The Favorites: A Novel(83)

“What the hell kind of question is that?” she snaps.

Inez pales. The studio audience gasps.

Inez Acton: That was my first-ever on-air interview. And my last.

“I’m an Olympic athlete,” Katarina continues, “and all you want to ask about is my wedding dress and when I’m going to start popping out babies?”

“I’m—” Inez fumbles with her notecards. “I’m sorry, I—”

Kirk Lockwood: I watched the whole thing live back in my hotel room. If I hadn’t been on strict vocal rest, I would’ve been screaming at the television.

Francesca Gaskell: Okay, the questions were a little on the personal side. But Kat didn’t have to go off like that. I felt so bad for the poor reporter!

“I don’t even want kids,” Katarina says. Heath stiffens, fingers digging into the American flag patch on the sleeve of Katarina’s jacket. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Inez Acton: Olympic athletes, female ones especially, are expected to follow a certain script. To be respectful and humble and so grateful to be representing their countries.

“I’m not some pretty little ice princess or blushing bride.” Katarina leans forward—away from Heath, who still hasn’t said a word. “And I don’t want to be. I want to win.”

Inez Acton: Kat Shaw shredded that script and set it on fire. I looked at her and thought: that’s the kind of woman I wish I could be. I know I wasn’t the only one.





Chapter 57





After the interview, Heath and I had less than two hours before our morning practice session. Not enough time to go back to sleep but, as it turned out, plenty of time to argue.

“Well.” I sat on my bed. The flimsy metal frame screeched in protest. “That was—”

“You don’t want kids?” Heath said.

I laughed. The wrong response, but I couldn’t believe that had been his takeaway from our train wreck of a TV appearance.

“You do want kids?” I asked.

Heath frowned and turned toward the windows. The shades were still pulled down since we’d left so early, but slivers of sunrise wrapped around the edges.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It just seems like something we should have discussed privately before you announced it on live television.”

I hadn’t thought we needed to discuss it. Heath knew me better than anyone, so he should have known there wasn’t a single maternal thing about me.

We had discussed moving back to Illinois; Lee’s death meant the house was wholly mine, and we had the funds to fix it up however we wanted. I’d imagined hanging our gold medals above the parlor fireplace. I’d imagined gutting Lee’s toxic waste dump of a room and turning it into a state-of-the-art home gym. I hadn’t imagined anyone there apart from the two of us—and definitely not a squalling infant.

Heath sunk onto the other bed, head in his hands. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

“It’s just a few more days.”

“A few more days, and then the next competition, and the next and the next. Where does it end, Katarina?”

“If this is about the wedding,” I said, “then—”

“I don’t care about the wedding!” Heath stood up again and started pacing. “We could elope today, for all I care. I just want to know we’re going to be together forever, even after…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but we both knew where it was headed: after I no longer needed him as a skating partner.

“I love you,” I said. “You know that.”

“You’re so good at pretending now. It’s hard for me to—”

I shot to my feet too. “You think I’m pretending to love you?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Which is it, Heath? I’m too fake, or I’m too honest? Cause I told the truth in that interview, and you didn’t like that either.”

“The problem is that I can’t tell the difference anymore. Can you, Katarina?”

There was a glint of pity in his eyes. I preferred the contempt.

“When Lee died, you didn’t cry,” Heath continued. “You wouldn’t even talk about it.”

“You of all people should understand why I wasn’t especially devastated by his death.”

You’re not my family, Lee. You’re nothing to me. I used to wish you’d died instead of our father, but now I’m glad he’s not alive to see you like this.

Thank God none of the videos from the gala had picked up what I’d said to Lee in our final moments together. Even without that damning evidence, there were plenty of people convinced I was a coldhearted bitch with my poor brother’s blood on my hands.

Heath had been the first to assure me that it wasn’t my fault. So how could I tell him that when I found out about Lee’s untimely demise, my first thought was to wonder where Heath had gone for all those hours after the gala?

When we learned Lee had died of a drug overdose, with no signs of foul play, I was relieved—and sad, and furious with myself for mourning someone who’d given me only misery, and guilt-ridden over my knee-jerk suspicion of the man I loved. My feelings were too unwieldy to contain, too dangerous to express.