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i. 1998
Tessa doesn’t have many friends.
But she wants to have them desperately. The problem is that she has a really difficult time making them. She likes to think of herself as someone who has a way with words, but as soon as she is made to interact with someone, it’s as if all her sense is lost upon her.
She wishes she was as confident with talking with others as she is when she has a pair of ballerina slippers on, or her ice skates. When she’s expressing herself through her artistic movement, she feels limitless; like the entire world is in the palm of her hand. Feeling the wind through her hair as she moves along to the sounds of the music is when Tessa feels most like herself. But the moment that music ends, she becomes the quiet, little eight-year-old with freckles and bangs, barely able to make eye contact with anyone other than her mother and sister.
So, this is how she finds herself, sitting on one of the upper benches, overlooking the Ilderton ice rink as all the other children in her group are enjoying the free time that coach Carol allowed for the end of another training week. She can’t really tell what kind of game everyone is playing. It kind of looks like a hybrid between ice tag mixed with racing and Marco Polo, which can’t be too safe if you ask her considering they’re all basically wearing shoes with knives on them.
And at the centre of it all: her skating partner Scott. He is like the largest social butterfly she has ever met. Everywhere she looks he is just there, and today is no exception. One minute he will be talking animatedly with one group of kids, and another minute later he is engaged in a full-fledged race with five other people. She doesn’t know how he does it. She can’t comprehend how he can get everyone around him to just like him.
So instead she sits, and she reads, because it’s what she does best. Remaining in her corner and doing her very best not to be noticed. It’s better this way, she concedes. No one wants to be friends with the quiet girl, anyway.
She’s trying to hold her new book with her mitten-clad hands when she hears faint giggling coming from the corner of the arena. She tries to tune it out, attempts to ignore the high-pitched squeals penetrating her ears, but they keep getting louder by the minute. Tessa attempts a discreet look, taking a peek that she hopes is hidden by her freshly cut bangs, to find a group of three girls from her singles group huddled in a corner, about 20-feet away from her.
The girls are a couple of years older than her. She has never talked to them but hasn’t failed to ignore the glares she has received from them. She remembers when she landed her first axel, there were no expressions of excitement or pride from her teammates, but rather intimidating gazes. She knows that they dislike the fact that she’s younger than them but still trains in the same group.
She’s not discreet enough apparently, as one of the girls makes eye contact with her, and she just knows. She can see the mischievous grin forming the girl’s lips, and the twinkle in her eyes as she smirks at Tessa before she turns back around to the other two and continues to laugh.
This is something that Tessa has unfortunately become accustomed to. She experiences this on a practical daily basis in school, with the popular girls making fun of her for her love of reading. Or at the National Ballet of Canada, where a group of young dancers stole her pointe shoes and she had to sit out of rehearsal. She’s learned to accept the ridicule.
That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, because it really does. But she has learnt to never show her weakness. Even at the raw age of ten she has developed the understanding of compartmentalizing her emotions and maintaining a persona for the public to see. But no matter how hard she tries to embody the strength of her public persona, she’s unable to suppress the warm liquid that she feels running down her cheek, forming around her cold, pink lips. The saltiness tastes like failure.
She would rather die than be exposed for the tears that she can’t seem to control, so she wipes her cheek with the back side of her sparkly pink mittens and packs her belongings haphazardly into her skate bag. She’d rather sit by her lonesome on the benches in the freezing cold Canadian winter air than let those girls see her cry.
And once she’s outside she just cries, as if any sense of control is just lost. Her tears come out in a frenzy, and her body shakes uncontrollably. Hopefully her sobs are masked by the sharp winds, and the hustle and bustle of rush hour traffic.
She’s outside for not even two minutes before she hears the heavy front doors of the arena open, and she tries to cover her face from whoever is walking out of the white-bricked building.
“Hey Tutu… what are you doing out here? It’s freezing!” she hears. And of course, it’s Scott. Of course the universe wouldn’t give her five minutes of peace before her space is invaded by her rambunctious skating partner. She pivots her body so that her back is facing him.
“Hey Tess, did you hear me? Why are you sitting out here?”
She feels his heavy form flop next to her with all the grace of a baby elephant. She can sense his eyes on her, those deep hazel eyes that make her skin burn. She finally picks up the courage to look at him, and his eyebrows are furrowed as he watches her, the creases between his eyes more prominent than ever. She might have even thought it looked adorable if she wasn’t so upset at the moment.
“I just wanted to be alone…” she just barely whispers, and she can see him straining to hear her. “I just couldn’t focus with all the noise and laughing.” She’d rather not tell him that she came outside because she just couldn’t handle being the centre of someone ridiculing her once again.
“Oh, well, okay…” he starts, and she’s not sure if she’s imagining things but she swears she sees a hint of disappointment in his eyes before he turns his face away from her. “I came looking for you because we were racing a bunch and I know you’re so fast, I wanted to see if you wanted to join.”
“Oh, that’s really nice,” Tessa starts. “But I don’t think anyone would really want that,” she mutters, wringing her hands together, partly from the cold, but also to try and ground herself.
“What do you mean?”
She does her very best to hide the one tear that manages to escape down her rosy cheeks, and quickly tries to shrug it away with her shoulder.
“I just mean…” she starts, “people don’t really like hanging out with me. Most people just think I’m annoying or nerdy. So, it’s just easier to sit on the side and not bother anyone with trying to be their friend.” Her voice cracks on that last sentence, and she can feel her face become flushed with sadness and frustration. She hopes that Scott thinks the redness of her freckled nose is a result of the crisp winter air, and not the tears she’s trying to so desperately hide.
If she thought his brow was furrowed before, she was mistaken. The look on his face is of sheer confusion. If she didn’t know any better she would think that he wasn’t looking at her, but some alien creature from another planet. He’s honestly looking at her like she’s developed a second head.
And then his face softens, and he almost looks sad. And before she knows it he’s entwining his hand with hers.
“You never have to try with me, though.”
She’s never seen so much sincerity from a boy his age in her entire life.
“You don’t mean that,” Tessa says as she looks down. “And besides… you’re friends with practically everyone.”
