Work Text:
London, Ontario
December 11, 2018
They sit in boxes in one of her many closets, tucked away with nondescript labeling, but they’re probably her most prized possessions after the gold medals and some family heirlooms.
They vary in length, content and size, but each one has its own story. A birthday card. A restaurant post card. Post-Its. Ripped notebook sheets. A few Polaroids with notes scribbled on the back. All decorated with his handwriting, the occasional doodle, and over the last few years, with a loopy heart.
They’re all currently dumped out the closet floor, scattered around in a mess. Kind of like everything lately. She should be digging through that closet to find her Christmas decorations (because she was going to have a good end to the year, all of this aside, and her house was going to look nice), but found the boxes and, being the sentimental masochist that she is, decided to take a poorly thought-out trip down memory lane.
Big mistake. Because now it’s 11 a.m., she hasn’t showered or gotten out of her PJs or worked out yet, and she’s been sitting on her floor alternating between trying not to cry and throwing these in the garbage for the last two hours.
An overexposed Polaroid of them at the cottage this past July, right after they got back from Japan, is currently sitting in front of her. It’s them in bed, her curled into his chest and cracking up at a (what, in retrospect, was probably a terrible) joke he was making, him looking down at her with a massive grin on his face and holding the camera out for the shot. She flips it over. “Just so you don’t forget what I look like when you’re in Mexico next week. XOXO.”
She tosses it aside, not wanting to think about whether or not he was talking to *her* then, and moves on to another. It’s a faded card with a simple flower on the front. She opens it up and it’s written in loopy cursive. “Dear Tessa, I know you miss ballet school but I’m really glad we’re still partners. I’m excited for our competitions this year. Thanks for coming back to skate with me. Love, Scott”
Oh, if she could only go back and tell those kids what she knows now. She’s not sure if she’d tell them to run the hell away from each other, or to not be afraid and go for it, because when it was good, it was really, really good.
She furiously blinks back tears and picks up one from around the time they moved to Montreal, which he had attached to a gigantic box of Lindt chocolates on moving day and left on her doorstep (which would eventually become their doorstep). It’s scribbled on a tiny yellow post-it, which has picked up two and a half years’ worth of dust and grime on the back. “I don’t know why you took a second chance on me, but I’m glad you did. Pretty sure I don’t deserve it. Let’s kick some ass this year, kiddo.”
(right now, she doesn’t know why she took a second chance on him either. and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve it.)
She grabs one that she spots out of the corner of her eye in the middle of the pile, collecting herself at the memory of how it came about. He had written it on a branded notepad from their hotel room after the Grand Prix Final in 2017, when she was silently fuming and he was plotting revenge against the ISU in his head. It had been left it on the nightstand for her while he went for their morning coffee run, letting her sleep in after a long night of rethinking their free dance, ranting and commiserating. At least they had each other, they had decided.
She holds it gingerly, afraid she’ll break it and the memory if she grips it too tight. “Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide,” the first two lines read. Third line: “But I love you” (underlined three times). Fourth line: “until the end of time.”
Fuck.
She tosses it aside, slumps over with her head in her hands and wonders how much of it was real and how much was bullshit. Because right now, everything feels like bullshit.
Can’t wait for the tour next year? Bullshit.
Working together on on- and off-ice projects? Bullshit.
Watching “Jeopardy” every night? Bullshit.
Planning out their next 80 years? Bullshit.
“Until the end of time”? Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.
She should have learned her lesson a long time ago.
There’s a moment where she wants to carry all of this downstairs into her living room, throw every single sheet of paper and every photo into the fireplace and toss a match in, sending it all up in flames. Because if what they had said verbally was bullshit, why should she believe what he had written?
She takes a deep breath in to calm herself and rubs her temples. They got back from Vancouver three days ago and she hasn’t heard a thing from him since. She’s not even sure what she’d say. There’s no immediate projects in the pipeline, they’re obviously not planning out their holidays together, and it’s not like they can have a normal conversation right now.
She feels a gnawing pit growing in her stomach. Did he immediately run back to Florida? Fly her back here? How in the hell does this girl have this much vacation time anyway?
