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Mel didn’t really think she should have been chosen for Team USA. Trinity, sure. Garcia, no-brainer. McKay, as much as she hated to admit it, also a no-brainer. But Mel? Mel didn’t think she was all that special.
She examined her yoghurt parfait with disdain. That was another thing she hated about away games (and what was the Winter Olympics but one big away game?). Catering. Catering that was oftentimes a science experiment in creating the worst textures known to man. She stood and went to get a muffin instead.
“You need more protein than that, girl!” Trinity exclaimed on her return.
“I’ll have a protein bar in my room later.” She shrugged, tearing into the muffin with her fingers. Garcia sat down between them, her tray loaded with fruit and tofu scramble.
“Morning, morning.”
Mel pushed her glasses up her nose and nodded. She was trying not to let it hurt her feelings how much Trinity and Garcia had been hanging out. She’d had plenty of people drop her for the cooler girl in her life. It was nothing new.
“You guys want to go see the figure skating later? My old college friend is in the men’s, and that girl in the women’s has a fantastic routine.” Garcia looked between them, awaiting confirmation.
“Sure!” Mel liked watching figure skating. It was very satisfying, the way they spun and moved so gracefully across the rink. She had always sort of wished she could have been that graceful. Light on her feet, raising her arms in the air in flowing movements, leaping further than ever seemed possible. But she wasn’t. That was why she played hockey instead.
“If I have the energy after practice,” was all Trinity conceded. Mel grimaced. She didn’t really want to go to the skating with just Garcia. She was intimidating. Or maybe she was just taller and cooler than Mel, and preferred by Trinity.
“You don’t like skating?”
“I don’t like Garcia’s old college friend.”
It was Mel’s turn to glance between them. “Oh.” She didn’t ask any more. She didn’t know what she could ask. “Well, I’ll go. I love figure skating.”
--
Mel missed Victoria, she realised. She missed having someone who would bail when she bailed, who was just as nervous as she was, sometimes even more nervous. But Victoria was back in Boston, texting photos of her and Dennis decked out in full Team USA gear.
On her way to practice, she switched her glasses for her prescription Oakleys, the sun shining onto the snow of the Alps and emitting piercing rays across the whole Olympic village.
She paused on the thoroughfare, staring up at those great, looming mountains. She had never been to Europe before, let alone Alpine Italy. It continuously took her breath away. She wanted to get up into the mountains, before they left, go for a nice, quiet hike in the snow. Take some photos on her film camera.
It was the state of away-with-the-fairies this lovely thought had taken her to, which caused her to remain completely oblivious right up until the very moment a hurried figure slammed into her.
She keeled sideways, her sunglasses flying off her face cartoonishly. She felt a hand, not her own, shield the back of her head as she hit the ground.
“Watch where you’re going…” she mumbled, vision blurry without her glasses. Nothing hurt, she had hit the ground just right, a reflex from years of safety drills on the ice. Although, if her head hadn’t been shielded, it could have been a different story.
“I am so sorry.” The man, and it was a man, she realised, extricated himself rapidly from where they had been entangled on the ground. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. He was holding a hand out to her, she thought, though her depth perception made it difficult to tell. She took it, and he hauled her up.
“Sorry, my sunglasses…I can’t really see.” She laughed.
“Oh!” He cast about quickly, before jumping to where they must have been. “Here. Sorry. Again.”
Mel took them gratefully, and exhaled with relief as the world got darker, but also clearer. “I’m sorry. I was…lost in thought. Happens a lot.”
“And I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Something that had been nagging her finally clicked into place. “You’re American.”
The man, who she could now see was tall, with messy brown hair and a strong jawline, chuckled. “Guilty as charged.”
“And you’ve got the jacket.” It was white, like hers. They were matching, just like they matched with every other Team USA athlete in the village.
“What, you don’t like it?”
“No, I do! Much better than the last game's kit.”
“You played last time?”
She laughed. “Oh, no, I wasn’t old enough.” Or good enough.
