Page 53 of A Gold Medal in Love
“I think you’ll find that we are. And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it,” she mutters so calmly that I know her vision must be blacked out with rage. “You’re fired as of this moment,” Imani practically yells in the echoing room, ensuring that her words practically bounce off the walls. Then she turns to me with more uncanny peace. “Please escort me from the building, Blake.”
“It would be my pleasure,” I utter in quick response, risking a hand on her lower back in order to steer her movement forward.
She says nothing the whole way to our destination, which is, of course, the pub. I don’t really know what to do after that heavyemotional decision, but we’re going to gamble on either door number one, food, or door number two, alcohol. Sure, it’s Imani, so I’m thinking alcohol over food, but a bitch can try to make her eat something, too, yeah?
When we get there, we sit at the bar. I order a beer for me, a vodka soda for her, and all their small plates, not knowing what her food mindset will be right now. I’ve definitely been where she is, but I’ve certainly never seen her so mad that she surpasses anger and drifts into the icy waters of cold fury.
The drinks arrive and she slams hers back before I’ve even taken a sip, then looks at me expectantly, those beautiful brown eyes beseeching me. I think she’s asking if I can be her brain right now. And that, I can certainly do.
I signal the bartender and ask for water, which earns me a silent glare. Petting her head in its usual smoothed back bun, I murmur to her, “I support your decision to fire him. But I’m not going to let you get drunk the night before your short program—no matter how much of a dick-for-brains he is.”
The water comes, and she sighs loudly, but then drinks some. She looks at me pointedly, eyebrow raised, and gestures to the glass, now only half-full.
“Yes, Cupcake, I see. You’re a very good girl,” I say, smiling.
Imani’s response is to tilt her face up for a kiss.
I’m hopeless for her, so my only recourse is to give in and kiss her in the middle of this full bar where plenty of other Olympians drink, licking the taste of vodka out of her mouth.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
IMANI
Olympics Day14
Tuesday, February 17, 2026
This is it. The big show—it’s here.
And I hate everything. I hate what I’m wearing, I hate my hair and makeup, and I hate this fucking song. None of it feels likeme.I’m about to skate out onto the ice for white America, and that blows. Sure, it’s Coach Lowell’s fault for forcing me into these decisions, but I went along with them. After being raised by a proud Jamaican immigrant, I threw away everything about myself that makes me special just so I could have a seat at the table—and I never even got one; it was all platitudes and carrot-chasing.
To make matters worse, when I stepped on the scale for my morning weight, the angry number yelled that I’ve been giving in to Blake’s dimpled smiles far too much. Every bite is evident in the numbers, and when I took an inventory of my body, I could see how it was showing up for everyone else to notice. This white man-approved outfit is too tight, and I want to rip it off my body like the Hulk and crush the judges under my smash.
I take a deep breath and blow it out. Turning to Blake, I simply beg with my eyes.
They meet my look and soften their gaze, crouching down to my eyeline. “What do you need, Cupcake?”
“Lowell is in my head, and it feelsawfully Caucasianin here. Hashtag Olympics-so-white,” I mutter.
Blake squints at me, but I know it’s not from offense, just them trying to figure out the best thing to say to me while holding space for my Blackness. “That’s very valid. The thing is, two things can be true at one time. Lowell set you up to be white-washed, and you’ve just now unlocked your rage about that. Even if you go out there and win the gold medal their way, you’re shaking up the system, Imani. You know that. And then…” they trail off, leaving me room to come to my own conclusions.
“And then I can burn it all down,” I finish, finding some confidence.
They grin, letting me process.
“I can come back in four years, as a gold medalist, and do thingsmy fucking way,” I nearly growl as though just showing up as myself will be an act of vengeance.
Blake leans forward as though to kiss me, and then coughs into their fist. “Now, tell me what you’re going to do.”
I stand up straight, and they stand tall, looking down at me expectantly. “I’m going to go out there and skate my ass off. I’m going to win that gold goddamn medal. No matter what pretty palatable package I’m in, at the end of the day, I’m the proud daughter of Black immigrants, and I’m not going to let anyone forget who I am. Ever. Again.”
“Triple axel?” Blake checks.
“I’m nailing it,” I respond, narrowing my eyes, but not at them—at the obstacle that is that jump.
“Let’s fuckin’ go!” They whoop. The sound is drowned out by screams and applause as the current skater bows on the ice.