The outside reaction had been…nasty, to say the least. While it had mostly stayed within their fans, and she’d normally blanch at words like “trashy” and “gold-digger” and “opportunist,” because, you know, women’s empowerment and all that, she’s fine with it for now. At least the fans seem to be in her corner.
For once. Finally.
The day after the Walk of Fame ceremony she had gone over to Jordan’s (who had skipped the evening because “look, Tess, I want to be there for your big day, but I will literally throw up at the sight of him”) while Scott went to Oshawa to tie up loose ends from the tour. They had split a pizza and two bottles of wine with their mom and let Tessa cry it out (which she is done doing, she swears) while Jordan assured her this wasn’t going to work (“Please, I knew her for years. This is ridiculous. She wouldn’t give Scott the time of day back then. If you had gotten the silver we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”).
Before she headed to work the next morning, Jordan had pulled her in for a hug.
“This will fall apart eventually. But you don’t have to be there to catch him when it does.”
Yes. Yes she does. She’s always been there when it happens.
If he’s sliding back into his old habits, it’s only a matter of time before she does too.
There’s a knock at the door and she’s hoping to hell it’s her mom sending flowers or candy or something, because she doesn’t really want to talk to anyone right now, but she pads downstairs. She glances out the window and feels sick to her stomach.
Of all fucking people.
But she answers the door anyway.
“Hi.”
She inhales slowly, holds her breath in, then exhales before speaking. “You look like shit.” He nods and looks down at his feet. “What are you doing here?”
He kicks the ground with his heel, avoiding eye contact. “I, um…I was at Molly’s down the block and kind of just wandered down here to see if you were around, I guess.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, we’re backsliding into what happened after Sochi already?” He doesn’t answer. “Where the hell is your car? Are you drunk already?”
Scott shakes his head and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “No, no, I just had one beer and then this guy came over and asked about…” he pauses, “and if I felt like shit for hurting you, so I left. And I walked over here because…” he shrugs. “Like…I don’t even know how he knew. Like, he’s one of Charlie’s friends or something maybe, I don’t know. Maybe everyone knows.”
Her lips tug into a small smile. “What did you say to him before you left?” she asks.
He chuckles. “I, um, I just kind of left.” He stops and rubs a hand over his face. “Can I come in or…”
Tessa sighs and purses her lips. She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t.
She steps aside and lets him in.
Maybe that “sliding back into old habits” thing was going to start sooner than she realized.
He wanders around her foyer, his eyes inspecting the room. “Looks the same as last month, right?” she mutters as she closes the door.
Scott bites his lip. “Yeah.”
Not that long ago she figured that all the things that he “kept” at her house would eventually stay there permanently. And maybe he’d actually move in officially. Or he would finally finish the house on the outskirts of Ilderton (if something could be called an outskirt of an outskirt) and they’d set up in there.
Forget the letters. She should light that place on fire.
He makes his way to the living room like he still lives there and sits down on one of her couches. “I can’t believe it, eh?” he begins. “The fans, they’re kind of crazy.”
She cocks an eyebrow and leans against the wall. “Are they, now?”
Scott looks up at her. “What’s that tone of voice for?”
“It’s a little ironic, that’s all,” Tessa points out. “You giving me shit about getting upset over that video from Japan this summer and the fans overreaching and now it’s happening to you and you hate it.”
He shrugs. “It sucks, yeah.”
She looks at him expectantly. “So is that an apology or…”
Scott shrugs. “I guess. Yeah.”
She’s silent in response as she carefully regards him. He looks like he hasn’t slept in months, his Team Canada sweatshirt isn’t nearly heavy enough to combat the cold outside and his sneakers have seen better days. Like all of this.
“So…” she looks around the room, “…why are you here, again?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Didn’t want to stay at the bar, didn’t want to go home where they’d yell at me, so here I am.”
She bites the inside of her cheek. “Speaking of people yelling at you, are you going to start going back to therapy?"
He rolls his eyes. "Why is everyone asking me that lately?"