“Now that isn’t true either,” he begins. “I mean sure, I talk with a lot of people and get along with everyone, but I wouldn’t call them my friends. I only reserve that term for the really special people I care about.”
She looks up at him and he has the biggest grin on his face. It’s not snarky or mischievous like it usually is, but rather delicate and kind, and you can almost see the smile through his eyes.
“Really?” she starts, with the corners of her mouth curling up. Not into a complete smile, but an acknowledgment of his kindness.
“Yeah really… and I really like calling you my friend,” he mutters as he looks down at the scuffs on his shoes. “You’re really smart. Like you tell me all these cool things that I wouldn’t know about at all! And you laugh at all my jokes which is really great.” He says with a little chuckle. “And you’re also an incredible partner.” He whispers so quietly she almost doesn’t hear it.
“So yeah, Tutu, you’re my friend.” He looks up at her again. She looks back at him. It’s the first time they’ve made eye contact since this conversation started.
“You’re my friend too, Scott,” she starts, and she squeezes his hand. She hadn’t realized he was still holding onto it until this moment.
“Well, great!” He says with a huge grin. It’s back to that cocky one she is so familiar with. “Now that that’s settled, come put your skates on and show everyone who’s boss.”
Tessa laughs so loud she snorts. She doesn’t laugh like that often, so she goes to cover her mouth. But he just looks at her with a huge smile, as if he would want to hear that sound all day.
They both get off the bench and make their way back into the arena, hand in hand. And Tessa doesn’t feel so alone anymore.
ii. 2007
He finds her sitting in a supply closet, knees tucked up to her chest, head between her legs.
The thing is, all day at practice she acts like she’s okay. She looks as crisp and proper as Tessa could possibly be. She smiles and nods when she’s supposed to, listens to Marina yell at her without batting an eyelash, all with the grace of a picture-perfect skater. If you asked anyone they would say Tessa was just fine.
But Scott isn’t just anyone. And Tessa isn’t fine.
He senses it from the moment she enters the rink. Her complexion is a little less rosy, her eyes slightly glassier. When she smiles, it never quite reaches her eyes. And it only continues throughout the day. He notices it when she shies away from his touch. He feels her flinch from the moment his fingertips reach her bare skin. It’s in the way her eyes never meet his.
So he isn’t completely surprised when he hears light sobs coming from the end of the corridor when they are supposed to be on break for lunch. And he is even less surprised when he finds her sitting there in the dark, completely shutting out the whole world.
He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t have to. He just flicks the light on and closes the door. And that’s when she looks up at him, all red faced and puffy. Her freckles are accentuated from the pinkness of her skin. It would be adorable if he hadn’t noticed the hurt on her face.
“Scott…” she croaks, and his heart just melts. Her voice is so thick with emotion he just wants to do anything to make her pain go away.
“You don’t have to say anything, kiddo,” he says as he approaches her, and she just nods. He comes and crouches right next to her. His arms wrapping around her small frame as she lays her head on his shoulder. He just lets her cry. There isn’t much he can do right now, so he does what he can. He’s just going to be there for her, rub soothing circles along her shoulder blades and back until she calms. He can feel her breath slowly calming, and she begins to relax into his touch.
It’s only after about 20 minutes of silence that Scott decides that she needs to open up about why she’s feeling this way. Wordlessly, he gets up and holds his hand out in front of her. She only hesitates for a second before she takes it, not letting go as she’s up on her feet.
They walk hand-in-hand in silence out of the closet and into the Arctic Edge hallway. He first brings her to the water fountain and gets her a cup of water, knowing how dehydrated she must be feeling after the amount of crying she’s been doing. She thanks him silently, her forest-green eyes just penetrating through his hazel; her long lashes dark from her tears.
She chucks her little cup into trash can before looking back at him, silently giving him permission to guide her wherever she deems fit. She trusts him explicitly, knows that he would never do anything to hurt her, so she lets him take her wherever he wants.
What she isn’t expecting is to be guided into the women’s washroom, but she silently abides. He guides her into the corner stall, too tight for the both of them but she doesn’t care, and he silently motions for her to sit on the hooded seat just as he’s crouching down in front of her, his hands going to rest on her knees.
He doesn’t have to say anything before the tears starts trickling down her face. He just sits there and waits, running his hands up and down her thigh until she finds the strength to open up to him. He will crouch here as long as it takes; until he knows his partner is doing okay.
“Chad cheated on me,” she manages to get out before a huge sob just escapes her lips; the kind where she loses her breath and can’t control the shaking of her body.
“Oh, kiddo… come here,” he says, and he’s up on his feet, crowding her space until he’s holding her in a tight embrace. He can feel her wet face in the crook of his shoulder, staining his shirt. But he doesn’t have a care in the world, other than for Tessa to just let go and feel safe in his arms.
“Someone sent me a video of him making out with some random girl at a party while we were in Toronto for high performance,” she mutters into his shoulder before she’s pulling back, fresh tears staining her face.
“It was some blonde chick with really big boobs and a curvy ass… it’s obvious as to why he would choose someone like that over me. I mean… look at me.” He hears the crack in her voice at that last sentence. He can’t suppress the clench of his jaw and the strain of his fists as she says those things about herself. He wishes she could see how amazing she is.
“Hey Tess, look at me...” he starts, but she’s fidgeting with her rings. He touches her chin with his fingers to get her to look at him. “You are so amazing, okay? You are beautiful, smart, and thoughtful. Any guy in the world would be so lucky to have you in their life. I mean, I know I definitely am,” he says to her, wiping her tears away with his thumb, just caressing her face to try and calm her breathing.
“And if that fucking asshole… Chad, can’t fucking recognize that, then he’s a fucking idiot who doesn’t deserve a second of your time.”
She’s looking at him with those eyes of wonder, as if his words can cure all of her problems and fears. He feels like the luckiest guy in the world. He would do anything to make sure she feels safe and loved.
“Now,” Scott starts, “do you need me to kick this guy’s ass? Because I’m ready to absolutely pound this guy into another dimension.”
And he sees Tessa smile for the first time in a while. It’s not a full smile, but the corners of her mouth twitch up in a little grin. And even with the small change in features, he can still see that this one reaches her eyes.
