The Favorites: A Novel(88)

Though the official athlete accommodations were far from luxurious, they did offer one major perk: members of the press were banned from the premises. I couldn’t face another question about what went wrong or how I was feeling.

I was feeling like shit. Like a complete failure. Like my entire life had been a waste and now, at the age of twenty-six, it was over.

Heath took his medal off and lay it gently on the nightstand. I kept mine on. The blue ribbon hung like a noose around my neck.

“Can we talk?” he said.

The flowers they’d given us on the podium were hideous, green and leafy like a bouquet of salad. I tore at the petals, scattering them on the industrial gray carpet.

When I didn’t respond, Heath continued. “I should have told you. I wanted to, so many times, but—”

“No, you should have fucking talked to me instead of running away in the first place!”

I thrashed the bouquet against the wall. Heath flinched.

“And how dare you claim you did it all for me,” I said. “I never asked you to.”

“All you care about is winning.” Heath spoke calmly, evenly, like he was trying to gentle a wild animal. “So I turned myself into someone who could win. Someone worthy of you. But I guess that wasn’t enough either. Nothing’s ever enough for you.”

“That’s really what you think of me?”

“That’s who you’ve always been, Katarina. And I’ve always loved you anyway.”

There was no anger in his voice. No thorn of cruelty. Only exhaustion and resignation.

Somehow that made it hurt more.

“Sorry it’s been such a hardship for you.” My voice was solid ice.

Finally, his temper flared. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! I tell you I love you, and you throw it back in my face. I suffer for years to get back to you, and—”

“You wanted to get back at me. You wanted me to suffer too. That’s not love, Heath.”

“My love isn’t good enough for you either. Got it.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Then tell me, Katarina.” He sunk to his knees in front of me. “Tell me what you want from me. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

Despite the contrite posture, his expression was defiant. I buried my hands in his curls.

“There’s nothing you can do,” I told him.

Heath started to rise. I seized his hair at the roots and held him there. He reached for the medal around my neck, trying to pull me down with him.

So I ripped off the medal and threw it to the floor. Then I tore my engagement ring off too. The diamond bounced off the bronze, ricocheting into the shadows under the bed.

This time when I stormed away, Heath didn’t follow.

Out in the common area, I picked up the first bottle I found and chugged straight from the neck. One of the hockey players, a ruddy brunette with braided pigtails, let out a long whistle.

“Rough day, Ice Queen?”

I wiped my mouth, smearing the remains of my lipstick. “Don’t fucking call me that.”





Chapter 62





The next hour passed in a blur. I gulped down plastic cups of Molson while grinding to Lady Gaga songs until I was simply one more sweaty body moving to the music.

Most of my life, I’d been working toward a single goal: winning gold at the Olympics. That was the bright light that guided my every move, my every decision. Now? Everything had gone dark. I couldn’t picture my future. Allowing myself to think even as far ahead as dawn sent dread surging around me like murky floodwater.

If I stopped dancing, I feared I’d drown.

Around midnight, the Lins showed up. Garrett scanned the crowd, looking for someone. Bella zeroed right in on me.

“What are you doing?” she shouted over the bobsledders belting out “Bad Romance.”

“What are you doing?” I shot back. “Thought you were staying at that fancy hotel so you wouldn’t have to mix with the common folk.”

“We were invited,” Garrett said. “Are you okay, Kat?”

I know how I must have looked: hair plastered to my neck, breath reeking of cheap beer, stripped down to my sports bra to dance with strangers. And Heath nowhere to be found.

“I thought alcohol wasn’t allowed in the Village,” Bella said.

Technically, she was right; the U.S. delegation had rules against alcohol consumption. But other countries weren’t as strict, and for a bunch of adrenaline-junkie high-performance athletes, rules were more like suggestions. The party hadn’t devolved into the orgiastic bacchanal I’d heard rumors of from past Olympics, but as the night wore on, it turned wilder. The darkest corners were full of people making out up against walls or balanced on the edges of furniture, and I’d noticed quite a few couples—and bigger groups—disappearing behind closed doors.

“You wanna go eat some carbs?” Bella offered. “I heard about this place with incredible poutine, over by—”

“Oh, now you’re concerned about my well-being.” I rolled my eyes and took another drink of room-temperature lager.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why did you show me that article?”

She rocked back on her heels. “What?”