He winced. “God, what an awful thing to hear.”
“Sorry,” she laughed. “I guess you competed last time?”
“And won bronze, thank you.” He folded his arms. She searched his figure for signs of what sport he might play, before realising how that looked.
“Um, in what?” She tried.
“Looks like you’re trying to guess. Keep guessing.”
Mel flushed and looked back to the mountains, anything to keep her eyes away from his body. “Uh, I don’t know. Skiathlon?”
He made an incorrect buzzer noise. “I gotta run, I’m late to warmup. But come by the Forum de Milano at 3pm, you can see what sport I play.”
He was gone then, hurrying towards where the shuttle buses stood waiting to ferry athletes around Milan and to various venues. Mel strived to remember what sports were being hosted where, but to no avail. All she knew was, that was not where ice hockey was being played.
--
“Yo Mel-ted ice.”
“That’s got to be one of your worst ones yet,” she mumbled to Trinity, releasing the strand of hair she’d been twisting back and forth.
“We’re going to get the next bus to the figure skating. You coming?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, maybe.” She looked at her watch. 2:30. “I might…do you know what’s being hosted at the Forum today?”
“Yeah, Mel. Figure skating. Are you coming or what?”
She furrowed her brow. Huh. Oh. Oh no.
“Sure. Sure, I’m coming.”
--
“So,” Mel asked tentatively as they took their seats. “Who’s your friend, Garcia?”
“Mel, I’ve told you a hundred times. You can call me Yo.”
“Right, right.” She didn’t like changing what she called people once she’d started on one name. It got too confusing.
“Frank. Langdon. We were at Brown together.”
“He’s a dick.” That was Trinity, popping some gum into her mouth.
“You’ve met him?” Mel asked.
Garcia cleared her throat. “Trinity ran into us, uh, having a catch up dinner.”
Trinity didn’t seem pleased with that response.
“Bad first impression?” Mel asked, trying to change the topic at least a little bit.
“Something like that,” Trinity sighed. “But I’ll admit, he’s a damn good skater.”
Garcia smiled. “He’s the best.”
At that moment, the lights dimmed a little and the announcer, mostly speaking Italian, began listing off names. Men skated out one by one, raising their arms to the crowd to applause and skating around the rink to warm up. Mel edged forward on her seat.
“United States of America, Frank Langdon.”
Mel jumped when Garcia erupted into applause and cheering next to her, and she squinted at the ice. The man who had collided with her in every sense was waving up at them from the ice. And it was at them, not anyone else. He must have recognised Garcia. Mel clapped too, and resisted the urge to wave back.
His competition outfit was all black, with a white, flame-like piece extending across his torso to his shoulder, creating an asymmetrical look. Glancing to the screens across the arena, she could see his muscles pressing against the fabric in 4k. Mel swallowed and looked away.
Frank was slated to perform 4th, so Mel tried to let herself be entranced by the other performances, tried to keep her mind from the lanky man that had knocked her flat. She filmed a little to send to Becca, who of course, loved figure skating as much as Mel did. She even shed a tear at the beauty of the Chinese skaters performance, set to a Chopin piece. It was all so elegant.
Then it was Frank’s turn, and Garcia stood up out of her seat to applaud again. Trinity rolled her eyes, but clapped nonetheless.
Frank skated to the center of the rink, bowed his head and closed his eyes. There was hushed silence. Mel could hear her heartbeat.
His track started. It was heavy, with a loud violin, yet it wasn’t classical. He moved slowly, gracefully to it. Mel didn’t recognise the song. She was used to upbeat pop pieces or classical music on the rink.
“What’s he skating to?” She whispered to Garcia.
“Venus in Furs. It’s The Velvet Underground. He’s loved Lou Reed ever since college.” She was smiling wide.
As the chorus began, he landed a double Axel to loud applause. Mel found herself clapping as well.
