Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
Love Spiral
by Alina Adams
Chapter 3
Gabrielle looked for Chris at the end of Chabot Skate, but he was nowhere to be found. She gathered up her kids, and drove back to the center. Before turning in for the night, Gabrielle visited Abby's dorm room, trying to find out what had triggered her tears.
"Nothing, Dr. Cassidy, really." Abby sat on her bed, hugging a stuffed Double Toe Walrus to her chest, and insisting, "It's just my nerves. Like we talked about in therapy."
A condition to Gabrielle accepting a skater, was their parents agreeing to bring the children in once a week for counseling. With kids like Abby though, she wished she could convince the parents to increase the visits, and drop the skating component altogether.
"What was it that made you so nervous, honey?"
"Oh... nothing. I'll do better next time, I promise."
Neither Abby's smile, nor her impassioned nodding, reassured Gabrielle. Nor did the fact that, as soon as she left Abby's room, her mother blew in, slamming the door pointedly behind them.
Without Gabrielle to chastise her, Shana's tears streamed down her face, and she pleaded with Abby, "What more should I do? Tell me. I've tried everything I could think of for you, and this is the thanks I get?"
No matter how many times they'd played out this scenario, Abby still never knew the correct way to respond. As soon as her mother began to sob, Abby joined her, repeating, "I'm sorry, Mommy," over and over again, struggling to be heard above Shana's hysterics.
"Look at this." Shana dumped out the contents of her purse on Abby's bed, sifting through crumpled tissues, change, and stubs of eyebrow pencil to produce a stapled document folded in three. She waved it in Abby's face. "This is the mortgage I took out on the house to pay for your skating. It's what you told me you wanted. Remember the first time I took you to the rink? You looked so cute in your little pink skating dress that I made."
Abby nodded, too choked up to speak, and blew her nose.
"I believed you, Abby. When you told me you wanted to be a skater, did I try to discourage you? Did I complain, like Daddy, about how much it cost? Did I ever once, in all those mornings I forced myself to get up at the crack of dawn, did I ever once tell you to quit? If my baby wants something, then I'd make it happen."
She wrapped her arms around Shana's neck. "I'm sorry, Mommy."
"You broke my heart today. Do you know how hard it was for me to afford your lessons with Mr. Kelly? I even called Daddy and let him lecture me about how I'm chasing a pipe dream, before I got him to help out with a few bucks. And then I see you not even trying."
"I'll be better tomorrow." Abby rubbed her cheek against her mother's, their tears running one into the other. "Promise."
Shana turned her head, embracing Abby and rocking her back and forth. "That's my girl. That's Mommy's good little girl."
Outside of Abby's room, Gabrielle stood, one hand on the door-knob, wondering whether to interrupt. From her own experience, she had a pretty good concept of what was going on in there. But, Abby needed to learn to stand up for herself in front of her mother. A skill Gabrielle didn't secure until after her suicide attempt, when Gloria informed her hospitalized daughter that she could return to the rink, or she could find her own place to live. Because she was most certainly not allowed to come home and "just loaf."
Deciding Abby deserved a chance to face Shana alone, Gabrielle reluctantly stepped away from Abby's door. The best way for her to help the girl now would be for Gabrielle to try and determine what Chris knew about Abby's earlier hysterics.
To that end, the next morning, Gabrielle was awake and dressed by four a.m. When she heard the door to Chris' apartment open, she popped out from her own unit, hoping an ambush might succeed where her direct offensive of the previous afternoon had failed.
She caught Chris just as he was exiting. Unfortunately, he wasn't alone. He was with Angela. Or, at least, Gabrielle thought it was Angela. It was rather hard to tell, what with Chris' tongue halfway down her throat.
Gabrielle coughed into her fist, prompting them both to turn around. "Good morning," she said.
"Morning." Chris rubbed one finger along his eyelid, either not at all surprised to see her, or not at all awake. "You're up awfully early, aren't you?"
"Good morning, Gabrielle." Angela waved 'howdy.' Gabrielle noticed she was still wearing the same Ice Capades Chalet suit she had on at Chabot the day before. "Nice to see you again."
Gabrielle took a page out of Chris' book, mumbling something that may have been a cross between "hello" and "slut."
"And it was quite lovely seeing you again, Christian." Angela stood on tiptoe, kissing him quickly, and winking. "I'll keep an eye out for you."
"You do that, luv."
