The Favorites

by Layne Fargo

We used to joke they were going to die in each other’s arms or kill each other with their bare hands. Nothing in between.

Everyone thinks Heath Rocha was my first love. He wasn’t. My first love was figure skating.

Imagine being down so bad you’d master a whole Olympic sport to spend time with someone.

BYEEEE

The thing is, when pushing your limits is all you know, when it seems normal to you…it’s hard to remember you even have limits. Until you run right into them.

Yes, he was used to change. He was used to loss. He was also used to anything that seemed too good to be true—anything that seemed good at all—being ripped from his grasp as soon as he touched it. No wonder he held on to me so tightly.

I loved Heath Rocha before I knew what love was.

I should have told her Heath was my boyfriend; that was true enough. But the word boyfriend seemed insufficient to describe our relationship. No matter how annoyed I was with him for running off in a sulk, he was my best friend, my family, my favorite person in the world.

When I was a little girl in messy pigtails, demanding to be watched from the front row, I’d had that sort of unshakable, semi-delusional confidence too. But after years of losses, disappointments, scraping by, holding on tight to Heath because he was all I had, I’d shoved that little girl aside, locked her up in some small box inside of me.

I wanted it all. California and gold medals and Bella Lin’s unshakable confidence. I wanted so much skill and fame and money that we’d never have to worry about anything, ever again. And him. I wanted Heath so much. I was tired of waiting. I wanted it all, and I would have it.

“Katarina.” I fell silent. Heath sat up and pulled me against him, so close I couldn’t tell his heartbeat from my own. “You’re my home,” he said.

Heath and I skated with the controlled power of banked embers that might burst into a conflagration at any second, and they loved it. They loved us. All my nerves burned off, leaving nothing but determination and desire. Desire for the gold, for the adulation of the audience, for Heath—it all felt the same, flaring bright inside me.

He was right, I had changed. The problem was, he hadn’t changed at all. He was the same boy I’d known for nearly a decade, wounded and stubborn and so lonely, he’d made me his whole world.

Heath had a bottomless pit inside him too, but it had nothing to do with ambition. No matter how much love I gave him, it would never be enough. He wanted to be everything to me, the way I was everything to him. And I would always want more.

“Heath, please. We’ve made it this far. This is our dream, our—” “No, Katarina.” He sighed and slipped his hand into mine. “It’s your dream.”

If we broke up, that would be the end of our athletic partnership too. Heath didn’t love skating. He loved me. But on the ice, he couldn’t keep up with me. I was skating down to his level, instead of pushing myself to new heights.

“He’ll get over it.” He wouldn’t. People had abandoned Heath all his life. Now I was considering doing the same.

How was I supposed to know he’d react that way? I swear Heath Rocha was the most dramatic straight boy I ever met.

I’ll be your dream, I’ll be your wish, I’ll be your fantasy. Heath and me at sixteen, driving to Cleveland, belting those lyrics over the whine of the car engine, thinking we’d love each other forever. And now I didn’t even know what continent he was on. I had no idea whether I’d ever see him again.

Heath knew me when I was a gangly little girl with bloody kneecaps and prairie grass in my hair. He’d seen me sobbing and weak and shaking with helpless rage. He knew my pressure points. He knew how to provoke me. Garrett had never known me as Kat Shaw from Nowhere, Illinois. I could leave her behind, as abruptly and heartlessly as Heath had left me. With Heath, I could be myself. But with Garrett, I could be someone better.

From a distance, he came across as serene and confident, but close up I could smell his sweat, feel his quickened pulse against my temple. Somehow his panic made me calmer, as if we were a pendulum swinging into stillness.

Skating with Heath, I always felt right on the edge of control, swept away. With Garrett, everything was precise. Correct. Controlled. All the things that came so naturally with Heath had to be manufactured. I had to remind myself to smile, to gaze into Garrett’s eyes, to reach for him at the right moments, with the right amount of passion and yearning. It became part of the choreography, one more thing to learn along with the steps and spins and lifts.

I’d stopped searching, but I’d never stopped looking. How many times over the past three years had I worked myself up with the worry that Heath would appear in the stands at a competition? How many times had I mistaken a dark-haired stranger for him—walking in city crowds, or waiting in line to board a plane or buy a coffee? That’s all this was. Another phantom, conjured by my anger and heartbreak and the unspeakable fear that Heath was truly gone for good. I didn’t have time for fear. I had a title to win.

Then, there he was again. Under the flag, where he could be sure I would see him. Nearly everything about Heath had changed since three years earlier in Nagano, but his eyes—they were the same. Heavy-lidded, long-lashed, so dark the irises blended into the pupils. So intense, they held me in place sure as a hand around my throat. I would have recognized those eyes anywhere.

I hated to think of him alone, but I hated even more to think of him with someone else.

His features were almost gaunt—all softness carved away, leaving a face that was angular to the point of severity. That lush forest of curls razed to the roots. A small white scar cut across his left cheekbone, emphasizing the flintiness of his stare. But he was still so beautiful to me. That might have been the worst part.

He saw through all of it, down to my core. He always could.

