Fighting for the Edge

Fighting for the Edge

By Jennifer Comeaux

Published by Astraea Press

www.astaeapress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

FIGHTING THE EDGE

Copyright © 2013 JENNIFER COMEAUX

ISBN 978-1-62135-227-3

Cover Art Designed by FOR THE MUSE DESIGNS

To all the readers who’ve loved this series and these characters as much as I have. Thank you for always inspiring me! You have no idea how much it means to me to have your support!

Also by Jennifer Comeaux

Life on the Edge

Edge of the Past

Chapter One

December, 2005

“This nor’easter could bring up to twenty inches of snow to Cape Cod by morning. With expected wind gusts up to fifty miles per hour, power outages will be likely.”

The silver-haired weatherman on the TV pointed to the radar covered in white, and I paced across the rink’s lounge to the window. While my partner Chris and I had practiced all morning for the upcoming Grand Prix Final competition, a layer of snow had blanketed the parking lot.

I turned to my husband and coach Sergei, who was pouring coffee into a paper cup. “Maybe you should cancel your afternoon lessons. The roads might get bad soon.”

His deep blue eyes peered out the window. Before he had a chance to answer, our rink manager Logan flipped off the TV and said, “Don’t worry, Emily, I’m closing up shop. I don’t want to be stuck here later.”

“Guess we’re going home then.” Sergei covered his coffee with a travel lid.

I left Logan and Sergei discussing the weather report as I jogged down the narrow staircase to the lobby, where my best friend Aubrey stood on the rug, shaking snow out of her long blond hair.

“I ran out to get my ballet shoes, and the snow started coming down harder,” she said.

“Ballet class is cancelled. Logan is closing down for the day.”

Aubrey’s green eyes lit up. “Excellent! I need to start packing for Tokyo.”

I laughed. “Why am I not surprised you haven’t started yet?”

“We don’t leave until Sunday. There’s a whole day between now and then. We’re not all organized freaks like you, Em.”

“I hope you have a flashlight ’cause you might be packing in the dark.”

My cell phone rang, and I pulled it from the pocket of my warm-up jacket. Upon seeing my mother’s number, I said, “Want to bet my mom will give me detailed instructions on preparing for the storm? I swear, sometimes she acts like I’m a kid instead of twenty-four and married.”

Aubrey snickered and went toward the locker room while I answered the phone. Mom launched into a series of reminders to which I replied, “Yes, we have plenty of candles and a portable heater. We’ve been through a nor’easter before.”

“Well, they’re saying this could be one of the worst,” Mom warned in her patented worried voice. “It’s going to be a long night.”

****

Aubrey dropped another handful of spinach leaves into the sauté pan and sprinkled them with a dash of salt. The wind howled outside her apartment, but she still had electricity. She’d thought about calling Em to tell her she’d finished all her packing before dinner, but she was probably busy snuggling with Sergei in their townhouse.

A twinge of jealousy nipped at her. She and Em were the same age, and her best friend had already found the love of her life. Meanwhile, she’d never been in a serious relationship.
That’s your choice
, she reminded herself. Keeping things casual with guys had let her stay focused on skating and free of all the romance drama. She’d listened to her ice dance partner Nick’s love-life problems for enough years to know relationships were often more trouble than they were worth.

Her cell blared “Mr. Brightside” and vibrated on the laminate countertop, and she knew from the custom ringtone it was Em’s happy-go-lucky partner. She cradled the phone to her ear as she tossed the wilting spinach. “Hey, Chris.”

“Hey, do you have power?”

“Yeah, you don’t?” Chris’s apartment was in the building across the parking lot from hers.

“It went out a few minutes ago right when I was getting ready to eat. Can I come over and microwave my frozen pizza?”

“I have extra roasted chicken and sautéed spinach if you want some.”

“You have to ask?” Chris laughed. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

She placed the phone on the bar between the kitchen and living room and dumped more spinach into the pan. It would be nice to have the company, but she hoped Chris wouldn’t pepper her with questions about his ex-girlfriend Marley. Aubrey still kept in touch with her good friend, a fellow ice dancer who’d moved to Seattle the past spring. Marley had broken up with Chris a few months later, and though he claimed to be over her, he always wanted to know what she was up to. A perfect example of how relationships often led to nothing but angst.

When a loud knock sounded, Aubrey turned off the stove and hustled to the door. She opened it wide, and a blast of cold air rushed into the living room. Chris hurried inside and pulled back the hood of his black Baltimore Orioles sweatshirt, which was covered with snow. His thick dark hair stuck up in spots.

Aubrey shut the door. “Don’t drip all over my carpet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Chris tugged the sweatshirt over his head, lifting the white T-shirt underneath above his stomach. Aubrey’s eyes drifted to his perfectly cut abs. Nothing she hadn’t seen before at summer beach trips with their group of friends, but she couldn’t help but appreciate a fine physique when she saw it.

Chris dropped the hoodie onto the small square of tile in front of the door. “Man, it smells good in here.”

“I learned a few tricks living with Em for four years.”

They walked into the kitchen and Chris bent over the half chicken resting on a platter. “Did you roast this?”

“No, I bought that at the store, but I did sauté the spinach.”

“Em would’ve cooked the chicken and made gravy from scratch.” Chris folded his arms and leaned against the counter. The serious expression he wore was probably meant to intimidate, but Aubrey knew him too well for that.

She took hold of his broad shoulders and aimed him toward the door. “You can always go back to your frozen, uncooked pizza.”

