The Favorites: A Novel(61)

Watch me now, I thought. Watch me win.

Without you.





Shaw and Lin take the ice at the 2006 U.S. National Championships to supportive cheers from the crowd, showing solidarity after Katarina’s fall in the warm-up.

Garrett smiles and waves up at the stands. Katarina is all business.

Inez Acton: I remember seeing Kat looking fierce and thinking: wow, what a badass.

Ellis Dean: Josie and I were in silver medal position, behind Fischer and Chan, but we knew once the top teams skated we’d be bumped down to fourth. At least we were ahead of those little pipsqueaks Gaskell and Kovalenko.

Katarina and Garrett take their opening position. The applause fades. Their music begins.

Francesca Gaskell: I wasn’t even thinking about scores or medals. We were all worried about Kat. That was a nasty bump to the head. She seemed fine, though—at first.

As they start their first choreographic sequence, Katarina attacks every step. Garrett is more tentative and ends up lagging behind her.

Kirk Lockwood: Garrett was trying to play it safe—the kiss of death, especially in a final.

Garrett Lin: I was scared. I didn’t want to hurt her.

Inez Acton: The more Garrett held back, the harder Kat pushed.

Garrett Lin: It wasn’t our best skate, that’s for sure. But we were getting through it, and there was a big gap between our scores and Fischer and Chan’s. I thought, okay, we’ll get silver. Kat will be upset we didn’t win, but we’ll still go to Torino.

They transition into the slower part of the program. Garrett seems more comfortable with the languid tempo of “Haunt Me.” Katarina continues to skate with intensity. Coming out of their combination spin, she loses her balance for a second, but quickly recovers.

KIRK LOCKWOOD: When they got into the lift, I could tell right away.

Katarina and Garrett begin their rotational lift. She arches her back and grabs her skate blade.

Garrett Lin: The entry was a little shakier than usual, but I thought I had her.

They spin faster and faster. Garrett’s arms are shaking. Katarina’s body tenses.

Kirk Lockwood: He didn’t have her.

Ellis Dean: They fought for it, I’ll give ’em that.

Kirk Lockwood: It’s a miracle she got up there. Maybe better if she hadn’t, though.

Katarina jerks, letting go of her blade. Garrett stumbles, momentum slowing. Katarina grasps for the blade again. It slashes across her palm, spraying blood.

Garrett Lin: I thought I could save it. I thought I could save her.

He loses his grip. They’re still rotating. Katarina is thrown onto the ice, the back of her skull hitting with a sickening crack audible even over their music.

Kirk Lockwood: There was so much blood. You couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

Ellis Dean: Everyone was freaking out. And that sexy slow jam’s still playing. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so insane.

Francesca Gaskell: The whole thing was terrifying! Every skater’s worst nightmare.

Kirk Lockwood: They finally turned off the music. And the place went silent. Kat must have been in a lot of pain, but she didn’t cry out, didn’t scream. Maybe she was too stunned.

Garrett Lin: I was on my knees on the ice, and she seemed so far away. She wasn’t moving. For a second, I thought she was dead. I thought I’d killed her.

The crowd stands in shocked silence, staring like rubberneckers at a car crash. Then the camera zooms in close on Katarina, focusing on the blood staining her white dress.

“Falls like this are always awful to witness,” Kirk says from the commentary booth. “But medical personnel are on their way, and—wait, who is that?”

The shot zooms out again. The medics rush toward the rink carrying a stretcher, but before they can get to Katarina, someone else vaults over the boards and runs onto the ice.

Garrett Lin: And then…there he was.





Chapter 40





The first thing I felt when I woke up was Heath’s hand in mine.

Then the IV stuck in my skin, the heart monitor clamped on my finger. The pain so urgent and diffuse I thought my whole body must be an open wound.

Heath’s head was bowed, like he was praying. His heel tapped nervously, the way it used to before we took the ice at novice competitions.

I laced my fingers through his. He went still, then lifted his head to look at me.

He looked at me like he’d been wandering in the dark for years, and I was the sunrise.

“What happened?” I asked.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re at Saint Louis University Hospital.”

He was still in his free dance costume. Red stains smeared the front of his tuxedo shirt.

My white dress was draped over a chair by the window. Even in the dim light, I could see it was ruined, the delicate fabric stiff with dried blood. My blood.

I remembered Heath telling me not to skate. I remembered taking the ice anyway. After that, only a blur. A stomach-lurching sensation, like dropping from a height.

“What happened at Nationals?” I asked.

“You fell. You hurt yourself.”

“No, I meant…” I tried to sit up. Heath was on his feet in an instant, ready to stop me—but I thought better of it on my own, sinking back down into the pillows. “What happened after that? Did they announce the Olympic team?”