He moved effortlessly across the rink, his body coiled for every jump, a smile lighting up his face. She had never seen a skater smile so much when performing. Frank looked like he was on cloud nine. He also looked like he was barely thinking about the flawless routine he was pulling off. His hands were clasped behind his back as he skated backwards, before taking off into a double Lutz. It was like he was flying. Mel felt like she was flying just watching him. She realised she was out of her seat, but so was Garcia.
Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart
Frank spun in the center gracefully as the song came to a close, before reaching up to the rafters. His chest heaved with effort, and he bowed to the judges before exiting the rink. Mel let go of a breath.
“Wow.”
“Right?” Garcia laughed. “He’s Team USA’s little wonder boy.”
“Maybe if he didn’t know that, he’d be more tolerable,” Trinity snarked, but Mel ignored her. She was watching the wonder boy receive zero deductions.
--
Everyone was very good, Mel told herself, as they watched the rest of the programs with bated breath. She hadn’t expected to be invested as hard as she was, and she tried to tell herself that all she wanted was a medal for Team USA. But really, she wanted Frank to win a medal.
A camera had cut to the three of them during a change of skaters, and Americans in the crowd had gone wild. Mel and Garcia had waved at the camera, Garcia pointing excitedly to the US flag on the sleeve of their jacket. Trinity had slid down in her chair.
“That’s going all over Twitter,” Trinity grumbled.
“Yeah, cause you look like you hate the Winter Olympics,” Garcia murmured. “At least try and look like you’re not a traitor to your country when you’re on live television.”
“They’ll know I’m not a traitor when we win Gold,” she retorted. Mel thought it wise not to contribute. She liked most of what she saw on Twitter, the little drawings people did, the edits. Some of it was a little strange, she had to admit. She resolved to stalk some tags later that night - something of a guilty pleasure for her.
It was looking very, very good for the Team USA medal prospects in the Men’s Short Program Figure Skating. With each subsequent performance, Mel bit into her nail as she waited for the scores.
The last competitor was from Japan. She wished they would put all the heavy hitters at the start, so they might already know who had won Gold before the end of the schedule. That would ruin the fun, she imagined. Frank was in Gold medal position, and as the final program started, she saw Garcia was gripping her sweatpants tightly.
She didn’t like praying for other athletes to fail. She liked the idea that whoever was most skilled, won. The real fun for Mel was taking part. But here in Milan, watching the Japanese athlete execute flawless spin after impeccable jump, she was beginning to hope he would slip. She squeezed her eyes shut to get rid of the thought.
In the end, he didn’t slip. Mel couldn’t remember the scoring for some of the jumps, especially in the Men's category, and she’d had her eyes closed half the time. She held her breath waiting for the scores.
When the score came on screen, she realised she didn’t know if it was better or worse than Frank’s. Garcia clearly did. She was on her feet for a third time, hauling Mel up with her in her excitement.
“Let’s fucking go! Let’s fucking go!” She was shouting. “Yeah Frankie!”
The jumbotron had cut to Frank, surrounded by his coaches and skating teammates, head in hands as they jumped around him, an American flag flying haphazardly in the background.
Mel was laughing, Garcia’s arm around her. She felt very, very alive.
--
“You want to go meet Frankie?”
Mel hesitated. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt a reunion.”
“Yeah, you really don’t,” Trinity muttered. “Let’s head back.”
“No, c’mon!” Garcia sighed. “Please, he thinks I have no friends.”
Trinity snorted. “Why, cause he doesn’t have any?”
“Trin,” It was a tone Mel had never heard. It made her feel embarrassed, like she was seeing something she shouldn’t be.
“I’d love to meet him.” She said, lying by omission slightly in the fact that they had already met.
“Fine,” Trinity huffed. “Let’s go.”
They made their way through various levels of security and media, waving their passes. Finally they made it to what Mel would describe as ‘backstage’. Frank was sat on a bench, towel around his neck, eyes closed.
“Frank!”
“Yo-yo!”
