LITMIR.BIZ

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her limbs spiraling in an unruly tumble. For a moment, there was only the harsh sound of her own breathing; the arena noises all faded away as she spun helplessly on her back. When her vision cleared, she was looking up at the ceiling of the oval, sparks dancing in front of her eyes. She lay still, feeling the shock of the impact shuddering through her body as she sucked in deep lungfuls of oxygen before she tried to move. Then Coach Stan was there, peering down at her, and behind him, Max’s anxious face.

      “Laney?” Coach Stan asked.

      She realized what he wanted to know, but she wasn’t sure herself if she was injured or not. Max squeezed her hand. “Hey, Birdie. Tell me how you feel.”

      She closed her eyes. Birdie. The nickname tickled something inside her. She forced her eyelids open and managed a grin. “I guess the eagle has landed, but not very gracefully.”

      The coach seemed to relax a little, and Max squeezed one more time before he let go and the team medic took his place. She was checked and helped to her feet. Looking back across the ice, she was in time to see the racers finish, Tanya first, Beth in second place. Beth glided to them, chest heaving, along with the other girls.

      “Are you okay?” she puffed. “What happened?”

      “Dunno,” Laney said as she made her way to the edge of the ice, put the guards over her skate blades and sat heavily on the wooden bench. Her father materialized there, and she knew that though he’d probably wanted to run right down on that ice, he would never have done so.

      He clutched her around the shoulders, and she felt his heartbeat vibrating through his skinny chest. When had he lost so much weight?

      “Baby girl, you know how to crash with style,” he said.

      She laughed again, though it set off some pain in her rib cage.

      “What hurts?” He asked it in that soft voice that always soothed her.

      He’d asked when she’d come home from school in tears because the grade-school kids had found out her mother had abandoned them. He’d crooned it when years later she got a fat lip defending her younger sister from the unwanted attention of some teen thugs. He’d repeated it when she’d lain in a hospital bed crying for something she could not name. The loss of her chance at gold? The grief at knowing Max was suffering his own agonizing recovery? Or something else that would not come clear in her pain-fogged mind?

      “Knee and elbow, ribs,” she said, ticking off the list. “That about covers it.” She looked to Coach Stan. “What now?”

      “Now you rest up. Medic will check you out more thoroughly in a bit. Tomorrow we have a twelve-hour training day if you’re up for it.”

      “I am.”

      He smiled. “I thought you’d say that. We’ll do another practice race at the end of the week. Tonight you take it easy and let us know if you have any confusion.”

      “More than usual, you mean,” Laney said.

      Coach Stan patted her hand. “When you catch your breath, we’ll talk it through, look at your dad’s tapes.”

      Her father nodded and held up the video camera that he was never without. “Got it all right here.”

      Coach Stan made more notes on his clipboard and turned to talk to another trainer. “All right everybody. Change and we’ll meet up for dinner in a half hour.” And that was that. He hadn’t posed the real question. Was she strong enough to win races and compete the following week to snatch at spot at the Winter Games?

      For now, she would have to be content to wait. She pulled off the hood of her skin suit and unzipped it a few inches to cool her overheated muscles. Unlacing the boots, she took off the skates and put them in her bag. Max stood a few feet away, arms folded, brows drawn together under a shock of black hair that he’d let grow too long. She kissed her father. “I’m okay. I’ll see you at dinner.”

      The girls from the race had collected on the nearby benches, removing their skates and discussing their own performances, cheeks pink from exertion, coaches and trainers mingling about. Tanya whispered something to Beth. Laney made her painful way to Max and they strolled to a quiet corner, both gazing out across the ice.

      He looked at her closely. “I was tracking you, Laney. The race was pitch perfect until you made the second turn. What happened?”

      She shrugged. “I don’t know. Something felt off in my right skate.”

      There was an accusatory glint in his sapphire eyes.

      “What?” she demanded.

      “Sure you didn’t lose your focus?”

      “Yes, I’m sure. It was the skate.”

      He frowned.

      “All right, spill it,” she said, half-playfully. “You don’t believe me?”

      “I do,” he said after a long moment. “But we’ve been having trouble with your concentration, and your skates haven’t bothered you at all recently.” He blew out a breath. “It’s all up here,” he said, tapping his head. “You’ve got to put yourself in the zone and stay there.”

      A small flame licked at her stomach, and her playful mood was gone. “I was in the zone, fully focused and with my game brain on. It was the skate.”

      The girls turned their faces in Laney’s direction as they got up and left the arena, headed for their quarters. Coach Jackie gave them a curious glance before she shuttled Beth along, helping tote her gear. Laney allowed Max to put his arm around her shoulder, annoyed that his touch made something happen to her breathing.

      “I understand what you’ve been through better than anyone else,” Max said in low tones. “But you’ve got to push through that and deliver. The past has to remain on the benches when it’s race time.”

      She saw herself reflected in the blue depths of his eyes, her outline blurred and morphed into a different shape. “Max,” she said, pulling away a step, “I’m not you, so don’t put your stuff on me.”

      His mouth thinned. “I’m talking as your trainer, Laney. That’s all.”

      “And you don’t think I’m focused enough because of what happened years ago?”

      “I don’t know. I’m trying to get inside your head.”

      “The problem isn’t in my head for once, it’s in my skate, so you should focus on that.”

      “I’m going to tell you what you need to hear to win, whether you want to listen or not,” he snapped. “That’s what your father pays me to do.”

      She knew from the anger kindling in his voice that she’d pushed back too much. It was true, she had struggled with focus throughout the season and his assumption about her performance today was understandable. She sighed. “I know you’re trying to correct a mistake here, but I didn’t make it, not this time. It was the skate.” She hated the way that sounded like a lame excuse. Blaming the equipment was for rookies.

      “All right,” he said, wide shoulders stiff. “Let’s take a look.”

      She returned to the bench and found her gear bag. She fished out the left skate and handed it to him, reaching into the bag for the other. It took two seconds for her to make sense of it. “My right skate is gone.”

      Max helped her hunt under the benches and in every darkened crevice. There was no sign of the missing skate.

      “One of the girls must have picked mine up by accident.”

      Max raised an eyebrow. “No way. Not this level of athlete.”

      He was right. Speed skaters relied on their equipment like world-class musicians cherished their instruments. They didn’t take the wrong skate accidently. Practical joke by Tanya or Beth or any of the other girls? She couldn’t imagine it.

      Laney

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