Chris watched her sashay down the hall, waiting until Angela turned the corner and disappeared from sight, before acknowledging Gabrielle. He indicated her odd expression and demanded, "What?"
She was still trying to process all that had just transpired, and so truly had no clue what he meant. "What, what?"
"Don't give me that. Why are you looking at me like that?" Then, before Gabrielle had a chance to answer, he rolled his eyes and groaned, "Jesus. You thought I was gay, didn't you?"
Once again, he didn't give her the chance to confirm or deny.
"Yes, well, don't worry about it." Chris dropped his skating bag to the ground and leaned back against the door frame. "You're not the first. My dad's only comment when I took up figure skating was to tell my mum she'd finally gotten the daughter she'd wanted. I've been called every name invented. Cupcake, Tinkerbell, queer, poof, sissy, and the "F" Trilogy - fruit, fag, and fairy."
She was about to contradict him, when Gabrielle realized that, as long as Chris assumed her odd reaction to seeing him with Angela stemmed from stereotyping, rather than from a wave of jealousy that she, personally, was still having trouble dealing with -- then, so be it. Easier for everyone that way. Especially Gabrielle.
She said, "I'm sorry, Chris. I just thought, well, you are a figure skater. You're thirty years old -- "
"Twenty-nine and a half."
"You're musical, you're graceful, you're unmarried, and... did I mention you were a figure skater?"
He bopped his head side to side to indicate the numerous times he'd heard that particular litany. "You really thought I was gay? I mean, even after Lauren and everything?"
"Lauren? Who's Lauren?"
Chris' fingers rose to knead the Olympic-engraved gold bands hanging off the chain around his neck. "Lauren was my wife."
"You were married?"
"You didn't know?"
"It was hardly the lead story on CNN."
"I just thought, what, with the skating world being so small, I -- never mind. It's not important." He hefted his bag. "I got to go. I'll be late for Abby's lesson."
At his mention of that name, Gabrielle remembered her original reason for this sunrise rendezvous. She blocked Chris' avenue down the hall. "Speaking of Abby.... "
"I've got no time for this."
"I'll make it quick, then. What did John say to terrify Abby and make her so upset yesterday?"
"How should I know? I was with you, remember?" Chris brushed past Gabrielle, heading for the stairs.
She followed him, hopping two steps at a time just to keep up, and coolly chastising Chris, "You can do better."
"Beg pardon?"
"You had all night to make up an adequate lie. Is that really the best you could do?"
"I was... busy." The glint in Chris' eye made no secret of what he'd been busy with.
Gabrielle hadn't meant to be so easily distracted. But she couldn't help asking, "You and Angela, is it a long-term thing?"
"Nah." At ground level, he pushed open the door and stepped into the parking lot. "More of a whenever we're both in town sort of arrangement. She did chorus line on my last Ice Capades tour. Nice girl. Very... flexible."
Gabrielle remembered Angela's trademark heel over head spin, and took Chris' word for it.
They stopped by his car, once-again, at a familiar stalemate. She was tempted to browbeat or threaten or, at the very least, nag the truth out of him. But, as Chris opened his trunk to drop in a skating-bag with Ramsey Ice Academy printed in red, white, and blue on the sides, she was struck with a notion so incredible, Gabrielle didn't have time to censor it before the query popped out from her mouth. "Chris? Are you scared of John, too?"
He had his back to her, so she didn't get the opportunity to see Chris' face react to her question. All she saw was his back stiffen, arms freezing in mid-air. After a second, the paralysis passed, and he was able to finish tucking his bag into the depths of the trunk, while, at the same time, crisply informing Gabrielle, "I defended an Olympic Gold medal in front of twenty-seven thousand spectators and a television audience of thirty million. I don't get scared. Ever." He slammed the trunk shut for emphasis, and turned to face Gabrielle. His voice was steady, as were his hands.
She might even have bought Chris' protestations of composure. If his face hadn't also blanched white in the interim.
Sympathy fluttered in Gabrielle's chest, overruling any anger she'd felt for him earlier. If there was one thing she understood, it was fear of John Ramsey. It came with the feeling that you were doomed to suffer alone, that there was no one on your side.
Softly, she said, "I want to help you, Chris. If you'll just tell me the truth, maybe I can -- "
He shook his head. Yet, this time, she didn't detect scorn or sarcasm infusing the gesture. This time, Gabrielle thought she saw wonder, maybe even admiration, in his eyes. He sighed deeply, and looked to the sky. "You're truly something else, you know that?"
