“I’m waiting on my partner … former partner … I’m waiting on Stuart Trout to finish his audition.”
Faina nearly drops her phone. “Oh my goodness, Olivia. I am so sorry.”
“It’s okay. He deserved it. His audition was flawless today.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Faina sits on the bench closest to me. “We unfortunately get a lot of broken souls on our stoop. And sometimes we’re the ones who have done the breaking. This is LA after all, where dreams are both made and crushed. Hence my attempt to balance the karmic scales when I can with a bus pass or a few bucks. I heard you had a rough day.”
The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. I nod at her.
“I’m sorry. This business is so hard. Are you flying back to Phoenix tonight?”
I push the lump down. “No. I’m stuck here until Stuart can drive us back across the desert.”
“That’s going to be a long wait, I’m afraid.” Faina tucks an errant lock of graying hair back into her bun. “Insider secret: They’re going to ask Stuart to come back tomorrow. The judges were so impressed by you two.”
I snort and wave Mr. Hale’s card at her.
“Olivia, I’ve been working with Mr. Hale for over a decade. I can count on one hand how many people he’s given his card to and told them to come back later. Normally, he wants you now, or he doesn’t want you at all. Mr. Hale couldn’t land a single toe loop if his life depended on it, but that man has an eye for talent.” Faina picks up her phone and scrolls through it. “That card isn’t a no. It’s a not now.”
“I’ve been thinking about going back to being a single skater. It’s not like I have a lot of partner choices in Phoenix.” If we can barely afford to keep the rink open right now, leasing a car for some drama king like Nathan isn’t an option.
“How do you feel about Colorado?” Faina’s green eyes have a spark in them.
“It’s … a lot colder than Phoenix?”
“Yes, it is. How do you feel about going to Colorado Springs to meet with a friend of mine?” Faina waves her phone at me.
I sit up straight. “You mean at the Broadmoor Skating Club, don’t you?”
“I do.” Faina’s scarlet lips pull back into a smile. “I’m not promising you anything, of course. But they do have a long history of coaching elite skaters, including several Olympians. If you ever find yourself in the Colorado Springs area, let me know. I can set something up for you.”
I throw my arms around Faina and then remember myself. “Sorry.”
Faina tips my chin up with her immaculately manicured nails. “I can open the door for you, Olivia, but only you can walk through it.”
“Thank you.”
Faina stands and smooths down her skirt. “Now then, are you ready to go? I can arrange a ride to take you back to your hotel if you want to stay in LA this weekend. Or there’s an overnight bus that runs from downtown LA to Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport if you want to go home tonight.”
I pull out my phone and turn it on. There are so many missed calls, voice mails, texts, emails, and instant messages that I’m afraid my phone is going to explode.
“I want to go home. Tonight.”
“Consider it done.”
I text Dad from the bus station. I’m headed home. Solo. I’m coming by bus. I’ll text you when I get back to Phoenix. BTW, your *friend* Faina says you now owe her two bottles of Dom Perignon.
Dad texts me back. I know. I just got off the phone with her. Now I owe her two bottles of Dom Perignon and a bottle of Tums.
Tums?
Yeah. Because she gets to deliver my resignation letter to Mr. Hale. And all Hale is going to break loose because of it.
*Groan* Dad, it was one semi-stupid road trip. You don’t have to give up the limelight because of me. I promise to get permission next time.
Thank you, you’re still grounded for a month, and I was planning to come off the road anyway. It’s time for Mom to have surgery. There’s no other way around it according to the specialist. I’m coming home.
Despite the grounding, I’m glad Dad is coming home, and I don’t want Mom to be in so much pain all the time. But what about all the past-due envelopes already piled up in the basket at our front door? My heart clenches.
How are we going to pay for it though?
Let me worry about that.
You’re selling the rink, aren’t you? I’m afraid of Dad’s answer, but I have to know.
Gold Medal Ice made me an offer yesterday. They want to open a second location in Phoenix.
DAD. NO!
They offered to let me stay on for the first six months to help with the transition. I would only be a coach, but at least I would have a job for a little while longer. They wanted Stuart too, but Faina tells me that there’s a 95% chance he’s going out on tour soon.
And me? The thought of teaching for the enemy makes my stomach burn.
The contract is only for me. Otherwise they want to clean house and bring in their own people.
Oh, Mack. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. And the Chois?
Will have to renegotiate their contract or find a different rink. Gold Medal Ice says they can’t have one person taking up so much premium ice time.
The joke’s on them because Jonah was invited to skate with future Olympians in Utah. He’s leaving soon anyway.
Oh! That’s news I hadn’t heard.
And if *I* want to train?
We would get a discount on ice time. You would have to audition for their coaches to see if any of them would want to take you on. Most aren’t even taking new skaters right now because the ice time is so limited. Which is why they want Ice Dreams.
Losing the rink to Gold Medal Ice is one thing, but not even being allowed to skate at my own rink pushes me over the edge.
Don’t do it, Dad! I’m begging you. Please don’t do it. It would kill me.
I love you with all my heart, Olivia, but you know we have to do this. I hope one day you’ll understand.
I HATE YOU!!!!
Dad doesn’t text me anymore. Not that I would have texted him back anyway. Next up is Jonah. I’m not surprised the seventeen texts he sent on Friday got shorter and sharper as the day wore on. He’s Ice Dreams’ reigning prince. He’s not used to being ignored. He’s not used to being #2 in anybody’s life.
His last text is Where are you? Tell me you are okay.
“I’m not okay,” I whisper. My mind is a whirlwind of desperate ideas. I can’t give in to my heart right now. I have to focus on the #1 problem.
Chapter 35
Thankfully, my seatmate—a young woman who still thinks she’s going to be the next big thing in Hollywood despite being on this bus with me—goes to sleep once we pass the Cabazon dinosaurs. Though my body feels like it has weights attached to it, my mind won’t shut down. All through the night, I pitch one outrageous, desperate idea to Mack after another. She shoots down the stupid ideas and weaves the well-that-idea-doesn’t-completely-suck ones into a loose plan. At 4:00 a.m. Mack sends me a picture of her slightly burnt pancakes, even though it isn’t a Tuesday. My empty stomach growls.