

She takes a shuddering breath. “The day before Lola died, I was visiting home and it was just her there.”

“Lola, I missed you! How are you?”

“My Nini, I am good, but I am absolutely wonderful now that you are here. I missed you too.”

“I haven’t seen her in a while, despite all the promises I made after I retired that I would visit.”

“I’m so sorry that I haven’t come around as often,” Nini says, making Lola some jasmine tea and handing it to her grandmother. “I’ve been meaning to, but things always come up. I must be the worst granddaughter ever.”

“No,” Lola says, taking Nini’s hand in her own, “you are not. You are the best star to ever shine in my life.”

“She looked tired, but I didn’t say anything. I thought that she was just tired, and didn’t get enough sleep from the past night.”

“You look happier now, My Nini,” Lola notes. “You seem very bright and glowing.”

“I am happy now Lola, I know I am for sure.”

“She didn’t talk much about herself, but just wanted to listen to me. God, I wish I didn’t take the time to talk about what was going on in my life so I could hear one of her stories again, the ones I heard growing up as a kid.”

“My Nini,” Nini looks up from her tea, “when I am gone, please keep smiling. Please still be happy. That is all I want.”

“Lola,” Nini says haltingly, “what do you mean?”

“She was giving me a sign, but I didn’t see it. It was right there, and I didn’t see it.”

“Please continue to do what makes you happy.”

“I am,” Nini assures her grandmother, “I finally am. And I’ll be here more often to see you, and we can talk about that drama show Momma D says you’ve been watching.”

“The last thing Lola ever told me is that she loved me, and that all she wanted for me to do is to do what makes me happy. And I wish I told her how much she means—sorry, meant—to me before I left. I just wish—” a sobs chokes her, her slight form shaking, “—I could thank her for everything she’s done for me, everything she is—was. And how I love her more than anything, no matter how awful I am.”

“Malou Salazar lived a beautiful life, bringing light and a feeling of peace to everyone who had the pleasure of meeting her. She will always be the best person I know, and is forever the best grandmother anyone could ever have. Lola, I love you so, so much. Thank you for everything you’ve done, for everything you are, for your patience, your kindness, and your infinite wisdom. Thank you for sharing it, even when it wasn’t deserved. I—” she chokes up, “I love you.”

“Nina Amalia Salazar-Roberts, I love you more than all the stars in the galaxy. You are the most important and beautiful thing in my long life, and I am forever grateful that you are my granddaughter. My only want is for you to do what makes you happy. Seeing you happy will make me rest peacefully.”

After the funeral and the ceremony, Nini finds herself in Lola’s room. The room is tidy, smelling of jasmine and decorated with photos of her family. Nini can see the photos of her Lolo, her mothers, and herself in the frames. She picks one up, memorizing the smile of Lola’s face before a tear drips on it. She wipes it away.

“Nini?” her head turns towards the door, expecting her moms, but instead, it’s Ricky. His tie is undone, hair messy, and he walks to her, wrapping her in a hug. She stills, unsure of what to do, but his grip is tighter, and she finds her face resting on his left shoulder, quiet tears soaking it. “Oh, Nina Ballerina.”

She doesn’t say anything, the photos taunting her as she retreats into the safety of his arms. She feels like a small child clinging onto a lifeline, for without it she would surely drown, being pulled under the waves to never re-emerge. She clings onto him now, her lifeline, her life , ignoring the outside world to immerse herself in her grief. 

He holds her as if she were a porcelain doll, almost afraid to hold her too tight in the fear that she would shatter. In response, she grips him tighter,  almost vicious in an attempt to feel anything other than the grief that threatened to tear her apart. 

The silence doesn’t speak, but Lola’s voice could be heard in magnifying volumes. 

Do what makes you happy.

Slowly, she dries her tears, pulling to face Ricky. His eyes are concerned yet red rimmed. Lola’s death didn’t only affect her or her moms. She shows him the photos in Lola’s room, describing each one in incredible detail, trying her hardest to mimic the stories and tone that her own grandmother used when telling them. He’s quiet then, listening to every word she has to say, and by the end, they’re in her childhood bedroom.

Her eyes see a snow globe, one of a ballet dancer, and she thinks of the one sitting on her table from Ricky. The dancer must have been rusted now after sitting on the shelf for decades.

Do what makes you happy.

“Ricky,” she says slowly, “let’s try again for the 2018 Olympics?”

“What?” he replies, looking up at her. “Nini, are you sure about this?”

She thinks of Lola’s last words to her, playing over and over again in her head. The man beside her is what makes her happy, and she knows now, that ice dancing makes her happy too. “Yes, I think I am,” her voice shakes a little. “Just no Canton, and definitely no Jenn. I think we can do this.”

“You’re serious,” he remarks, hazel eyes checking over her worriedly. “Nini, don’t feel obligated to do this. I remember how miserable you were earlier in February.”

She nods. “It’s been a year, Ricky,” she says. “I want to do this, but only if you’re in.” Her eyes search his pleadingly, almost desperate as adrenaline pumps through her veins. Hope blooms in her chest as she studies his reaction. 

“Yeah, sure, what the hell, let’s do it,” a small smile makes its way onto his face. “No Jenn, no Canton. Blank slate, starting clean.”

“We got this,” she says, leaning her head on his shoulder as she stares at the rusting ballerina on her shelf. “One last time.”

Lola, I’m going to do what makes me happy. I love you.

Ricky texts her three words a day later. Benjamin and Alice?

She grins, her answer being sent back in four minutes. Come what may.