"What -- what do you mean?" Despite her confusion, Gabrielle couldn't stop a blush from coating her cheeks.
Chris lifted her hand, studying it with interest, and tracing her life and love lines with his finger, triggering a satisfyingly ticklish sensation that quivered the length of her body. He said, "Here I am, acting like the bastard to end all bastards, and still, you offer..." Chris let his opinion trail off, as if he found it too fantastic to articulate. He switched gears, admitting, "You're doing a good thing here, luv. Taking on the skating establishment just so you can help some lost kids find themselves again."
His characterization of her mission pierced through Gabrielle, as if, the moment he said it, Chris' soul had reached out and ever-so-lightly, brushed against hers. His words touched her much more than even the sweet faculty of Chris' palm cradling hers. And, as she had that first day in her office, Gabrielle once again wondered how it was that this man who appeared so conceited and oblivious on the surface, could also understand her so fully. And she wondered why it was that, no matter how hard she tried, Gabrielle just could not penetrate his armor as easily as he'd perforated hers.
His choice of words about being lost, about finding yourself again, moved Gabrielle to ask, "What about you, Chris?"
He kissed her hand quickly, turning to slip behind the wheel. "Luv, I've been so lost for so long, not even God could find me."
When Chris still hadn't come home twenty-two hours after their initial conversation, she grew concerned. They hadn't had time to talk all day, and they did need to. Although, for the life of her, Gabrielle had no idea what it was she intended to say to him.
At midnight, she climbed out of bed and looked out her window, noting that Chris' car was still parked outside the rink. Yet, he wasn't in his apartment. She'd checked -- every half-hour for the past three hours, as a matter of fact. So, that meant he'd either travelled some other way or..... Gabrielle fought the urge to slap her forehead. It was so obvious! How could she have missed it?
Slipping out of her nightgown, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater, and grabbed her keys, heading for the ice-rink. A few feet from the back-door, she saw the faint light on inside.
Stealthily, despite owning the premises and having a right to go wherever she wanted whenever she wanted, Gabrielle snuck her key in the lock, wincing as it creaked, and tip-toed inside. The over-head lights were off, leaving four corners of the rink in darkness. Only a single follow-spot by the judges' table provided a shaft of gold in the center. Gabrielle hid in the shadows, out of his line of vision, and watched Chris on the ice.
He wore black pants over black skates, and a matching T-shirt. Light framed him from the back, but, rather than embracing him, it seemed to emanate from Chris, his every movement triggering sparks that merged into a brilliant whole. He skated slowly, taking long strides, coasting for as long as he could on one leg before pushing off with the other. His arms outstretched, he was a gliding bird of prey, an eagle frozen in breathless ascent, a hawk thoroughly in command of his territory.
He soared forward, then suddenly reversed direction and slid backward into a graceful spiral. He spun on one foot, then traced tangled patterns in the ice. He leapt for a split, he jumped and turned once, jumped and turned twice -- all with the intensity of a man in a hurry to finish before time ran out. Sweat poured down his face and stuck his shirt damply to his back. Light reflecting off his eyes made Chris look feverish. Possessed. Out of control. Yet, rather than slowing as he got tired, Chris grew more frantic, barely completing one move before he spun dizzily off into another, until Gabrielle, scared by the spectacle of beauty dissolving into delirium, couldn't control herself and anxiously cried, "Look out," as Chris flew dangerously close to slamming into the boards.
He ground to a stop, chunks of ice firing up from beneath his blades. He breathed heavily, steam escaping his mouth like smoke, and whipped his head towards Gabrielle. She stepped in the light, so he could see her.
"Are you alright?" Gabrielle asked tentatively.
Chris wiped the sweat trickling into his eyes with the back of his wrist. His chest heaved from exhaustion as he fought to regain his breath. "I'm on the ice," he answered.
It may have sounded like a non-sequitur to the average person, but Gabrielle thought she understood what he meant.
His anguished intensity unsettled her virtually as much as it intrigued her, so she proceeded with care, choosing to make a joke as she remarked, "I'd have thought, after giving two dozen lessons, the ice is the last place you'd want to be."
Chris skated over, sitting on the boards. He told her simply, "Giving lessons is not skating." He held out his hand to her, and requested, "Join me?"
Instinctively, she took a step back, remembering what happened the last time he extended such an invitation. "No, Chris, I -- "
Reading her mind, he reassured, "It won't be like before. I promise, I'll be good." He looked up, eyes meeting hers. "Please."