“No” she says, shaking her head, and her hair falls in her face, blocking her beautiful features. He goes to tuck her hair behind her ear, his fingertips just grazing her soft porcelain skin, and he sighs a breath of relief when she doesn’t shudder under his touch like earlier.
“But, thank you, Scott. I really don’t know what I would do without you in my life,” she utters while looking down. He knows her cheeks would flush pink if they weren’t already reddened by her tears. It’s amazing how after all this time, she still shies away from him when she’s acting vulnerable.
“Well lucky for you, you’ll never have to know that life,” he says with a grin and a wink, and she scoffs at him, because of course he’s acting like a doofus, even at a time like this.
“I’m serious Tess,” he starts. “You are the most incredible person I know. And I am so lucky that I get to call you my best friend.”
Her big beautiful green eyes find his. And without saying anything else she wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him in close; long steady breaths escaping her pink and swollen lips. He kisses her the top of her head before resting his cheek on her soft hair.
They stand there in the tiny stall for who knows how long, but he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
iii. 2010
She expects her mother to be there when her eyes flutter open, blurry with the effects of the anesthesia. She feels her fingers encased in a warm touch before she’s fully focusing her vision and she thinks it’s her mom, but her mom’s hair isn’t that dark and her hands aren’t that big.
She stirs beneath the warm blanket draped over her lap and sees the dark, fuzzy shape shift beside her. She sees a dark head lift, blinking to try to make out any details of the person at her side. Her legs are slightly elevated beneath the blanket and she doesn’t know anything except that her legs are numb and the world feels like she’s been on a carousel for far too long.
“Mom?” She croaks the word, her throat sore and dry, even though she knows it’s not her mother. It only makes sense that Kate would be here now, even if the hair is too dark to belong to her mother. Another thought teases the edges of her confused brain and she says her sister’s name in a question. “Jordan?”
The head rises and she sees a familiar face, but not one so familiar that she mistakes it for her sister’s. Her eyes can make out the sharp edges, the dark eyes, the close-cropped hair.
“Try again,” she hears his voice. “You’re zero for two so far.”
“Scott,” she says his name almost in relief, her head pressing heavily against the pillow as her vision starts to come into focus. “You’re here.”
“Yeah, kiddo,” she feels warmth around her cold fingers again, feels pressure, knows or at least assumes that he’s squeezing her hand within his own. “Where else would I be?”
She opens her mouth, tongue dry and gummy.
“Thirsty,” she manages, and he’s reaching across her lap carefully to the tray beside her, the hand that isn’t holding hers finding a Styrofoam cup with a straw and guiding it carefully to her mouth.
“Not too much,” he warns her, pressing the straw to her mouth and she parts her lips, allowing the plastic tube to settle between them. She sucks, too hard obviously, because a gush of water slips up the straw and into her mouth and she’s coughing and the ice water is spilling down her front and god, she suddenly feels the ache of the stitches in the backs of her legs despite the copious amounts of pain medicine coursing through her system.
“Tess,” he says her name worriedly and is up, releasing her hand and pressing a towel to her front, soaking up the cold liquid before it has a chance to seep through her surgical gown. “Careful, now.”
“Sorry,” she mumbles, and she isn’t sure why she’s apologizing, but she isn’t really sure of anything right now except that Scott’s holding her hand again and the edges of her mind are fuzzy with the double-edged sword of narcotics. “My mom?”
“Yeah,” he uses the thumbs to stroke the back of her hands, and she can feel that as the numbness slowly abandons parts of her body that weren’t directly affected by the surgery. “She just went down to the cafeteria. You want me to go grab her?”
“No,” Tessa says quickly, and she feels herself shudder. She doesn’t know if she’s cold or if the side effects of the anesthesia are leaving her chilled, but Scott is pulling the cover around her tighter, even catches a nurse as she passes by, requesting another warm blanket. “Just stay with me.”
He sits back in his chair next to her bed and she closes her eyes for just a moment, the heavy heat of a fresh warm blanket pouring over her as a nurse tucks it tenderly beneath her legs, careful to avoid post-operative wounds. Tessa feels the warmth spread through her bones and travel up her spine, and despite the pain she knows she’ll be feeling when the pain medicine begins to wear off, the edges of her lips curve into a soft smile.
“You’re feeling pretty good right now, eh?” Scott asks, and she opens her eyes to see the stupid goofy grin on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s concerned, maybe about the future of their ice dancing, probably about her. She hopes it’s about her.
“My shins don’t hurt,” she mumbles. “For the first time in a long time.”
She feels his smile, but she knows he’s just as scared as she is and she doesn’t know if it’s the pain medication or the anesthesia, but she feels hot tears slipping down her cheeks and she’s turning her head away from him, her arms too tired to reach up and wipe them away.
“Tess,” he says her name softly, and he’s already up and he’s grabbed a tissue and he’s dabbing gently at her wet cheeks as the tears spill. “Are you okay? Are you in pain? Do you need me to get a nurse?”
Even when she’s the one in the hospital bed, she hates to hear the pain in his voice and she’s shaking her head, trying to stop his worried rant.
“No, no,” she’s whispering, desperate not to draw anymore attention to herself. “Scott, it’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” He’s back at her side, leaning close to her. She can hear the concern in his voice, doesn’t even need to look into the dark pool of his eyes to see it. “What’s wrong?”
She almost doesn’t want to say it, just in case. She doesn’t want to put the negative energy out into the air, doesn’t want to dwell on it when she needs to focus on the positivity. But Scott’s here now, and he’s the only one who will be able to reassure her. He’s the one who will tell her the truth even when it hurts because he’s the only other person affected by this as much as she is.
“What if I can’t…” It’s harder to say than she thought, and the fear is real because this has happened before. She’s struggled through this pain before, relearned how to walk and dance and came out the other side, and what if it happens again? What if it keeps happening for the rest of her life until she decides that the benefits no longer outweigh the costs?
“You will,” he says, finishing her thought for her, because he’s had the same fears. “You’ll get through this, just like you have before. You’re gonna be okay, Tess.”