She toes the carpet. "Because, believe it or not, I'm actually worried about you. We all are. This is how you behaved before we decided to come back." Tessa looks over at him. "Us aside. Why throw away all that progress?"
He plops back into the couch. "I don't know, Tess," he begins sarcastically. "Maybe it's just who I am. Maybe I'm not capable of being any better." He glares up at her. "That's what everyone's been telling me lately, right?"
"Don't pull that. You know it isn't true," she snaps. "Quit the pity party.”
“Tess, this isn’t a pity party,” he insists. “I know I fucked up.”
“Then own it. Please. Stop hiding your new girlfriend. Stop taking it out on the fans. They didn’t put you into this mess, you did.” She walks over to stand in front of him. “What’s your plan here, hide her forever? Wait until the divorce is final so you aren’t dating a married woman? Never admit it? Take me out of this whole thing, at the very least you owe her an acknowledgement.”
“Tess, I…fuck.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Look, I don’t know how this all got to here.”
“YES. Yes, you do. You were there. Don’t give me that shit,” she begins. “We decided when we got home in March we were going to hold off on deciding anything big until next year, but that the status quo between us was fine. Keeping it between us was fine. Not rushing into anything because we wanted — HAD to — get it right was fine. And then I come home from France this summer and you, once again, act like it’s fine when I wish you would have told me that it wasn’t.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “And it turns out that it wasn’t fine because you had to go to fucking Florida to hang out with your old partner and lie to me about seeing her during the tour while acting like we were fine. And we come home and suddenly it’s not fine. And THAT is why I will never trust you again.”
She stares at him. “If you had wanted to see her, then you should have made a clean break. I deserve that. But you didn’t. So don’t show up here begging for sympathy or forgiveness or whatever your play is here.”
“You opened the door when I showed up here,” he counters.
“That was a huge mistake.”
He looks at her carpet. “Tess…look, I love you, okay?”
“I love you too,” she admits. “I do. I really do. That’s why you’re here right now instead of out there in the cold on my porch. I always have. But I…” she takes a deep breath, squeezing away tears. “I don’t know how this ended up here, either. But I am really fucking mad at you right now and if there’s something going on that you’re not telling me, I wish that you would say something. And since you’re not…I don’t know what to do.”
They stare at each other for a moment until his eyes fall to the ground. She looks at him, then at her hands, playing with her rings as she tries to figure out what to say next.
"You still haven't told me what I did wrong," she finally says, quietly. "And that's the worst part, you know? To feel like I was tossed aside the second the tour ended with no clue about any of it, like you couldn't wait to get away from me and immediately get serious with her." She tries to ignore the tears pricking at her eyes (because she's done enough crying over this lately). She inhales and finally looks up at him. "Why didn't you wait? It wasn't that long.” She reaches up to wipe away a few tears that have fallen. “I didn’t think I was asking for that much. Especially after everything.”
He looks up at her. “What do you mean “after everything”?”
Tessa’s eyes widen. “Scott. What exactly have I asked you for over the last 21 years?”
“Great, this shit again,” he mumbles.
“No, seriously, please, tell me. What have I asked for? For you to show up and be accountable? To not let me down? To stay with me? I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.” He’s silent. “So how come when I asked that we take our time, when I’ve asked for close to nothing, when you’ve hurt me before, when I knew that if we didn’t get it right it would crush us like it is now, you couldn’t?”
He plays with his hands as she wipes away a tear. “We just…we went from great to horrible so fast and I’ve been torturing myself trying to figure out why, but I still don’t know what I did.”
Scott shakes his head. “I don’t…I’m so sorry, Tess.”
She sighs. “Until you can tell me that, I can’t even begin to think how we’re going to fix this.”
He sits with his head in his hands, exhaling as tears fall onto her rug below. “So…where are we right now?” he asks tentatively.
Tessa shrugs. “We’re business partners. After all this time, that’s it.” His jaw is on the floor as she continues. “We’ll do the shows in Europe next spring and we'll have our own rooms this time, and if we still want to do another Thank You Canada we'll plan that out, but we won't be sharing a bus or hanging out during our off-days." She meets his gaze. "And we'll see how that goes and if we want to tour again or not after that. But at the end of the day, this is now a business relationship. Just like we always said."