She felt like Alice falling down a rabbit-hole and ending up on the other side of the world. Who was this man perched in front of her? He certainly wasn't the Christian Kelly she knew ten years ago, or the one who'd strutted into her office a month earlier. He wasn't the one who'd opened up to her about his brother's sickness, or the one who'd kissed her. This Chris Kelly was a different man. And all Gabrielle knew was, she couldn't say no to him.
Nodding mutely, she turned and walked into her office, where, from the bottom drawer of her filling cabinet, she withdrew a white cardboard box with SP Teri Co. written in blue across the lid. She pulled out her skates, the last pair she ever owned, the ones from her solitary World Championship. Gloria brought the skates to her while Gabrielle was in the hospital. She said they would encourage her to get better quickly. Now, Gabrielle hurried to put them on without issues, easing first her right, then her left foot into the familiar leather. She laced them up tightly, more from habit than out of intention to try any fancy steps, and glided onto the ice.
She'd forgotten the difference between pushing off in a pair of generic rental-skates, and hitting the ice in custom-made boots measured to fit her feet exactly. Unlike her stumbling attempts at Iceland, every step Gabrielle took now felt natural and secure -- a mood that faltered when she spied Chris skating towards her.
Yet, this time, he proved a perfect gentleman, holding out his hand to Gabrielle and keeping it up there while she debated whether to take it. Deciding that she'd already come this far, she slipped her fingers into his, marveling at how easily the brush of his skin against hers managed to turn the chilly shiver blanketing her flesh into goose-bumps of another variety altogether. He smiled at her. Not cockily or with condescension, but with a facet so unfamiliarly warm, Gabrielle had no choice except to smile back.
They skated for a long while in silence, with only the scrape of their blades, like synchronized heart-beats, for accompaniment.
Gabrielle faced forward, while Chris turned to glide backwards, so that he could look at her as they circled. After a minute, he took both of her hands in his, not pulling Gabrielle exactly, more like guiding her. She couldn't look up at him. She was scared to. Not that Gabrielle could vocalize or even pinpoint why, precisely. She only knew the prospect of confronting his glance was enough to make her feel shaky. So, rather than look at Chris directly, she turned her head aside, noting the shadows they cast on the ice, unsettled by how closely the intertwined silhouettes resembled a single body.
She wasn't aware of time passing, until Chris began humming a melody Gabrielle found curiously familiar. He started low, under his breath, almost subliminally, then, seeing that she didn't mind, raised the pitch just a hair, and, simultaneously, slipped one arm about Gabrielle's back, pulling her closer and, on just the right beat, spinning her around him.
She'd expected to feel frightened. Chris' past deportment had taught her to fear his unexpected swings of humor. But, instead of fear, she found herself embraced by familiarity, as, instinctively following his lead, she performed the next step, and the next, and the next, of a dance that was once so well-known to Gabrielle, she used to dream about it in her sleep.
She gasped, watching Chris twirl about her in a blur, his back rod-straight, one arm upraised, his eyes smiling down at her, and asked, "You know the European Waltz?"
Without breaking stride or missing a beat, Chris nodded in the affirmative. "John had me test all my dances, from Preliminary to International. He thought it would help my presentation marks."
"You mean, after seven hours of figures and freestyle, you'd come and do a dance session on top of that? My goodness, Chris," Gabrielle skid to a graceful stop, prompting him to do the same. "What in the world drove you so hard?"
He rested both hands on his hips, staring up at the cavernous, murky ceiling. When Chris' eyes met hers again, he said, "By the time I was five, Gabrielle, I'd failed at every activity with the potential to be classified even vaguely sports-like. Cricket-balls, basketballs, tennis-balls, footballs, I swear, they bounced off my head. Terry and Drew finally took me to the rink, because they'd run out of options. They had to wrestle me to force my skates on. Then, Terry took one hand, Drew took the other, and they dragged me onto the ice. They let go, I fell. I fell and lay there, howling, "I want to go home." Strangely enough though, soon as I got up and quit crying, I knew this was where I belonged. Honestly? It was the first time I felt I belonged anywhere."
She didn't know how to reply. The only thing she could do was ask in wonder, "You mean, Chris, you actually liked skating?"
He blinked in surprise. "You mean, you didn't?"
"I -- no." Gabrielle stammered, feeling foolish. "Not really."