The two older athletes embraced with strength, rocking back and forth. “You fucking killed it!”
“Pssh, it was nothing.”
“Gold medal winner Frankie Langdon is sounding pretty good.” Garcia grinned.
“Oh, don’t call me that,” he groaned. “Especially not in front of…” His eyes flicked to Mel’s. “Your friends.”
Mel looked away sheepishly.
“This is Mel King, and…you’ve met Trinity before.”
“Indeed I have. Good to see you, Santos.”
“Is it?” Trinity snarked. Mel was really starting to get curious about what was going on there.
“And nice to meet you properly, Mel.”
He held out his hand to shake, and she took it. Their second contact that day, and it was as electric as the first.
“Properly?” Her teammate frowned.
“We ran into each other earlier,” Mel admitted.
“Literally.” Frank smirked. “You ladies wanna get a beer?”
“Don’t you still have Team to compete in?” Trinity asked.
Frank shrugged. “In a few days. And my beer won’t be alcoholic.”
--
Garcia had done extensive Googling before they’d even touched down in Italy, and led them to a bar in downtown Milan. It was much more high-end than the bars Mel, Trinity, Victoria and Dennis frequented in Boston. Frank and Garcia looked right at home. Trinity looked like she was trying to look right at home.
At the bar, Frank pressed himself to the countertop next to her. “This one’s on me. For my calamitous entrance, earlier.”
“Oh! No, it’s alright. It’s probably super expensive here.”
He looked at her. “Mel. I just won a Gold medal. I can afford to buy you a drink.”
The bartender was looking at them expectantly.
“Uh, an Aperol spritz. Please.” She decided. When in…Milan, right?
“You heard the lady,” Frank nodded. “And your finest NA IPA for me. Thanks.”
“Disciplined,” Mel acknowledged.
“Recovering,” he corrected, tapping his card. She grimaced internally. Walked into that one.
“S-Sorry,” she mumbled. “I mean, that’s great. I guess. Or, it’s not great but it’s great too so-”
He laughed. “It’s alright, it’s alright.”
She sighed. She didn’t have much practice in whatever this was. Not that nobody ever made an attempt at this towards her, she just usually missed it until it was too late. Or was extremely, extremely not interested. He handed her an Aperol spritz, and caught her arm as she turned to head back to their table.
“Hold on. Let’s give those two a couple minutes.”
Mel frowned. “Why?”
“I think Santos could use a minute without me and with Garcia, y’know?”
She half-understood. “What did you even do to her?” She liked to imagine Trinity could get ahead of herself sometimes, but she was rarely wrong about people. Mel usually enjoyed having the Santos Early Warning system around, but today she really hoped it was malfunctioning.
“Ah, I said some bullshit I shouldn’t have. I was a dick, early in recovery, acting like an asshole. It’s no excuse. You know how it goes.”
She didn’t really know, but she nodded. “I’m sure she’ll understand eventually.” To pry further felt rude, and felt like stumbling into things she shouldn’t be stumbling around in.
Frank scratched the back of his neck and sipped his beer. “Yeah, maybe. You know her better than me.”
They were silent for a moment, stood at the bar, watching Garcia and Trinity in hushed conversation in their booth. That felt like another thing Mel was stumbling around in that she shouldn’t be.
“So,” she sipped her Aperol. It was the best she’d ever tasted. “Where are you based? Back in the States, I mean.”
“Pittsburgh. Go Penguins.”
Mel laughed. “Go Penguins, for sure.”
“I hope we get a PWHL team soon.” It sounded genuinely earnest, like he really did hope that. It was refreshing to hear. “The atmosphere is so great at those games.”
“You’ve been?”
He nodded. “I saw you guys play! Last year, in New York. It’s a good halfway point between me and you.”
By you he meant the Fleet, and his old friend, but the sound of it made Mel’s cheeks warm.
“I’m sure we’ve been in the same room, or at least the same stadium.” Frank continued, looking down at his sneakers.
