The Favorites: A Novel(89)

“Why did you show it to me,” I repeated, “right before we skated?”

Bella glanced at her brother, but he was preoccupied, peering out over the sea of faces.

“I thought you needed to know,” Bella said.

“You could have waited until afterward.”

“Everyone was talking. It was only a matter of time before you found out, and I figured you’d rather hear the news from your best friend than from—”

I laughed. “My best friend? We’ve barely spoken in years, Bella.”

I knew how nasty I sounded. I saw the way she shrunk from me. I didn’t care.

Garrett was watching us now, too—gauging whether he needed to get involved or if he could stand back and stay neutral.

“You didn’t have a chance in hell of getting on that podium,” I said, “unless you found a way to knock me down. Well, guess what, it still wasn’t enough.”

Bella’s eyes sparked with anger. “If you’d really wanted to win, that story wouldn’t have stopped you. Nothing would have stopped you.”

As far as I was concerned, that was a confession. I wasn’t even surprised. Our friendship had been real once, but I always knew it could only go so far where competition was concerned.

“I need a drink,” Bella muttered. “Come on, Garrett.”

“In a minute,” he said. She stalked off without him.

“Can you believe her?” I said. “She purposely messes with my head before the biggest competition of my life, then has the audacity to act like—”

“You won an Olympic medal today. You know that, right?”

I blinked at Garrett, caught off guard by the harsh edge in his voice. He’d never spoken to me that way before. I’d never heard him speak to anyone that way.

“And yeah, okay, Heath did some screwed-up things. But he loves you so much. The way you two torture each other, it’s…” Garrett trailed off with an exasperated shake of his head. “Do you know what I’d give for even a taste of what you’ve got together?”

I threw my hands up, sloshing what was left of my beer onto the floor. “Oh my god, Garrett, no one cares that you’re gay!”

A few of the partygoers closest to us turned to stare. Garrett glanced back and forth, panic building behind his eyes.

“Shit.” I set the cup down and reached toward him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean t—”

“Of course you didn’t mean to, Kat. That would require thinking about someone other than yourself for one goddamn second.”

He turned his back on me and walked away, in the same direction Bella had gone.

Garrett’s words sobered me up like a splash of cold water. The loud music, the cacophony of voices, the stench of spilled beer and smashed-together bodies—it was all too much.

I retrieved my sweatshirt—at least I hoped it was mine, they were all identical, team uniforms meant to make us feel united, patriotic, like something bigger and more important than ourselves—and stepped out onto the patio.

The night air was cool and brisk, a steady breeze blowing across the False Creek inlet. The American athlete housing was near the top of the building, so we had panoramic views of downtown Vancouver and the mountain ranges beyond. The North Shore Mountains. How strange that they had the same name as the area where Heath and I grew up, where we first skated together. That night, as I stared out at the hulking peaks blending into the blackness beyond the city skyline, I’d never felt farther from home.

The door opened, and out stepped Ellis Dean. He certainly had a talent for showing up at the worst possible moment.

“Well, if it isn’t 2010 Olympic bronze medalist Katarina Shaw.”

“I’m not in the mood, Ellis.”

He strolled past me to lean against the railing enclosing the patio. He’d dressed in accordance with the red, white, and blue theme, except Ellis’s idea of patriotic attire involved stripes of faux fur that looked like he’d skinned several Muppets.

“If it’s any consolation,” he said, “that performance will certainly be remembered forever. Maybe not for the reasons you wanted, but—”

“How did you get in here anyway? Press isn’t allowed in the Village.”

“Technically, I’m a former Olympian.” He clocked my bare ring finger. “Don’t tell me you crazy kids called it quits.”

Had we? I wasn’t sure.

“For what it’s worth,” Ellis said, “and I know it’s not worth much: I genuinely thought you knew already. Don’t you and lover boy tell each other everything?”

“Apparently not. So who the hell told you all that stuff?”

“A journalist never reveals his—”

“Cut the crap, Ellis. You’re a gossip blogger, not an investigative reporter for The New York fucking Times.”

I gripped the railing next to Ellis, cold metal searing my skin. Despite the late hour, the square below the building still teemed with people. Laughing, celebrating, walking close so their shoulders touched.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter who had discovered Heath’s secrets, or how, or when. He still hadn’t chosen to confide in me. And now I’d lost him and the gold, in the same damn day.

No, not lost him. Thrown him away.