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One month ‘til Korea.
Tessa watched Scott conversing with Patrice at the far end of the rink. Her skate guards were off, lying haphazardly on the edge, but she hesitated before taking the ice.
One month ‘til Korea. One month before…
Tessa watched Scott and Patrice gesture at each other, perfecting the line of Scott’s arms, the splay of his hands. Her fingers felt for the guards, nervously lining them up like an ancient talisman against evil, warding away demons of Olympics past.
He’d spot her soon enough, and she would step onto the ice and glide towards him. She would stroke around the ice to warm up, thankful that muscle memory could carry her as she worked to contain her thoughts, her dreams, her fears. Then she would intertwine her fingers with his, he would curl his free hand around her waist, and they would stroke together.
One month ‘til Korea. One month before they stroked together…
He was laughing now, his boyish smile a stark contrast to the jealous mask he assumed during Moulin Rouge. As stark as his delicious black-clad figure against the harsh white of the ice. She could stare at him for hours, watching his back arch dramatically, his knees bend into edges so deeply, his body spin so tightly, taking it all in with a blissful smile as her fingers twitched with the need to touch him, her body aching to pull against him.
One month ‘til Korea. One month until a conversation. Or two months, or maybe three. A conversation, a decision delayed time and again, but time was running out, like an hourglass filled with unspoken words falling incrementally through touches and looks. One month until the wind of Korea blew past them, bursting the fragile bubble that contained their feelings, spilling emotions like grains of sand.
“Breathe,” Marie-France said as she quietly stepped up to the boards. She mirrored Tessa’s gaze, watching the duo out on the ice. Tessa pulled in a breath through her nose, pausing to hold the air in her lungs before letting it slip past her lips. She sought the mindfulness taught in her yoga classes, acknowledging her thoughts, then setting them aside, reaching for a placidly empty state of peace.
Scott turned away from her, and then bent over to brush something off the ice. Tessa’s mind was not empty; her pulse rate was not calm. One month ‘til Korea. Tessa licked her lips unconsciously. One month until…
Marie-France turned her head slightly, observing Tessa knowingly. “Do you need to talk?”
Tessa’s eyes travelled from Scott to Patrice, whose jaw was set thoughtfully, a study in concentration. Tall and trim, attractive in an abstract way. She had known him for years, had competed against Marie-France and him when she and Scott were so much younger. She had grown closer to the couple over the past two years, viewed them not just as coaches, but as friends. Still, there were topics that didn’t come up over polite conversation. “Did you…” Tessa stopped herself from forming the question.
A sliver of a smile formed on Marie-France’s lips. “Ask.”
Tessa huddled closer, dipping into a sotto voce while studiously avoiding Marie-France’s face. “When you two were competing, did you ever…” Her cheeks flushed hotly before completing the thought.
Marie-France released a quiet laugh. “Kisses, touches, yes. Rarely consummated.” Her eyes glassed over as she relived memories, and then amended, “Often consummated.” She nodded thoughtfully. “We knew, though, from the beginning. Never spoke, never planned, but we knew we would be here. Together.”
Scott caught Tessa’s attention. He beckoned her with a wave of his hand to take the ice. She gripped the rim of the boards. “You know, he came back for me,” Tessa said wistfully. “He said that, and I accepted it. But now, after two years, I think I believe it.”
“And you?” Marie-France asked.
Scott spun around, waving his arms in a goofy dance that was clearly designed to make her laugh. It worked. After a moment, she confessed, “I didn’t admit it then, but I came back for him.”
Marie-France placed her palm on Tessa’s back, patting a rhythm of understanding.
Tessa took a deep breath. “So how did you,” she glanced at the opening between the boards next to her, “cross the barrier? Break the ice?”
“From children to adults? Man and woman? Friends to lovers?”
A flash of embarrassment consumed Tessa. She leaned against the boards and tried to shield her face in her hands. One month ‘til Korea, one month before this subject needed to be broached, and yet her bottled emotions had been uncorked and spilled out to a coach who felt more like a sister than a mother.
“You embrace la douleur exquise. You harness it, let it fuel you and move you. Display it on the ice for the world to examine. And then after, when you are no longer on the stage, you will quietly hide away with him and find that you have always had more.”
Tessa sighed. “It all sounds romantic and achievable in French.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Scott’s French is terrible.”
Marie-France laughed. “He will find the words in English. Right now he finds them with his lips, his body, his hands.” She dropped a butterfly kiss to Tessa’s cheek. “One month more,” she said. “You have waited this long. You can wait just a little longer.”
Tessa stood tall, lifted her chin, compartmentalized her feelings, and composed her mask. One month ‘til Korea. One month until conversations and plans and stroking.
One month until Virtue and Moir could become Tessa and Scott.