"Not even at the very start?"
"I don't remember ever liking it. All I can remember are the bruises I used to get from falling, and the way I'd split my palms skidding on the ice, and everyone constantly yelling and calling me stupid and lazy, and why couldn't I stand up in competition, didn't I know how many people were counting on me?"
"You're talking about training. Competing. I didn't ask you about that. I asked if you ever liked skating?"
She wrinkled her brow. "What's the difference?"
He sighed. "Truly now?"
"Truly. I don't know what you're talking about."
Chris swept his arm to the side, indicating the ice, and, his voice lowering in near-religious awe, let Gabrielle in on a secret. "Skating is flying. It's you, all alone, travelling so fast and so far that no one can catch you or thwart you or pin you down. It's where you get to be not who you're afraid you actually are, but who you want to be. Skating is freedom."
She'd never seen Chris looking this happy, and the sight moved her a great deal more than she could have expected.
But, just as suddenly as it came, his good spirits dissipated. As if feeling guilty for indulging, even momentarily, in an emotion that wasn't arrogance or anger, Chris slammed his fist against his thigh, and, without a second word to Gabrielle, trudged off to the side, turning his back on her.
She followed, anxiously asking, "Chris, what's wrong?"
He braced both arms on the boards, locking his elbows, curling his back, and dropping his head in exhaustion. "Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I'm fine."
Very tentatively, she rested her palm against his spinal cord, startled to realize that he was trembling. "Please, I want to help you." When Chris didn't reply, she ventured a guess. "Is it your brother? How's Terry doing? Is he any better?"
"No." Chris' voice came out muffled, anguished. "He's not."
"I'm sorry."
He nodded, to show he appreciated the sympathy, and rubbed his damp cheek against the right shoulder of his T-shirt. "Sarah's all but moved into hospital with him. It doesn't look good."
"Do you need to go to England?"
"No, not yet. I'd just be an extra body in the way. And I've already inflicted that on them, once."
"What do you mean?"
He turned around slowly, pressing his back against the boards. "When I was thirteen, things at home weren't going too well between Mum and me. Well, actually, between Mum, her rotating boy-friends, and me. So I moved in with Terry and Sarah, and God knows, there's nothing better for newlyweds barely making ends meet as it is, than having a teen-ager about under foot. Terry was so thrilled to have me, he went to my old coach, Erin, and begged her and her husband to take me in. But, Erin was about to have a baby. She hadn't the room. Good thing John's offer to relocate came when it did. Saved my life -- not to mention all our sanity."
"I didn't realize you were so badly off," Gabrielle said, then afraid Chris would take offense at her judging his family, quickly added, "Financially, I mean."
He shrugged. "Once, I stretched a pair of my boots six times, so I could get maybe another month's wear out of them. I made them last from a size eight to a size ten."
Remembering what he'd told her earlier about needing this job because of shaky finances, she offered, "Listen, if you're worried about losing money by taking time off to see your brother, maybe I can talk to Cougar about keeping you on salary while -- "
"You'd do that for me?" Chris didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He appeared equally ready to do both. "Gabrielle, you don't even like me."
"I -- This has nothing to do with like. This is an emergency. And besides. Chris. I don't. Dislike you, I mean."
"Most of the time?"
"Well.... Some of the time."
He smiled. "I do thank you, Gabrielle, I do. " Abruptly, he pushed himself off the boards. "And I want to do it properly."
Her head spun. "What do you mean?"
"Let me do something for you, Gabrielle. Let me show you how awesome skating -- and I mean pure skating now, not triple-jumping or practicing dance patterns -- can be." Chris stretched out his arms, gesturing for her to let him lift her off the ground. "Let me show you what skating can be like." His eyes twinkled. "If you skate with someone who knows how to do it right."
"No, I -- Chris, I don't think -- "
"Please." The sincerity in his voice cut through her like a blade. "It's the only way I've got to say thank-you."
Gabrielle hesitated.
Gabrielle gave in.
After an appeal like that, how could she do anything but?
She let him slide one arm under her knees, one under her back. His fingers gripped her waist, directly below her right breast, as he pressed Gabrielle tightly against him. She wondered if this was a mistake, if Chris was playing another game meant to humiliate her and give him an upper hand in some dispute-to-be-named later. But, before she could decide, Chris asked, "Ready, then?" and, when she nodded, pushed away from the barrier and towards center-ice.
