Fighting for the Edge (31 page)

“Can you do one more jump and one more throw?” he asked.

I recognized his psychological strategy. He’d used it on me many times. He wanted me to gain confidence by giving him a positive answer. It had to be incredibly tough for him to be so poised when I knew he was worried about my physical condition, too. But no one would ever know from his bright eyes and calm voice. If he could show so much sureness, then so could I. The only way to conquer my fears would be to attack them. I’d never get through a four-minute program that night if I doubted myself every second.

“I can do it,” I said.

I took two sips of water and didn’t wait for Chris as I pushed away from the boards, pumping my legs. He caught up to me and said, “Loop first.”

We passed Maddy and Damien doing their death spiral, and I centered all my thoughts on the technique of the throw triple loop, squashing my overbearing doubts.
You’ve done this
successfully a thousand times. You are in control.

On a big curve we sped into the throw, and I sailed through the air, the sparse crowd blurring around me. I came down on one foot and stretched my arms out to balance myself, securing the landing. I carried the same mentality into our side-by-side jump combination and earned the same result.

I
can
do this!

Chris gave me a wide smile, and Sergei treated me to an even bigger one as we rounded back to him.

“You’re getting stronger with each jump,” he said. “Let’s finish with a couple of the lifts. You’re more than ready for tonight.”

We did the star lift and the press lift as directed and then cooled down while the rest of the couples still went hard. As we skated over the Olympic rings painted on center ice and bowed to the spectators, my chest swelled with emotion, and I bit down on my lip. I’d just finished the final practice of my career. All the years, the hours, the minutes of work I’d done on and off the ice… it would have to be enough. There was nothing more I could do before the free skate to prepare myself except rest… and not let the long wait mess with my head.

Before we left the arena, I spent a few minutes with my family and wasn’t surprised when Mom questioned our abbreviated practice. I didn’t want them to know about my hospital visit until after the competition, so I just said I was conserving energy for the free skate. Sergei and I had agreed to wait and surprise everyone with the twins news after the event. I was itching to tell them, so I was glad Sergei got me away from them and back in the Village before I let the secret slip. I especially couldn’t wait to see Liza’s reaction.

After a quick lunch in the dining hall with Chris and Aubrey, Sergei and I went to my room and lay on my bed for a nap. Chris and Aubrey had looked so radiantly in love it had made me grin like an idiot just watching them together. Their faces were going to hurt from smiling at each other. They’d gone to get coffee, and I didn’t expect them back anytime soon. Competing for an Olympic gold medal was probably the only thing that could tear Chris away from Aubrey at the moment.

I snuggled my back against Sergei’s chest, and he draped his arm over me, creating a warm cocoon. After my restless night, I thought I’d fall asleep easily, but too many demanding thoughts occupied my mind. Besides visualizing our long program again and again, I was also kept awake by the list of challenges in raising twins. Did we need to buy two of everything? I might have to jump on more of those endorsement opportunities in order to afford all the stuff. Would the babies have the same feeding schedule or would I be up all night taking turns with them? Was it even possible to breastfeed two babies at once? That sounded painful…

Sergei’s measured breathing behind me indicated he’d had no trouble falling asleep. Totally not fair. Where was my pregnancy exhaustion when I needed it?

It better not show up in the middle of the competition.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried desperately to quiet my brain, but visions of skates and medals and babies in matching outfits kept running on a constant loop. When the alarm on my phone rang, Sergei stirred and kissed my temple. “Did you sleep?”

“Not at all.” I sighed. “I think I skated our program fifty times in my head.”

He rubbed my hip and kissed me again. “As long as you don’t actually
feel
like you skated it fifty times.”

I had to do my hair and makeup, and Sergei had to get cleaned up and into a suit, so he left me alone staring into the mirror. I thought about the person I’d been at the last Olympics – the terrified girl who’d overcome crippling anxiety to perform the best program of her life. Remembering exactly how I’d felt that night, I was filled with inspiration. I’d stepped up big time when the moment had arrived, and I could do that once again. I wanted to match that performance and make a very special memory to share with the twins one day.