“Probably!” She wondered if she was hiding the fact she was running out of conversation topics effectively. She was flailing. A silence stretched.
“Mel!” Trinity had appeared at her side. “Come take a mirror selfie with me for Dennis!”
“Oh! Sure!”
Frank raised his hands in a backing-off motion as Trinity shot him a glare, heading back to their table as Trinity steered Mel towards the bathroom.
“Thought I’d rescue you from the ass that wished to be a human boy.”
“What?” Every part of that sentence was confusing in different measures.
“Didn’t want to leave you stuck talking to him all night. Probably just telling you how great he is.” Trinity sighed, re-doing her hair in the mirror.
Mel frowned. “Not at all…he was actually-”
“But Dennis really did want a selfie,” Trinity interrupted, holding out her phone.
She leaned into Trinity and flashed a thumbs up to the camera.
“I, uh, think I’m going to go home.”
“What, for real?” Trinity frowned. “Probably a good idea. But I might have one more. You okay to get back by yourself?”
“For sure.” The Olympic Committee didn’t mess around with knowing where their athletes were and when. She could call a car whenever she wanted.
Back in the main bar, Frank had sat back down across from Garcia, laughing and tugging his hands through his hair.
“I’m going to head back,” Mel told them both. “Thanks for a great night.”
Frank looked up. “Oh! I was, uh, actually thinking the same thing.” He finished his beer in one long drink. “May I accompany you?”
Mel’s eyes flicked to Garcia’s, who quirked an eyebrow, and then to Trinity, who looked like she was trying to explode Frank with her mind.
Once, when Mel was a kid, she’d climbed to the top of the biggest diving board at her local pool, 10 metres. It had felt as though she could have brushed the firmament from there. She had been terrified, but had also refused to climb back down, an equally terrifying endeavour. After a few minutes of deliberation, she had concluded that the only way out was in, and committed to a rather amateur swan dive into the blue water below.
That was how Mel felt now, looking down into the water of Frank Langdon, far below from the height she’d climbed herself to.
She committed to the dive.
“Sure. That would be nice.”
--
They were quiet in the car back to the Olympic village. Mel watched the city lights scroll past the window, eyelids heavy.
Frank sucked in a breath. “Y’know, I really want to ask you more questions, but I also feel like you might be at the question-limit.”
She turned back to him. “Question-limit.”
“Everyone’s got one. Mine is very high. I can ask and answer for hours. Some people have…a lower question-limit. I sense yours is low.”
Mel laughed. “What made you even come up with that?”
He smirked at her. “I ask a lot of questions. I gotta know when to stop.”
It made sense to her. “I could handle a few more, maybe. Easy ones.” But he definitely wasn’t wrong about the question-limit.
“You from Boston originally?”
She shook her head. “Nevada.”
“How’d you learn to play hockey in Nevada?”
No one ever wondered that.
“Perseverance.”
He grinned. “Cheers to perseverance.”
“Did you grow up in Pittsburgh?”
“Philly. Born and raised. But I love Pittsburgh. It’s my home.”
Mel nodded. “Was it hard? Figure skating in Philly?”
“You mean did I get the crap beat out of me cause I was no good at ice hockey and really good at jumping around in funny outfits?”
She stifled a laugh. “Sure.”
“Then, yes.”
--
The car dropped them outside the Olympic village, and they wandered through the dark thoroughfares towards the Team USA rooms. Athletes wandered alone or in pairs, or in larger groups, shouting and laughing. Mel was warming to the Winter Olympics. She had never met so many different people so set on the same goal in all her life. Get out into the cold and have some fun.
They reached their diverging point inside the Team USA building.
“I’m down there,” she nodded along the corridor.
“And I’m upstairs,” he agreed.
Mel hesitated for a second. What now? He looked a little sleepy, a strand of hair falling in front of his face. He’d taken his hands out of the pockets of his jacket and was fiddling with a bracelet on his wrist.
“Well, then…” she started, patting her pockets performatively.