And if anyone else, even her mom, had said it, she might have doubted them. Maybe because they wouldn’t know what it was like to be in this situation, to be at the bottom rung of the tallest ladder in the world and looking up at the endlessly blue sky. But Scott understood, at least a little. He’d gone through the agony of the practices, had seen the hurt and disappointment in her eyes when she’d had to drag herself to the side of the rink because the pain was too great to continue.
“What if we don’t-” The words slip out before she has a chance to stop them, fear and worry edging the fuzziness from her mind.
“We will,” he says, and his voice stops her. “Just like we always have.”
“But you weren’t-” she insists.
“I know,” he says, and she still can’t believe that after nearly fifteen years together he can read her mind like he does, “but I’m here now. You’re my best friend. I’m not going anywhere you can’t follow.”
And even in the starkness of the recovery room, when Scott’s hand is holding hers, she feels as free as if she’s on the ice, just as long as he stays right here beside her.
iv. 2015
“She sucks, Scott.” She says the words with a lopsided grin and he can see that she’s already tipsy. He should push the beer away from her, but she’s clutching it in her slender fingers and he doesn’t feel like fighting her. “Fuck her.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, leaning back against the booth. He doesn’t feel like talking, doesn’t really even feel like breathing, but Tessa showed up unannounced wearing that little black dress, begging him to join her at the bar, and he couldn’t to turn her away because she’s her and he’s him and damnit if she doesn’t leave him absolutely unable to refuse her. “Fuck her.”
The words hurt to even say, because as much as it sucks to think that his girlfriend (well, newly ex-girlfriend) is a heartless bitch, it hurts almost as much to think that he’s the one who’s suffering while she’s already hooked up with a new guy. And the fact that Tessa absolutely will not leave it alone isn’t helping.
“No, seriously,” she slurs, and he raises his eyes to see that her green eyes have started to glaze. “She’s a bitch for doing that to you.”
“Okay,” he sighs after a moment, leaning forward and taking the bottle of beer from her hand. “I think you’re about done, Tess.”
“That’s only my third one,” she insists, furrowing her eyebrows and watching as he takes the nearly empty bottle from her.
“Yeah, and you’re a lightweight,” he admonishes her. “And I don’t feel like watching my best friend die from alcohol poisoning tonight.”
“Oh,” Tessa sighs, sinking into her hands, watching him, her eyes wide and glassy. “I’m your best friend?”
He sighs and turns to look at her before eyeing his own half-empty beer. It’s his second one, and he’s barely tasted the alcohol as it slips down his throat. His sense of taste is dulled by heartache and a crushing sense of defeat. He doesn’t speak and it’s another long moment before Tessa steadies herself, rising to her feet and crossing from her side of the booth to stand before him. She wavers a little and he tries to think of the last time he saw her this wasted. Tessa doesn’t drink, at least not much anymore. She treats her body as a temple aside from the occasional (well, frequent) chocolate bar, and watching her grow increasingly more senseless as she downs this shit leaves him feeling slightly unsettled.
“Let me take you home,” he says, though he knows he’s already buzzed and driving is not a good idea. What he means to say is, let me call you a taxi, but his brain is already misfiring and Tessa tilts her head at him, smiling crookedly.
“I don’t wanna go home,” she whispers, reaching out for him. It takes him a moment to react before he stupidly raises his hands to allow her to take his fingers within her own. “I wanna dance.”
He laughs at the prospect of Tessa twirling on the dance floor, and then the image of her dark hair flowing behind her as she spins and rocks her hips against his has a different effect. He thinks of her pressed against him, the bitter smell of alcohol on her breath as she whispers to him, and he feels the blood flow increase between his legs.
“You’re crazy,” he attempts to ration and she giggles, shaking her head, still holding his hands. She tugs on him and he reluctantly stands, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. She walks backward with amazing accuracy as she leads him to a crowded dance floor. It’s not until she bumps into a woman who shoots her a dirty look that Scott puts a gentle but clumsy hand on her arm and she turns around to see where she’s going.
“Dance with me,” she says to him, and before he has the chance to deny her, she’s spinning around him, her lower body pressed to his. She still has his hands and is pressing her ass into his groin, grinding herself against him. She wraps his arms around her and settles into his embrace like they’re on the ice and these are characters they’re playing, not Scott and Tessa themselves in a very public bar.
Despite his reservations, he feels his body beginning to move. It’s instinct to rock against her, press himself into her soft curves and allow his arms to encircle her. They’ve been doing this for so many years that it’s second nature to respond to her body, allow her to lead him where she wants him to be. He knows that he’s newly single and that his body is responding to her in ways he hadn’t anticipated and that this is quickly leading to a slippery slope from which there is no return.
“Tess,” he says her name in an attempt to stop her, but it exits his lips in a strangled cry. He realizes that it’s barely a whisper and that, rather than stopping her, it seems to have had the opposite effect. She responds by turning, pressing her hands against his chest, her mouth against his ear in a way that is oddly reminiscent of their Carmen performance.
“Scott,” she whispers his name, and he feels the arousal growing between them. “Come home with me.”
He wants to. Jesus, he wants to. But she’s drunk, so drunk, and nothing she’s saying right now is even halfway sensible and he knows that taking advantage of her in this state would not only violate their lifelong friendship, but also the limits of human decency.
“Tessa, you’re drunk,” he tells her, and he expects her to argue, or to laugh. He expects her to deny and turn away, maybe pout. He expects a thousand different reactions, but she surprises him.
She grins, her green eyes flashing dark with lust that he’s only seen from her on the ice as they portray love-struck characters. She pushes her hands against his chest, her mouth still dangerously close to his ear.
“Yeah,” she admits, “I’m drunk. But that doesn’t change how badly I want you.”
It takes nearly every nerve in his body not to take her into his arms and press his mouth to hers. It takes even more effort not to take her right here, right now, scurry her into the dirty bar washroom and tear at her clothes until there’s nothing more between them. But even though he’s a little buzzed, he’s nowhere near drunk, and he knows that Tessa is in no condition to offer anything to anyone.
“Okay,” he says after a long moment, his fingers prying her hands from his chest. “It’s time to go home.”