He stares up at her in disbelief. "So, what? That's that?"
She raises an eyebrow. "It's what you want, right?"
"What — no, Tess, no," he insists and stands up. “Please. Look, things are...fucking crazy right now, okay? I have no idea where this thing with her," he gestures to the door, "is going, but we've always been able to make it work when I was with someone else. Why not now?" He catches his breath. "Can we just wait and maybe see how we're feeling in a couple weeks, like after the new year?"
Tessa stares at him in disbelief before letting out a guffawing laugh. "WAIT??? You want me to wait??" She turns to face the window, running her hands down her face. "The fucking irony. Do you even hear yourself?" She cracks up and turns back to face him. "That would be hilarious if it weren't so sad. Oh my God, Scott, that's fucking rich.”
“No, Tess, please, I know, I know it’s fucked up, but please just hear me out — “ he begs before she holds a hand up to stop him.
"Do you not understand? I can't trust you anymore," she says, her voice rising. "Put aside any feelings or what we had going on for the last two years. You actively lied to me. We never hid stuff like dating from each other. And if you can't understand why this is different, that's on you. You are not having your cake and eating it, too.”
Scott closes his eyes shakes his head, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t know, Tess. I really don’t. It just all happened so fast," he finally mutters. "I didn't mean for it to happen. Just...knowing that I hurt you, again, it's the worst feeling in the world."
"Stop saying that "it just happened," Scott," she says. "It didn't just happen. You let it happen."
He reaches for her left hand, running his thumb over her rings. “I’ve been feeling like shit lately, like I can’t talk to anyone and I don’t know how to fix this. I’m back in old habits and I know that and I fucking hate it.” He takes her hand in his, squeezing like he’s hanging on for dear life. “I don't know how to do any of this without you. Please don't shut me out."
There's a moment where she falters. Despite all of the mess, she's never felt more at home than when they’re hand-in-hand and they can be in their own little bubble. It's been her comfort since she was seven years old. She's always gone back to him. It’s what they’ve done.
And it’s what got her here.
She shakes her head. Not anymore. “Scott. No. You made this bed, okay? Lie the fuck down in it for once.”
He releases her hand and crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what to do now.”
She’s pushing out any last bit of sympathy she has for him. She loves him — she will ALWAYS love him — but he chose this. “I can’t tell you that. But…maybe take some time and think about what’s next, okay?” She moves in closer to him. “No matter what, I don’t want to see you hurt in this situation.”
He pinches his nose and nods. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” She studies his face. “Do you need me to get you an Uber back to Ilderton?”
He shakes his head and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “No, I’m — I’m just parked up the block.”
She nods. “Tell your family I said Merry Christmas.”
“Okay.” He sighs and looks her up and down. “So…when will I see you next?”
She shakes her head and shrugs. “I’ll get in touch next time I have an idea for the shows next spring. How about that?”
He exhales and rocks back and forth on his feet. “Okay.”
They move towards the door. She reaches for the knob and looks him in the eye. “So.” She turns the knob, letting in a gust of cold air. “I’ll see you later.”
His teary eyes meet hers as he steps out onto her stoop. “Yeah.”
She closes her eyes. Fine. She steps forward and takes him in her arms. His immediately circle her, clinging to her as he buries his head in her neck.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he frantically whispers over and over again.
She reaches up to run a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, too.”
They pull back after a few moments and she reaches up to cup his cheek. He grabs her hand and holds it to him for a second, then lets go and he’s off her stoop right after that.
Tessa shuts the door and leans back against it. She takes a moment to collect herself, hoping she did the right thing. She’ll text Jordan later and ask if she did (she’s pretty sure the answer will be yes).
She heads back up to her closet. The pictures and letters are still scattered around and they don’t hold any more answers than they did before he showed up.
She’s never going to get the answers she wants from him about this. At some point she’ll accept that. Maybe this is sort of a start.