Frank reached out and touched her shoulder lightly. “Can I give you a kiss?”
Mel felt her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh!” She’d been expecting it, on the one hand, and on the other, hadn’t thought in a million years he would ever say anything like that.
He stepped back, carding a hand through his hair. “Shit, sorry. Forget I said anything, I just didn’t want to go for it and then-”
“Sure!” She managed to get a word in edgeways. “I mean, yes. Please.”
Frank hesitated, before stepping back into her space and cupping her chin with his hand, incredibly gentle. He pressed a soft, small kiss to her lips as she tilted her head up to meet him. It was warm, and he tasted a little like mint. He stepped away after what felt like far too short a time.
“Thanks,” he whispered. “Goodnight, Mel.”
She looked at him, closing her slightly parted lips after a delay. “Goodnight, Frank.”
--
She had worried the kiss would distract from her play. But in fact, it was the opposite.
Every game, she felt invigorated, alive, images of Frank grinning on the ice flashing in her mind as she slipped between teammates and opponents, smashed pucks into glass, goals and shin pads.
Frank came to every game he could. Their schedules didn’t always align, but when possible, he would be there in the stands. The jumbotron loved him. He would wink, flash the Gold medal sometimes, blow kisses to the camera, wave a little USA flag. Sometimes other USA skaters would be there. Sometimes it would just be him.
Mel wasn’t performing for Frank. Really, it didn’t matter whether he was in the stands or not. But it was the fact that when she stepped off the rink after every game, there would be a text in her inbox.
I could barely see you, you were moving so fast
Defeating Italy on their home ice? USA USA USA
She shoots, she scores 2 times! What’s the number for the Italian fire department? You’re a serious health and safety hazard the way you’re always on fire
Every other player had always had someone privately cheering on just them. Mel had always had Becca, who also texted her support and sent her photos of Mel on her TV back in the States. But Becca couldn’t be here.
Frank was here now, and he was loud, and he understood exactly what got her fired up and ready to win, because it was what got him fired up too.
They topped the prelims, they qualified, they won their quarter final, then they won their semi-final.
--
“I don’t- I don’t think I can play.” Mel groaned at breakfast with Frank, head in hands over her collection of mini muffins.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m not qualified to win a Gold medal.”
“So go out there and lose and win the Silver medal.”
It hadn’t really sunk in when they’d won their semi-final that they now held either a Silver or Gold medal. At least one medal for Team USA. And Mel was on the team that had done it.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. I’ve been seeing you do just that for damn weeks.”
She shook her head. “Maybe you can go on instead. For me.”
“Only if they play ‘Here Comes Your Man’ and I’m allowed to do a backflip,” Frank retorted.
Mel snorted. Frank had played her a lot of music he was considering for future programs. She couldn’t say she’d really loved any of it. She’d asked if he’d ever consider something by TWICE, or Blackpink. He had asked if she’d ever considered giving up hockey to climb Mount Everest. Both of their answers were the same. A firm ‘no’.
“Look,” Frank poked her hand with his pinky finger surreptitiously. “You are strong. You are powerful. You are fast. And you are going to win a Gold medal tomorrow."
She picked at her fingers. Frank lay a hand over hers to stop her.
“Mel. Look at me.”
She did.
“It doesn’t matter what you do tomorrow. I shouldn’t have said that. What matters is if you have fun.”
“I always have fun.” She never cared about winning as much as she cared about having fun.
“Good. Then keep having fun.”
--
Mel smashed her opponent, she couldn’t tell who, into the boards of the rink, swiping the puck out from under the feet. This was where she choked often, the pressure of having the puck crushing her.
I am strong. I am powerful. I am fast.
Ice screeched all around as half of the Canadian team chased her down. She was so close to the goal. She was so close.