It’s nearly one o’clock and he knows that Tessa will hate herself in the morning. He thinks about how she might react if she wakes up in the morning with him beside her in bed and vows not to tell her about this. She will be humiliated, waking in the morning with the knowledge that she propositioned him like this. And though he knows she’s drunk out of her mind, he can’t help but wonder if there’s any rational part of her brain that has considered the possibility of their coupling before.
“Scott,” she groans his name, and for a moment he thinks she’s going to put up a fight, but then she goes pale. She wavers on her feet and before he’s even able to ask, she’s racing across the dance floor and into the washroom. He watches her for only a moment before following, pushing the washroom door open and peeking into the open stall doors before he finds her knelt before a toilet, her dark hair falling around her like a curtain as she heaves.
Wordlessly, he moves beside her, kneeling and gathering her hair in his hands. He holds her hair back as she vomits into the toilet, her slender fingers gripping the filthy seat. Absurdly, he thinks about how Tessa would never touch a public toilet seat while even halfway sober and it leaves him feeling guilty and sick with the knowledge that he’s let her get to this point.
“You’re okay,” he reassures her as another wave of sickness rushes from her, one hand tying her hair into a loose knot as the other strokes her back comfortingly. “Get it all out, T.”
He realizes a moment later that her shoulders are still heaving, though no longer with the effort of expressing bile. She’s crying now, fat tears dripping into the toilet water beneath her. He makes a small, concerned sound in the back of his throat before he’s pulling her gently off the toilet and pressing her to his chest. She shudders and her teeth clatter. She smells like vomit and still somehow deliciously like Tessa. Like the most wonderful thing he’s ever smelled.
“I’m sorry,” she’s whimpering, and he shushes her. They’re knelt on the washroom floor and he’s rocking her in his arms and he can feel her tears soaking into his shirt.
“You’re okay,” he repeats, because he doesn’t really know why she’s crying.
“Tonight was supposed to be about making you feel better after that bitch broke your heart,” she says after a moment, as if she knew he was wondering. “And I got drunk. I’m really drunk, Scott.”
“I know, Tess,” he soothes her, smiling despite himself. “I know you are.”
“And I’m sorry,” she repeats, “I’m sorry I couldn’t make you feel better.”
He sighs and says nothing as she remains wrapped in his arms.
“You always make me feel better, T,” he says in an attempt to soothe her, not realizing at first that the words are true. “Being with you always makes me feel better.”
“But I’m drunk,” she pouts, and he can’t see her face but he would be willing to bet money on the fact that her lower lip is starting to protrude, her dark eyebrows furrowing. “And now I’m sick. And I’m a terrible friend.”
“Well,” he sighs after a moment, “maybe you’re drunk and sick, but you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You’re the best friend I’m ever going to have.”
“Scott,” she whispers his name and her face is buried suddenly in his neck, her fingers clutching his shoulders. She’s crying again, and he’s already standing, pulling her to her unsteady feet. She settles against him.
“Let’s get you home,” he says, but she’s placing a hand against his chest again, giving him pause.
“Are you going to stay the night?” She asks, and her eyes are wide with a mixture of desire and fear and he doesn’t know what she’s looking for, doesn’t know if she’s already started to sober up or if she’s still in her lust-filled alcoholic haze.
“No,” he says, making eye contact with her, and he sees the relief flash in her eyes. “I’m going to tuck you in, kiss your forehead, and then leave a bottle of water and some ibuprofen on your nightstand. And you’re going to call me in the morning.”
She smiles, pushes herself onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.
“You’re a good friend, Scott. My best friend.”
He rolls his eyes playfully, shuffling her in his arms.
“Yeah, I know. You, too, Tess.”
v. 2017
Tessa cannot remember the last time she has been this happy.
They have had a difficult yet rewarding year with this comeback. Their bodies have been pushed to new limits, having to readjust to a competitive training plan once again, and Marie-France and Patch had been keen on redefining and fine-tuning even their most basic skating skills; and it hasn’t been easy.
But the reward has been huge. They are absolutely in love with their new coaching staff and prep team, they are finally feeling that sense of freedom and independence for their skating that they haven’t gotten with Marina, and are currently at the top of the world, just coming off of an undefeated season, winning their first Grand Prix Final, and securing their third World Championship gold medal.
But most importantly, she feels like she has finally gotten her best friend back; there had been fleeting moments after Sochi where she feared she would lose him. He had been so keen on separating himself from skating, and she’s almost sure that part (or most) of that was because of her. He lost himself into life with his new girl, and then the bottom of a beer bottle, and she would go weeks without hearing from him; knowing if he was okay.
Now though? It’s as if that first year after the Olympics didn’t happen. They check-in with each other, expressive and reflecting their emotions like they never have before. Scott had a difficult year, with the loss of one of his childhood friends, and his grandfather only a couple of months later. But Tessa was with him in his grievances every step of the way. She held him when he cried, grounded him in his time of emotional upheaval, and distracted him and tried to make him laugh when it was clear he needed to occupy his mind with something else.
They spend all of their time together, even in moments when they could give each other space. So this is how she finds herself, lounging on a bar stool along her kitchen island, in a black form-fitting tank top, a pair of baggy sweats (that she stole from Scott but she has sworn herself to secrecy if he ever calls her out on it), paired with a pair of pink fuzzy slippers, and her hair in a messy top-knot on her head, her baby hairs framing her porcelain, makeup-free face.
She’s watching Scott finesse himself around her kitchen, grabbing pots and pans from her bottom cabinets, and navigating her spice rack with a sense of ease that even she doesn’t possess in her own kitchen. She doesn’t have time to feign innocence as he turns to look over his shoulder, a tiny grin forming at the corner of his lips as he’s caught her staring.
“Liking the view, Tess?”
She grabs a leftover cherry tomato from the counter and whips it at him. He narrowly dodges it and it lands on the counter. He grabs it from where it has landed and pops it into his mouth. She can’t help but notice the sharp curve of his jaw clenching as he chews on the juicy piece of fruit.
“Oh, shut up! What else am I supposed to look at? You’re not letting me do anything,” she counters.
“Well,” Scott starts. “Since I’m providing the food, you can provide the entertainment,” he says nonchalantly, but with a slight smirk. Tessa knows he has no ulterior motives when he says these kinds of things. She’s used to his flirtatious behaviour; has been exposed to it since the ripe age of 8. But she still can’t help the flutter in her stomach she feels when he says those words to her.