The next couple of hours I felt more focused than I had in months. My mind was completely zoned in on the task at hand. None of the potential distractions backstage at the arena bothered me, and I completed two solid jumps and throws in the six-minute warm-up. Since Chris and I were skating last, Sergei took us aside after the warm-up and sheltered us inside a small room so we wouldn’t hear how any of the other teams in the final group fared. A strange sense of calmness had settled over me, and I prayed it would stay with me when our names were called to skate.

The time came for us to leave our sanctuary, and I kept my head down during our walk to the ice. I couldn’t chance seeing the scores on the monitor or Maddy and Damien’s faces in the mixed zone. My job was to skate a program I’d be proud to remember. How anyone else fared was irrelevant at the moment.

We stepped out of the tunnel, and I turned to Chris, gluing my eyes on his. He smiled and held my hands, and I fought another rise of emotion as I had at practice earlier. Now was not the time to get sentimental. If I started thinking about the finality of the occasion, I’d be a sobbing wreck.

The Chinese pair received a loud ovation as they finished their program, and the moment they left the ice, Chris and I burst onto it. I couldn’t help but hear their second-place score as we circled the rink, but I didn’t look up at the video board to see the current first-place total. Knowing the mark we had to beat wouldn’t help.

The only thing that matters is how WE skate.

Chris drifted to my side, and we paid Sergei one last visit. I checked my tight hair bun for any loose strands and then brushed my hands down my velvet dress. Sergei watched me fidget before taking my hands and capturing my attention.

“You have never looked more beautiful,” he said with a soft glow in his eyes. “And you are just as strong as you are beautiful.”

I smiled and took a few calming breaths, locking the word “strong” into the forefront of my mind. That was the most important word of the night.

Sergei turned to Chris and patted his shoulders. “There’s never been a better, more dedicated partner than you. I never doubt where your heart is because you put it out there every time you take the ice.”

Chris’s expression deepened with determination, and Sergei looked at both of us. “There’s not much left to say except have an incredible time. Enjoy every second of it.”

We received our introduction, and boisterous cheers rang out, giving me an extra shot of adrenaline. I positioned myself in front of Chris to start the program, and he closed his arms around me.

The piano concerto began, and I mentally repeated “strong” as we commanded the opening sequence and easily completed the triple twist. My first jumping test was next, and I remembered the clean jump I’d done a short time earlier in the warm-up.

You can do it again just like that. Be strong.

I powered into the Lutz and reeled off three crisp turns alongside Chris. We landed on the same beat of the music, drawing a burst of applause, and I looked into the crowd with confidence. I felt their energy already fully invested in us. We just had to maintain our commitment to the spirit of the program.

Over the next two minutes, we threw ourselves into every single movement, letting our emotions shine through the soaring lifts and passionate choreography. It was just how Sergei and I had imagined it when we’d created the program together. As we completed our side-by-side jump combination, I buzzed with excitement, knowing we only had one lift and the throw Lutz remaining.

We turned the corner of the rink, and I worked my blades over the ice, but my crossovers didn’t feel as deep as they’d been the entire program. I tried to press harder, but my legs shook in response and my breathing became shallower.

No, no, no! Only one minute to go. I can’t lose steam now!

My heart throbbed in my ears as I lost touch with my body. The shortened practices and lack of run-throughs had caught up to me. The throw loomed, and I could NOT chance falling. Any other time, I’d grit my teeth and dig a little deeper, but I couldn’t take the risk. Not with my precious babies to protect.

“Double,” I said to Chris. “Double!”

Just like at nationals, we lost our big wow moment as we turned the throw triple into a double, but I didn’t regret it. I’d done what I knew was best even if it cost us valuable points.

I used my last bit of energy to hold myself up in our press lift and to give our final steps the stretch and intensity they deserved. The piano notes quieted, and Chris dipped me downward, holding me in our final pose as the audience leapt to its feet.