--
USA v CANADA: Winter Olympics 2026 Gold Medal Match, Full Stream
King chasing down Kennedy, she’s on her, that’s a clean hit and now the USA has the puck once again. King down the side, incredible puck control, where on earth is Canada’s defence? Melissa King is making a clean breakaway and this could be the match point for the USA, she’s nearly there, and- woah! A hard hit from Fleury and King is down hard. Did that puck go in? We’re going to need a VAR on that I think, while the medical team checks on Melissa King.
You hate to see someone stopped in their tracks like that.
Especially so violently, really heartbreaking. I hope she’s alright.
--
She remembered thinking did I shoot already? She didn’t mind being flung across the rink if the puck was on target. She couldn’t hear the announcer over the ringing in her ears.
“Mel!”
“Did it go in?”
“Oh, Jesus, your nose…”
Someone was tilting her head back and forth. Then someone was helping her up. The world was very wobbly. “Did it go in?” She asked again. Someone was leading her off the ice. Several someones.
“Can you spell world backwards?”
She knew this one. “Classic.” She said out loud. “D-L-R-O-W. Now I’ll take the New York Times Connections for 500 please Alex.”
“Miss, we need you to speak clearly. We’re trying to assess you for a concussion.”
“I am speaking clearly,” she frowned, just as another voice said “That’s about as clear as you’re going to get from Mel.”
Frank put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
This made her feel more disoriented. “How did you get in here?”
He breathed a laugh and squeezed her shoulder. “If you flash the Team USA pass and the Gold medal they let you in anywhere. This thing would get me into the White House.”
She giggled. The movement made her nose hurt.
“Sir, if you don’t mind, she needs medical attention.”
Frank backed away a little. “By all means. But she’s not concussed.”
A medic shone a light in her eyes and she groaned. “Frank, did my shot go in?”
“Your shot?” He was looking over her like he might be able to fix her up himself.
“I was trying to shoot, when…whoever…tackled me. I don’t know if it went in or not.”
He chewed his lip. “I don’t know. I was, uh, making my way down here pretty quickly. I didn’t really notice.”
She pursed her lips with dissatisfaction. That was probably a kind way of telling her she didn’t score, she thought. Her nose was in a lot of pain. She told the medic as much.
“Yeah, looks it. I think it might be broken.”
“That’s definitely broken,” Frank agreed, receiving a glare from the staff for backseat-paramedic-ing. Mel prodded at her nose and winced.
“Can you just…glue it back together or something? I need to get back out there.”
A shaken head. “Absolutely not, I’m afraid. If you smash it up again it’ll be…complete pulp.”
This medic really had a way with words, she thought.
“Please? We’re winning!” She looked at Frank. “We are still winning, right?”
An unhelpful shrug from Frank. He was crouched next to where she sat on a bench. She wished he would hold her hand.
“Sorry.” The medic sighed. “I’ll bandage it for now but you might need it set.”
“At least there’s no more games after this,” Frank whispered to her, as if that was going to cheer her up. She moaned in despair.
“There wasn’t long left in the period anyway,” he offered. He was digging the hole deeper. A few more minutes and she could have finished the Olympics on the ice, with her team. Instead she was sitting in the bowels of the stadium with a broken nose and a Gold medallist figure skater failing to give her a pep talk. A light was humming loudly and people were rushing back and forth, speaking into walkie talkies and pushing things around.
She felt a hand on hers. She had put her fingers in her ears without even realising.
“Is there like a multifaith room or a storage cupboard or something?” Frank was asking someone, one hand on her shoulder and the other pressed against her right hand, which remained firmly over her ears.
He led her out of the room after an okay from the medical team and into a large cupboard, full of cleaning supplies. They were quite close together, but as the door closed the noise receded, even the noise of the arena above. Mel let her hands from her ears and let out a breath.
“You okay?”
She swallowed. “Mm. Fine. Well, mad. And my nose hurts.”
“You look badass.”
Mel laughed wetly. “I don’t feel badass.”
“Well you are.” He held her by her upper arms. “Super badass. Nothing more badass and sexy than a hockey injury.”