She only registers that she has spaced out after Scott clears his throat, and she darts her head in his direction to see his eyebrow furrowed, deep creases forming along his forehead. “Earth to T… you good over there?” She hesitates for a second longer before she snaps herself out of it, shakily reaching for her phone.
“Right… entertainment,” she mutters, before scrolling through the playlist on her phone to select something to listen to.
She finds the perfect song before looking up and grinning at Scott, who now looks more confused at the devilish smile spread across her lips. She keeps eye contact with him as she presses play, and Hall and Oates’s “You Make my Dream Come True” blasts through the portable speaker she has kept in the corner of her kitchen.
Scott lets out a pleading “No!” as Tessa hops off the stool and slides across the floor to reach him, swaying her hips to the strings of the song, genuine happiness emanating from her face, as she lets the music guide her movements.
Scott only feigns annoyance for about a minute until he’s joining in on her shenanigans. He starts shouting the lyrics at the top of his lungs, using his wooden stirring spoon as a microphone. He’s also managed to shift his body, so his back is now facing her, shaking his ass in out-of-rhythm succession, causing her to giggle uncontrollably. She also finds herself staring a little too long at the curve of his ass, the perfect plump shape that only looks better the longer she looks. She has to stop herself from attempting to grab it.
They dance and giggle as the final chords of the song die down. They are both heavy breathing, faces flushed a darker shade of pink, and Tessa can see beads of sweat forming at Scott’s hairline. She would normally find it gross to see his face all moist from exertion, but right now it just makes him look so child-like, and she can’t help the wide toothy grin that she gives him, as he mirrors her same reaction.
They are still staring at each other as the next song shuffles on her phone. If her face wasn’t already red, she knows she would flush from embarrassment. She can see Scott’s face shift as the delicate piano chords of Van Morrison’s “Have I Told You Lately” blazes through her speakers, and she looks down before muttering, “Sorry, I’ll just change that really quick…”
She doesn’t get a chance to get far before he’s tugging on her hand and pulling her flush against him, a small smirk spreading on his lips.
“Where do you think you’re going!?” he asks coyly. “This finally gives me a chance to slow dance with my best friend.” She looks at him in only mock disgust.
“Who said I wanted to dance with you?”
“Oh, don’t break my heart Tess,” he says with a little pout. She doesn’t know why she has the urge to kiss it right off.
“Ugh, okay, fine. Yes, I would love to dance with my best friend, too,” she says, her lips curling slightly upwards as she looks up at him. He has a similar expression on his face.
Honestly, she wouldn’t constitute this as dancing. If she had to describe what they were doing, she could only describe it as a cuddle-like hug. She has her head tucked under his chin, both arms linking behind him, almost koala-like. Scott has one arm draped across her shoulders, and the other cradling her head. He’s rubbing soothing circles with his thumb along the back of her head. She can feel the rise and fall of his chest against her own.
“Tess?” Scott mutters.
“Hmmm...?” is the only sound she is capable of making at the moment. Just the slight acknowledgment that she’s listening to him.
“I just-” he starts, and she can hear the hesitation in his voice. She pulls away only slightly so she can look at him.
“What is it, Scott?”
“I just… I just really love you,” he says. “And I feel like I don’t tell you enough.”
When she looks at him all she sees is love in his eyes. His cheeks are a little pink and he has a small smile; almost hesitant, but his eyes look so beautiful. She can see little specks of green and gold, almost trying to break free from his typical light brown.
It’s as if all sense is lost on her when she begins to inch herself closer to him. She brings her arms up to wrap around his neck, her delicate fingers tangling in his thick curls, as he brings his arms down to hold her at her waist. She leans her forehead to rest against his, and she can feel his breathe on her lips. They are both breathing slightly heavy as she tentatively brings her lips closer to his. Her whole body is trembling, but she doesn’t care. She can’t explain why she’s doing this, but she doesn’t want it to stop.
It’s only as she’s a mere two inches away from him when she hears it, an popping-like sound coming from not too far behind her. She assumes Scott hears it at the same time as his head snaps upward to look at her kitchen stove, only to see the pasta sauce sizzling over the pan and onto the gas burner.
Scott surges forward to remove the pan from atop her stove. She just stares in blatant disbelief, not at the state of her kitchen, but the almost kiss that they nearly shared in her kitchen. She grabs her phone to stop her music from playing, and once she puts it down, she can’t help but to look at him and laugh at the complete ridiculousness of this situation. Leave it to Tessa Virtue, she thinks, to almost have a kitchen fire because she couldn’t control herself around her skating partner.
He starts laughing too, his face scrunching up in the delicious way she loves. It’s only after a few minutes that they finally calm down.
“I’ll just finish up supper before we have to evacuate,” he says with a soft giggle that she reciprocates. She busies herself by setting up the kitchen table with their plates and cutlery, and before they know it, they are eating slightly overcooked pasta and sauce, while stealing glances at each other before shyly looking away once again.
“Scott?” she starts, and he looks up at her with his eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, kiddo?”
“I, um…” she begins before looking down. She almost doesn’t have the nerve to keep speaking before she feels his hand lightly graze hers, and she take his grounding offer, curling her fingers between his before she looks up again.
“I, uh… I really love you too,” she says, and his eyes have that look again.
Stolen glances are exchanged for rest of the evening, but nothing else happens, and soon enough she’s sending him home with their signature hug and a promise for tomorrow. She doesn’t know what the future holds for them, but she does know that, whatever happens, they will always have each other.
iv. 2018
“I shouldn’t be eating this,” she says, shaking her head, one finger poking at the melted cheese as she raises her eyes to look at Scott. “This is going to go straight to my ass.”
Scott smirks at her, folding his piece of pizza in half and shoving it into his mouth, his cheeks bulging. He chews, watching her before swallowing. The lump of food slips down his throat and she turns to the television, the movie flickering across the screen as Harry and Sally meet for what might be the second or third time, she can’t remember.
She sighs and looks back at the pizza, its topping shiny with grease, before blotting at it with a paper towel. She feels his eyes on her and, even out of the corner of her eye, sees the grin playing on his lips.