Well after the music ended, Chris slowly lifted me and buried me in an embrace. The whole arena rocked with cheers, and flowers and stuffed animals flew onto the ice from all directions.

It was over. I would never skate another competitive program.

I couldn’t hold back the tears. My chest heaved, and I clung to Chris’s shoulders. He rubbed my back and kissed my cheek.

“I love you,” I choked out.

“I love you too, Em,” he whispered, his own voice wracked with tears.

We both had wet faces as we took our bows. I pivoted to see the entire building and to soak in the sights and sounds of the screaming fans. Our small mistake hadn’t taken away from the audience’s enjoyment of the performance. That made my heart swell even more.

Chris held me close to his side as we skated to the boards, and when we reached Sergei he didn’t wait for me to put on my guards. He picked me up and hugged me flush to his body, pressing his cheek to the top of my head.

“You are amazing,” he said.

I pulled back to look into his glistening eyes, so gorgeous and swimming with passion, and I couldn’t stop my emotions from taking over. I kissed him full on the mouth.
Forget the PDA rules.
He kissed me back and then hugged me again.

Sergei embraced Chris as we moved into the kiss and cry, and I sat between them on the short bench. Our jumps replayed on the monitor, showing the perfect unison with which we’d executed them. Our positions in every part of the program matched exactly, like we were truly skating as one unit.

Chris clasped my hand and laced our fingers together, giving them a warm squeeze. We’d done everything we could except for the one blip on the throw. Two and a half points. That was the difference between a triple and a double. If Maddy and Damien had skated well, we’d need those points to beat them. But I still had no regrets about my decision. I’d kept my babies safe.

“The score please for Emily Butler and Christopher Grayden of the United States of America.”

The announcer paused, and Sergei grasped my other hand. I bobbed back and forth, drawing in deeper breaths with each second of silence.

The announcer returned and read our technical score first then our program component score and the free skate total. It was lower than our season’s best. She paused again, and my heart hammered against my chest. A lifetime of work, all down to one moment. One agonizing drawn-out moment.

Please be good enough for first. Please be good enough for
first.

“They have a combined total of two hundred and two point one four, and they are in first place!”

My body went momentarily numb, and then I burst into tears. Chris yelled, “Yeah!” and jumped up, pulling me with him. He lifted me off the ground and swung me around in a dizzying circle. I was laughing and crying so hard I couldn’t find my breath.

“We did it!” he cried. “We did it!”

He set me down, and I went right back up into Sergei’s arms. Tears blinded my eyes and choked my throat, and my head spun from the whirlwind of Chris’s embrace. I held onto Sergei with all my might.

“Is this really happening?” I whispered.

He touched his forehead to mine. “You made it happen.”

I kissed his lips and hugged him a little longer before taking a step back to look around us. Chris stood with his hands on his head, tears trickling down his cheeks. He stared up at the crowd, taking it all in. I heard a group of voices shouting my name, and my head swiveled to find the source. Sergei pointed to the corner section of seats, where my family and his mom were on their feet, clapping and thrusting their fists into the air. Liza bounced into the aisle and screamed along with them. I hopped up and down and frenetically waved my arms to let them know I saw them.

We were ushered backstage, and I blabbered incoherently through the television interviews. The reporters informed us that Damien had made a tiny misstep on their jump combination, explaining their slightly lower score. Less than two points separated our totals. I made no comment to the media, but I felt like there may have been some karma involved in his mistake.

There were only a few minutes until the medal ceremony, so I hurried from the mixed zone to the locker room to dry my eyes and touch up my makeup even though I fully expected to bawl my eyes out on the podium. When I rejoined Chris near the ice door, he wrapped me in a hug and we held onto each other until the regal music began playing, signaling the start of the presentation.

The bronze medalists, the Chinese pair, were introduced first, and then Maddy and Damien took their designated place on the second tier of the podium. The Canadians looked like they’d rather be anywhere else in the world.