She blushed and sniffled. She wanted to wipe her nose, but it would hurt like hell. “I really wanted to win.”
“Course you did, it’s okay. Games not over yet.”
It probably was at this point.
“No, you don’t get it,” she sighed. “I’ve never really wanted to win before.”
He scowled, not at her, but at the logical problem he was faced with. Frank Langdon had probably been born wanting to win. And he’d been born winning.
“I just wanted to have fun and be a good team player.”
That drew a soft laugh out of him.
“It’s not funny!” She felt like she was going to cry even more now.
“No, no, it’s not.” He rubbed her arms gently, her jersey bunching up. “It’s very sweet. Very, very sweet.”
“I wanted to win tonight. Badly.” It felt like admitting to a murder.
“I could tell. You were flying out there, Mel. I’ve never seen anything like that.”
I was flying like you. “I was reckless.”
“Not half as reckless as most of the league. But twice as reckless as you usually are. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. And I’ll find that Canadian fuck who broke your perfect nose, and I’ll…” He sighed. “Something. I don’t know. I don’t actually think it’s a good look to be threatening women.”
Mel laughed, resting her head against Frank’s chest. “Probably not, no."
“You killed it, Mel. When you step back onto that ice, you’ll either be a Silver medallist, or a Gold fucking medallist.”
She closed her eyes. He smelled like cologne. “I wanna be a Gold fucking medallist,” she whispered.
“Hell yeah you do.”
She looked up at him. “I’m going to kiss you now, but you have to be very careful of my nose.”
His eyes widened. “Yes ma’am.”
Frank stayed perfectly still as she hooked her arms around his neck to stabilize herself on her skates, tilting her head and kissing him at a slight angle so as to not crush her nose. He grasped the back of her jersey and deepened the kiss gently. Mel relaxed more than she had all day, letting herself lean against Frank.
The door banged open.
“Mel, we- oh.”
The two pulled apart suddenly to see Trinity standing in the doorway, helmet clutched in one hand. Her expression was beyond interpretation.
“We, uh, we need you back on the ice.”
“I can’t play,” Mel managed to choke out over the embarrassment swelling in her throat. “My nose-”
“No need to play.” Trinity shook her head, eyes crinkling at the sides. “We won. Get the fuck out here.”
Mel glanced at Frank, who made a hastened go! motion, avoiding eye contact with Trinity.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and hurried after her teammate, leaving Frank behind.
Stepping back out onto the ice, she was immediately deafened by roars from the crowd. Trinity slung an arm around her and pulled her towards her teammates, who mobbed her. She could feel the blood on her upper lip drying.
She tried to see the score somewhere on the screens.
USA 8-7 CAN
They had won by one point.
She managed to grab Trinity by her collar, like she did to stop an opponent jumping into a brawl.
“My shot. When I got taken out. Did it go in?”
Trinity laughed. “Course it fucking did, Mel. It would have been a tie without you. It was 7-7, remember?”
Mel didn’t remember. She barely remembered half the game.
“You scored the winning fucking point, Mel!” It was Garcia, tugging her into a hug. It was so uncharacteristic and unexpected, Mel almost pulled away.
“Woman of the fucking match,” that was McKay, squeezing her shoulders.
Mel was finally released from the throng, and she realised she was laughing. Her nose was bleeding, she didn’t have her helmet on, she hadn’t even finished the game, and she was an Olympic Gold Medallist.
There were a lot of cameras pointed at her. She beamed right down the lenses and waved. SHe probably looked completely insane. She felt completely insane.
“Let’s fucking go!” She yelled, before clapping a hand over her mouth. They might fine her for that. She realised she didn’t care.
“Let’s. Fucking. Go.” Trinity murmured in her ear.
--
They had put some tissues up her nose for the medal ceremony. She kept looking off to the side of the rink, where Frank was leaning against a wall in the shadows, out of view of the cameras. She shook hands, she felt the weight of the medal around her neck. She looked to Frank again. And again. And again.