“How is that a bad thing?” He asks, and she reacts with a swift swat to his arm. He cries out playfully and jerks away from her, reaching for another piece of pizza. “Come on, Tess. Competitions are over. There’s no more judges, no more scores. If you’ve ever wanted to get fat, now’s the time.”
Tessa scowls at him, but he’s right, to an extent. She’s deprived herself of anything containing fat, carbs, or any taste for the past eighteen months and while she knows she’ll later regret it, she lifts the piece of pizza to her mouth and nibbles off a corner. It’s hot and greasy and tastes like heaven and she wonders how she went this long without convincing herself it was okay to cheat on her diet.
“I don’t want to get fat,” she says, but she takes another bite of her pizza. It’s an off night for them, they’re between Stars on Ice shows in Montreal and Scott informed her that they had to indulge in a cheesy movie night, of course making that literal when the doorbell rang and a delivery guy from Pendeli’s Pizza showed up with a large pie. Scott had laughed at the distaste on her face, and she’d spent the better part of five minutes dabbing at her slice with a napkin to absorb most of the grease. “But this is good.”
“Of course it’s good,” Scott says through a mouthful of dough. “You think I’d order you subpar pizza?”
She looks up at him, and he’s got a spot of red sauce on his chin.
“You have,” she motions toward it with her thumb, but he tilts his head at her, feigning confusion. He’s fucking with her, and she knows it. “Sauce,” she explains, “right there.”
He wipes at the edges of his lips with this thumb, purposely avoiding the spot she’s pointing out, and she rolls her eyes at him before grabbing a napkin and moving toward him. She folds the edge of the paper towel and dabs at his chin, but his hand quickly catches her wrist as she begins to pull away. His eyes are dark and smiling and for some reason it makes her heart beat faster.
“Scott,” she says his name softly, and he keeps her eyes for a long moment before the sound of the television draws their attention. It’s the famous diner scene in the movie and Sally is simulating an orgasm while Harry watches her across the table, slack-jawed. Tessa feels her chest growing pink and flushed and neither of them move for a moment before Scott slowly releases her wrist and looks back to her, his breath heavier than it had been just a moment ago.
“Thanks, T,” he smiles, his lips parting a gentle grin, and she barely manages a mumbled response before she’s moving back to the spot she’s taken up on the couch. She glances toward her pizza, only a few small bites missing, and she wonders how she’ll manage to get the rest of the food into her stomach. She picks up the plate and uses a finger to poke at the cheese before deciding that it isn’t worth the effort of choking it down and places it back on the coffee table.
The scene has ended now and while the sounds of ecstasy no longer blare from the television, she can’t stop thinking about the way Scott’s eyes met hers as she dabbed at his chin, the way he appeared to struggle to take a deep breath as he’d held her wrist in his fingers. It’s not the first time they’ve shared an unexpectedly intimate moment in the two decades of their partnership, but it feels so out-of-place off the ice. She doesn’t expect to look at him in jeans and a t-shirt and feel the way she suddenly finds herself feeling, yet it’s happening and she doesn’t know how to respond. She’s reminded of that night in her kitchen last year, the look they’d shared just before the spaghetti sauce had boiled over on the stove, and she’s blushing again.
“You okay?” He’s asking, and she nods before glancing away from him.
“Yeah.” Her voice is quiet and she wonders for a moment if the rest of their lives will be like this; the two of them dancing around the obvious emotions that bubble between them. She wonders if she’ll ever find anyone who makes her feel the way he does, light on her feet and heavy with emotion at the same time.
She feels his eyes on her and tries her best to focus on the television, but from the corner of her gaze she can tell that he’s wiping his hands on a napkin and standing up. She feels the couch shift as he sinks onto the cushion next to her, turned to face her. His thigh is pressed against hers, and she considers moving over, making room for him, but decides she likes the feel of his warmth and allows her fingers to curl on her own leg.
She can feel his smile, knows that’s he’s trying to catch her eye, but her attention remains focused on the movie. She doesn’t know if she can look toward him, how she can possibly get through this moment if she meets his eyes.
But then he says simply, “hey,” and she’s looking toward him instinctively. She nearly curses and then laughs at the simple smile on his face His eyes trace her features, and then his fingers are moving up to the bun on her head and he tugs on it gently.
“You look really beautiful.”
She feels her chest and face flush dark pink and she swallows around the lump in her throat. Her top teeth chew on her bottom lip for a moment before she forces out a nervous laugh.
“What, are you kidding? I’m wearing sweats and my hair is in a bun. I literally look like the most basic white girl in Canada right now,” she quips, and he rolls his eyes good-naturedly. He sits back against the couch, still pressed against her, and a long moment later, almost without realizing, her hand goes to her hair, unraveling the hair tie and letting the dark strands fall to her shoulders.
She doesn’t know why, and if he were to directly ask, she would deny it, but she suddenly wants to impress him. She wonders if she should slip into her bedroom, dress in something silky and thin, change out of these oversized sweats and sink back onto the couch next to him. However, as soon as the thought enters her mind, she forces it away, burning with shame at the idea.
This is Scott, her skating partner, her best friend. He’s been her best friend for over twenty years, even in the interims of time when they’d fallen apart, they’d always come back together. That wasn’t to say she’s never had these thoughts before, especially since PyeongChang, when he’d become more affectionate, more intimate. She thinks of the way he touches her on and off the ice before and after shows and suddenly all she wants is to touch him in a way that she never has before.
The tension between them suddenly feels palpable and she wonders if spontaneous combustion is, indeed, possible. The air between them is electric, and despite the fact that she’s spent over two decades in his presence, she could never predict the words that he says next.
“I want you so bad,” the words escape him, and, just for a moment, she wonders if she misheard him. But then she looks toward him and his eyes are lowered, the guilty look on his face saying everything he doesn’t need to. And suddenly all she knows is that she needs to kiss the look of shame from his face.
“Yeah?” The word slips from her mouth, and before she even has a chance to consider the implications of what she’s doing, she’s turned toward him and slipping into his lap, her legs easily straddling him. This is crazy and bizarre and makes absolutely no sense for them, yet somehow it’s the most logical thing she’s ever done. She settles herself on his lap, her dark hair hanging between them as she meets his eyes.