Her betrayal stung, but his was worse. Because Heath hadn’t simply improved since leaving me—he’d transformed. He wasn’t the same skater he’d been when we were together. He was the skater I’d always dreamed of him becoming.

His love for me hadn’t been motivation enough to reach his full potential. His hatred, though? That made him capable of anything.

OMG BARS

So for three whole years, this motherfucker dropped off the face of the earth. And then, out of nowhere, he shows up? Tell me that’s not some epic daytime soap-opera shit! You can’t. I wish I’d been there to see Kat’s face.

Lol Ellis literally lives for the drama

Before I could get my bearings, Heath had grabbed me by the shoulders and hauled me back onto my feet. The first time he’d touched me since that night in Nagano—though he let go just as quickly, jumping back as if he’d been singed. I hated myself for the way I bent toward him, like a flower yearning for the light.

I wanted to envelop him in my arms and ensure nothing could hurt him ever again. I wanted to find whoever had done this and make them bleed.

So many times, I’d imagined myself skating that program, in that dress. In Heath’s arms. I knew every step, every gesture, every note. I would be able to tell, in an instant, if they faltered, even if they covered it well for the crowd. They were absolutely perfect. Bella’s hips marking every beat of the drums. Heath’s hand on the curve of her back. The magnetic desire pulsing between them as they came near enough to kiss, then spiraled away, then drew close again. Lips parted, breathing each other in. I hated them. I wanted to be them. I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

I won’t even pretend to know what was going on between Heath and Bella back then. But it was messy and manipulative. Real fuckboy shit.

True because so far this Heath guy has zero redeeming qualities and just acts like a bitch

It is a special talent some men have: they stare into your eyes, and you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. These men must never be trusted. Because if they can make you feel that way, they can make any woman feel that way.

Heath said my name. Like a prayer, like a promise. Like he used to say it. Like he still loved me after all. I gripped the gate so tight the metal rattled. No. I would not turn around. This was another act. A part of the show. And I refused to stay for an encore.

My vision had adjusted now, well enough to see the waves crashing against the breakwater. Well enough too that I could no longer miss the two figures intertwined in the cove. Garrett. And Ellis Dean.

I literally screamed!!!!!

I glared at him. “Are you finished?” “I suppose I am.” Heath stepped out of our way with an exaggerated sweep of his hand. “She’s all yours.”

This guy is delusional. He ghosted her for three years and is mad because it looks like she's with someone else (and she really is not). And anyways he kissed another girl!!

How dare Heath try to shame me. How dare he imply that I’d belonged to him, that he was somehow ceding his claim to Garrett. I didn’t belong to anyone.

Preach

“You hated yourself, because you knew you weren’t enough for me. You still aren’t.”

Yes, my head hurt, but it was nothing in comparison to the agony I’d gone through to get to that moment. Not only the physical pain of pushing my body to the limit, but all the grief, the struggle. The heartbreak. I couldn’t stop. Not when I was so close. I could see it all—the rest of my career unrolling in front of me like a red carpet. Garrett and I were going to win our fourth U.S. title, and we were going to be Olympic champions.

As I headed for the ice, hand in hand with Garrett, I felt Heath’s eyes hot on my back. Same as when we were kids, when he sat in the stands watching me spin and jump for hours. Watch me now, I thought. Watch me win. Without you.

The shot zooms out again. The medics rush toward the rink carrying a stretcher, but before they can get to Katarina, someone else vaults over the boards and runs onto the ice. Garrett Lin: And then…there he was.

Cinema

I mean, at the time, the situation was really scary. But that picture? (She sighs.) It was so romantic!

Lol she's me

Garrett Lin: Ellis and I weren’t in touch then. Ellis Dean: I dumped his closeted ass.

BYEEEEEEEE

When I was strong and self-assured, people recoiled from me. They told me I was too competitive, too ambitious, too much. But when I was brought low, bruised and bleeding, a princess in need of rescue instead of a conquering queen, they loved me.

We still hadn’t talked about them, though, or spoken at all about his three years away. I’d started to believe it was for the best. The past was the past. We couldn’t change it. But the future—the future could be anything we wanted.

Bye it's giving Belly

“I love you,” I told him. “And I don’t want to skate with anyone but you, ever again.” Heath’s smile blazed like a torch in the shadows. “I love you too, Katarina.”

“We don’t need her, Katarina. All we need is each other.” I closed my eyes and listened to his heartbeat and, for the moment at least, let myself believe him.

A snippet of a fan-made YouTube video plays: dramatically filtered clips of sexy moments from Shaw and Rocha programs, edited to match the song “Promiscuous” by Nelly Furtado.

This is so funny I just know the edits of them would go crazy

I started to take a bow. Then I realized Heath wasn’t standing beside me. He still clutched my hand, but he’d knelt on the ice. My first thought was that there was something wrong—a broken lace, a muscle cramp. Or worse, an injury. But when I turned to face him, he was gazing up at me, holding something pinched between his thumb and forefinger. A diamond ring.

Holy shit I'm so gagged but also why do I feel like she is not going to be very happy about this…