heat box and clumped her way to the ice. Taking off her skate guards, she slid onto the sparkling surface of the ice and headed for the start line.
Was it whispers she heard from the coaches and the other girls? Or was it her own thoughts bubbling up to the surface, memories from four years before when she’d had her dream and lost it? It wasn’t the venue that sparked the tension inside; she’d spent most of the past year training in this very spot. Nor was it the fear of losing, not really. Though it was a practice race, it was an important one, an indication of her prospects for placing in the trials in a matter of weeks, the event that would decide who made the team for the Olympic Games.
Up until now she’d been training mostly on her own with Max, grinding her body back into shape in spite of the pain. Today was the time she would answer the question publicly. Was Laney Thompson back?
As she glided slow circles on the ice, she pondered the question she’d tried to answer for herself every day since the accident that broke her ankle and left her with a brain injury. Did Laney Thompson still have what it took to compete for the United States in the biggest meet of her life? Her competitions throughout the season had not been stellar, moments of brilliance mixed in with enough mistakes to leave room for doubt.
Again the tickle of guilt that inevitably came with the question. Did she even deserve to be back, poised for a second chance, when Max was not?
She knew he was there somewhere in the arena. How did he feel at that moment? Now a trainer, thanks to the screws in a hip that had been extremely slow to heal, he watched others strive to live out a passion now denied to him.
He’d emerged from the accident scarred inside, too, hidden damage that had caused him to withdraw from her. Or maybe he’d lost any tender feelings for her when she woke up unable to remember chunks of their time together. Something broke there on the snow that day, something more than bones and dreams. She didn’t understand what it was, and maybe she never would.
Beth Morrison gave her a smile, dimples standing out against her pale face, dark hair sporting a hot pink streak today. The girl looked so incredibly young. And when, Laney thought drily, had she become the old lady of the team at almost twenty-seven years old? Beth pointed to Laney’s left skate. “Not tight,” she mouthed.
Laney blushed and dropped to a knee to try it again. Gifted athlete, natural dancer, all-around high achiever Laney Thompson still had to remind herself of the steps to tying her skates. Why had the nuances of short-track speed skating lingered in her memory, but the act of tying her laces remained a challenge? And reading a clock, and remembering to eat or what not to eat? She’d almost triggered an allergic reaction two days prior when she’d been ready to eat a nutrition bar containing peanuts. It’s the brain injury, Laney, not you.
Tanya Crowley shot her an odd look before she concealed her eyes behind racing glasses. Was it disdain Laney saw on her lips? Mind games, an athlete’s trick.
Laney wondered what would happen if she produced a terrible race here today. Practice or not, she knew her performance would answer the question in her own mind. Could Laney Thompson be the person she was before the hit-and-run driver had almost taken away her future?
Her eyes scanned the darkened arena for Max. She did not see him. Zipping her skin suit up to her neck, she had a flash of memory, picturing the cut paper bird he had given her a moment before their lives were changed. After the crash, he’d retreated so far she doubted if there ever really had been the sweet connection between them.
You’re like a bird, flying over the ice without really touching it. Had she read more into those words than she should have?
Would he ever see her that way again? Or was she someone flying away with a dream that should have been his?
No more time to think about it, Laney. Get into position. Game face on.
* * *
Max stood in the shadows, his body tensing just as it always did before the start of a race. Practice run or the real thing, it had never made a difference. When the buzzer sounded, there was only the ice and the finish line and seventeen-and-a-half-inch blades carrying him to victory. That’s what he had loved about it most, how racing stripped everything away to that simple equation. Insane levels of training plus a helping of talent equaled a win.
At least, it used to. He eased the weight off his bad hip, still stiff in spite of the massive efforts he’d made to rehab. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. The only thing that saved him from total despair was this job, the chance to help Laney achieve what they’d both lost. He wouldn’t get all of it back. Anger twisted his soul into an impenetrable knot that separated him from everyone, even Laney.
He found his hands were clenched around the rail as he watched her get into the zone. Would she remember to focus on her cornering? He was already taking notes about her tendency to chat with the other girls. Always kindling with energy, Laney struggled with brain trauma that had left her with a shortened attention span. There was more riding on this practice run than anyone knew, except maybe him and Dan Thompson, Laney’s foster dad, who paced anxiously up and down the opposite side of the oval.
He felt someone next to him. Jackie Brewster, Beth’s coach, stood there with her impeccably perfect posture and gleaming silver hair. Coach Stan Chung was the lead coach of the U.S. national team, overseeing all the girls, but most competitors like Beth had the means to employ private ones.
“Does Laney have it together?”
“Absolutely,” he said, bobbing his chin at Jackie’s athlete. “And Beth looks like she’s in good form.”
Jackie nodded without taking her eyes off her own skater. “At this point, it’s all mental, as we both know.” She paused. “There is a gentleman hanging around out front, asking for Laney.”
“What gentleman?”
She shrugged. “He said he’s a reporter. I told him he could be the King of Siam and he wasn’t going to get into the arena without an appointment.”
Max nodded. “Thanks. She doesn’t need any distractions right now.”
“This is true. Security is lax around here. I already shooed away a kid who was hanging around last night.”
Max had seen him, too, a skinny red-haired kid with a sweatshirt too small for him.
“See you after the race.” Jackie patted him on the arm and went to take her place on the ice, stopwatch in hand, creased slacks an odd contrast to her clunky skate-clad feet. She was the only person he knew who could walk gracefully in skates.
Max saw Laney get into position. It was time for her to prove to herself that she had that heart of a lion, the ability to put everything and everyone out of her mind and go as fast and hard as she could for the five hundred meters it would take to win.
After some last-minute activity, the coaches took their places and everything went quiet. Max tensed with Laney as she raised her arm in front of her and crouched low, her blade tip dug into the ice. He realized he was taking slow, measured breaths, the same way she would be doing, bringing her mind into focus, preparing her muscles for the grueling challenge.
The bell sounded and Laney exploded from the start line so quickly she was a blur. After the initial chopping steps, she settled in to longer pushes, tucking into second position, the place where she was most comfortable as she waited to break away for the win. She leaned forward in the perfect crouch, gloved fingers skimming