He’s raised his eyes to her now, and she knows that, even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to look anywhere but at her. Her heart is hammering in her chest and she’s trembling, that familiar shudder that overwhelms her whenever she’s so desperately close to him, but she knows that it’s too late to turn back now.
“You want me?” She asks, and she can hear the shaky breath he takes before nodding, his fingers finding her hips and skimming them through her baggy sweats.
“Yeah,” he whispers, and from the way he’s straining to speak, she wonders how he even managed to say it.
“Then take me,” she husks.
And there’s no doubt as to whether or not he’s heard her this time, because his lips are already crushing against hers in a hard kiss that takes her breath away. Her body begins to move in response to his, arching her hips against the way that he touches her. Their lips meet for a long, breathless moment before he’s pulling away, much to her chagrin, his mouth leaving wet, hot kisses along the flushed skin of her neck and chest. She whispers his name without a thought regarding what kind of reaction it might have on him, and she hears him groan and his hands slip under her sweats.
There’s no question about what they want, and no words are necessary between them. Tessa has wanted this longer than she’s even known, and from Scott’s hardness pressing against her thigh, she knows that he feels the same way. He’s tugging at her shirt and their lips break only long enough for him to pull the article of clothing over her head. When it’s discarded on the floor, she straightens her back, her skin suddenly chilled in the comfort of her home.
She’s not cold, but her nipples harden into hard rose-colored pebbles at the touch of his thumb brushing over her sharp hip. She arches in his lap and he gasps, his eyes taking in the beauty of her form, the body he’s known for so long but never so intimately like this. She watches the desire overtake his eyes, and he doesn’t hesitate before dipping his head, catching one of her nipples between his lips.
“Scott,” she whispers his name, her fingers curling in his dark hair. She’s wanted this for so long, she realizes, and there were so many nights where her own fingers were a substitute for his touch, but now there will be no return. No longer will she will be able to pretend her thin, nimble fingers are his own. And she hopes she won’t have to.
Suddenly she’s fumbling at his zipper and he’s lifting her hips, helping her slip out of the oversized sweatpants and she wonders for a moment if he recognizes them as his own, but if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
She doesn’t know how she expected their first time to be, if she’d expected them to have a first time at all. But his fingers are already tugging her cotton panties down her thighs and she’s settling into his lap as he guides his stiffness to her entrance. And she realizes that this doesn’t need to be a slow and gradual process; the past twenty years have been their foreplay. They’ve spent the better part of two decades teasing each other, wanting each other desperately, and neither of them have another moment to spare.
She meets his eyes just before his tip finds her entrance and she’s sinking onto his lap, both of them sighing as she accommodates his size. Just as with every other part of their bodies, they fit together perfectly and she melds around him, folding her body into his as she rises and falls.
Her hands find his shoulders, her fingernails scratching against the thin t-shirt he’s wearing, and suddenly she’s pulling at the fabric, tugging it over his head and onto the floor and her fingers are tracing the sharp curve of his abs. She’s seen his chest before, more times than she could even count, but the way his muscles ripple and tense as he thrusts up into her is beyond anything she could have imagined.
He’s making soft, satisfied sounds and it’s enough to make her fall apart, but she manages to hold on, at least until his hand slips between her thighs and begins to rub small circles upon the sensitive bundle of nerves there. She shudders and huffs and his eyes are suddenly torn from her body, from the oasis he’s only imagined up to this point, and he takes in her face.
“You’re close,” he predicts, and he’s right, and it’s too much for her to do anything but nod and continue to move her hips in a circular motion that she’s done so many times as he’s watched on the ice. It’s enough to make him groan and then she’s falling, completely lost to her pleasure as she tightens around him and he’s arching into her. It’s hot and wet and though he doesn’t feel like any other man she’s ever been with, she immediately knows when he’s reached his climax by the exclamation that falls from his lips and the warmth that erupts within her.
They’ve synchronized so many movements in the past, but none like this. There is no coach for this, no training that could help them be more in-tune than they already are as they arch into one another, crying out and clinging so desperately to the other’s body that for a moment, just as it has been on the ice for so long, there is no way to tell where she ends and he begins.
She collapses, breathless, on his lap, her forehead falling against his shoulder as he softens within her, and she can do nothing but let out the exhausted giggle that seems to happen so frequently around him, and she feels his fingers tighten on her hip.
“Jesus,” he whispers, catching her lips in a searing kiss, groaning as she shifts on his lap. It’s another moment before she lifts her hips and he slips from her, and then she’s settling back onto his lap, thighs tightening around him.
“No,” she grins at him, her eyes finding his lips before tracing up to his eyes, “just me. Just Tessa.”
“Tessa,” he says her name as if he’s seeing her for the first time, and maybe in some ways, he is.
She is suddenly overcome by the fact that she’s naked on his lap, that they’ve taken a step that will never be undone. She takes an uncertain breath and he recognizes the anxiety in the sound.
“Hey,” he says again, his hands skimming up her spine, feather-light touches. “You good?”
“Uh,” she hesitates for only a moment, but at the satisfied smirk on his lips, she nods. “Yeah, I think so. Are you?”
“Tess,” he breathes her name, “I am so far beyond good.”
She smiles at his words, his touch causing a gentle shudder to resonate throughout her. She wonders how this will affect their relationship, how the feel of him falling apart beneath her will change the way she looks at him, if the quiet moments between them will now be filled with unrelenting longing or if they’ll still have an easy peace when there’s nothing left to say.
“Are we…” she doesn’t want to say it, even with the easy smile on his lips, she’s afraid of the answer, but she needs to know. “Are we okay? Still friends?”
His hand finds her cheek, his fingers brushing her jawline so delicately that it nearly tickles, and she turns her cheek just slightly, her lips brushing the pad of his thumb.
“I think,” he says after a thoughtful moment, “that technically, we’re now friends with benefits, kiddo.”
She laughs despite herself and pretends to snap at his fingers with her teeth.
Before the night is over, they’ve been together once more.
By the end of the year, she’s wearing a ring on the third finger of her left hand.