He turned and smiled, showing his matching dimples. “Your dinner looks
fantastic
.”

He hopped onto a stool next to the bar and tapped on her laptop while she put her attention on slicing into the juicy chicken.

“What’s the latest on the message boards…” he mused out loud as he scrolled. “New interview with Madeline Hyatt and Damien Wakefield. No thanks. I’ve had enough of Damien’s mouth.”

Aubrey paused mid-slice and lowered her head further. The Canadian pair champions weren’t Em and Chris’s favorite people, and her own dislike of Damien had grown stronger recently after a certain night she desperately wanted to forget. She was
so
not looking forward to seeing him in Tokyo.

“No way,” Chris said. “Marley and Zach pulled out of the Final.”

“What?” Aubrey’s head shot up. “Where do you see that?”

“It’s on IceNet.” Chris read silently and then said, “Zach has a sore neck.”

“Marley didn’t mention anything when I talked to her this week.” She peered at Chris and saw the same curious gaze she was giving him. “You think Zach might not really be hurt?”

“Faking an injury so they won’t have to face you and Nick before nationals? Wouldn’t be the first time their coach was suspected of doing something like that.”

She set down the knife. Part of her reveled at the news, knowing she and Nick wouldn’t have to contend with two of their toughest competitors, but the other part felt disappointed. She loved a challenge, and competing against the United States’ other top team would’ve been a fierce battle.

“I’m gonna call Mar later and see what’s up,” she said.

Chris remained quiet, his eyes focused on the computer.

She resumed cutting into the chicken and asked, “Are you bummed she won’t be in Tokyo?”

“Huh?” Chris looked up. “No, I’m… I’m through thinking about her. I’ve spent too much time dwelling on the past when I should be moving on.”

And my point about relationships is proven yet again
, she thought.

Chris slid off the stool and came around into the kitchen. “Maybe you had the right idea all along – not getting serious with anyone. I mean, we’re young. We should be having fun.”

“So, you’re gonna be a player now?” She laughed.

“Hey, I can be–”

A loud whistle of wind rattled the kitchen window, and darkness fell over the apartment. The glow from the laptop screen provided the only light.

“At least I finished making dinner,” Aubrey said.

“Yeah, I don’t need to see the food. I just need to taste it,” Chris said.

“Can you grab all the candles from the living room?”

“Why do girls like candles so much? Mar used to have–” Chris stopped midway through the living room and then continued on in silence.

Aubrey fumbled in a drawer for the lighter while Chris set two of the big candles on the bar and two on the small round table in the dining area. Once they had sufficient light, they filled their plates and grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator.

Chris sniffed the candles as he sat in one of the dining chairs. “They smell like birthday cake.”

She sat across from him. “It’s yummy, isn’t it?”

“Now I get the appeal. I need some of these for my place.”

She laughed. “I’ll tell Em to make that your Christmas gift.”

“What’s Santa bringing you for Christmas?”

There was no gift that could make the holidays at her house bearable. Unless her parents received a marriage makeover. But she wasn’t going to get into all those issues with Chris.

“Hopefully, not another year of listening to my dad complain about how much money my mom spent on presents and my snotty sister-in-law making rude comments about skating.”

“My parents aren’t even coming up this year. They said they’ll see me at nationals two weeks later, so they weren’t making another trip. You know, because traveling from Baltimore to Cape Cod is such a long haul.” Chris’s sarcasm dripped thicker than the wax from the candles. “So, Em invited me to go to her big family dinner in Boston.”

“Oh, you’re gonna love it. They go all out. You’ll be in a food coma from all the pasta and tiramisu and cannoli.”

Chris finished chewing. “I know, I hear about it every year. I might tell my parents to stay home every Christmas from now on.”

“Do you think you’ll live here after you and Em retire?”

“It sounds weird to say ‘retire’ when I’m only twenty-five. Like I’ll be collecting a Social Security check.” He chuckled.

“Well, how about, do you think you’ll stay on Cape Cod after you conclude your skating career?”

“I like it here, but there aren’t a lot of opportunities if I go back to school.”

“You could move to Boston. That’s probably where I’ll look at colleges.”

“And what do you want to be when you grow up?” Chris asked with a smile.

That was a question she’d been pondering a lot lately. As the days ticked down to her probable retirement, she realized she needed to start making some decisions about the next phase of her life.

“I’ve been thinking about studying interior design,” she said. “Put my HGTV obsession to good use.”

“You’ve got great taste in candle decoration. Who wouldn’t want their house to smell like cake?”

She laughed. “I think it’s a little more involved than that.”

“Are you ‘concluding your skating career’ after the Olympics, too?”

“I think so.” She picked at the label on her water bottle with her fingernail. “If Nick and I don’t win a medal in Torino, I’m not sure I want to stick it out four more years for another chance. The closer we get to the Olympics, the more I feel like this should be our last hurrah.”

Her cell chirped from the kitchen, and she rose to check it. She read the text as she carried the phone to the table.

“You’d think the fact that I haven’t responded to any of this guy’s messages would tell him I’m not interested, but he keeps texting me.”

“Who is he?”

“Just a guy I met at the gym. He’s hot as all get-out, but we went to dinner and all he talked about was his ex. No amount of hotness could get me past that.”

Chris’s forehead wrinkled. “Is this what I have to look forward to on the dating scene?”

“Oh, yeah, we were talking about how you’re gonna be a playboy when the lights went out. Haven’t you only ever had serious girlfriends?”