He started slowly, so Gabrielle wouldn't fear a reprise of his Iceland antics, then gradually built up speed, until he was skating faster and smoother than Gabrielle ever had -- even during her peak condition, competitive days. For the first time on ice, she wasn't thinking about what she should be doing -- point your toe, and lift your elbow, and smile, smile, always smile. Instead, Gabrielle was feeling, experiencing sensations she'd long forgotten; if, in fact, she'd ever perceived them in the first place. She felt the wind in her face. She felt the power, the rush, that came with tearing the air, hearing it slip and rip and slice apart on contact, as if, for that moment, she was more powerful than the elements. She knew now why Chris said skating like this made you feel not like the person you knew you were, but like the person you wanted to be. Because,
skating like this made you believe you could do anything. How fast you went and where you went and when you stopped and who you turned a deaf ear to, those decisions lay solely in your hands. At this acceleration, no one, not John, not your parents, not your demons, could catch you. You were the only person on the ice. You were in charge. You were independent. You were invincible. She'd never felt that type of confidence before. She'd never felt that kind of freedom. And she owed it all to Christian Kelly.
A man who began lying to her as soon as he walked in her door. A man she believed harbored his own agenda, and suffered no qualms about manipulating her to accomplish it. A man she knew she had no business trusting. A man she knew she had no business falling for.
Gabrielle didn't want the ride to end, but guessed it would be up to her to make it end, and better sooner than later. She called Chris' name, asking him to stop. He complied immediately, setting her down with a bow and a flourish.
"Well?" Chris asked, "What did you think?"
She tried to collect herself, to untangle her emotions before the pleasant ones overran the prudent and she found herself unable to sort them. "It was marvelous. You're so lucky, Chris. Being able to make a life out of doing something you love so much."
His face fell, a frown poaching all the rapport their midnight rendezvous had built. Gabrielle wondered what she'd said wrong.
He skated away from her, and angrily dug the back of his blade into the ice, hard enough to leave a golf-ball sized crater.
"You know," Chris said, "I honestly, truly thought I could do it. I mean, everyone else does it, right? Everyone else has their competitive career, then they do some shows, then, eventually, they settle down and teach. That's how it's supposed to go."
She had a feeling they'd just changed the subject. She hoped Chris might toss her a clue as to what they were talking about now.
He continued, "But, I can't, Gabrielle. Yesterday, at Chabot, I'm standing by the boards, coaching that Novice kid of ours --"
"Justin?"
"Right. Whatever. I'm coaching him, telling him to hold his landing a little longer on the Double Axel, extend his foot on the Camel Spin, smile when he goes by the judges, and, all the while, I'm thinking, I'd give anything to switch places with him."
"You would?" Frankly, Gabrielle couldn't think of anything more unappealing.
He nodded, almost ashamed, as if confessing a character flaw. "I miss the competing. I miss bowing at center ice. I miss the applause. I miss being asked how my groin is."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Private joke. Before the Worlds in Japan, I'd pulled a groin muscle in practice, and there was speculation I might not compete. Soon as I step off the plane in Tokyo, this little girl rushes up to me and asks -- no hello or anything, "How is your groin, today?" Chris chuckled. "Would you believe I even miss that?"
Ah. Now, she understood. And she suspected she was about to get her first look at Chris' aforementioned clandestine agenda.
She asked, "Are you telling me you want to re-instate?"
When Chris was still competing as an amateur, the line between him and professional skaters was clearly drawn. Giving up amateur status was like losing your virginity. You could only do it once. But, since the 1994 Winter Olympics, skaters were no longer amateur or professional, they were eligible or ineligible. And ineligible skaters could petition their federations for reinstatement, making them once again qualified to enter eligible competitions.
"Sort of," Chris admitted. "I'd love to compete again. But, see, my knee has been a bother for years. I had surgery when I was sixteen, and three more since. An hour ago, I tried a Double Loop. Nothing, right? I used to whip Triple Loops off without a second thought. But, when I bent my leg to take-off, it hurt so much, I thought my bone would come cracking through the knee-cap. Even if I did bite the bullet and relearn those Triples I used to do, no man competes without a Triple Axel now. I couldn't do one when I was twenty, much less now that I'm almost thirty."
"Twenty-nine and a half." She couldn't help herself.
"I'm serious, Gabrielle. I can't return to competing Singles. It's taken a long time, but I've finally accepted that. The only thing left for me is to start all over again. In Ice Dance. And I want you to be my partner."