Page 59 of A Gold Medal in Love

Looking up into their always-loving eyes with my blurry ones, I try to put my panic into words. “No. Everything is wrong. And it’s all my fault. I really am a bad girl.”

Blake’s face crumples. “Hey, no, no, no. Cupcake, do you know how good you are for me? I love your bratting. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

I close my eyes, but I feel sweet kisses making their way across my face. “Would you… have me? Even as fucked up as I am?”

“You’re not fucked up. Dealing with hard shit and never having gotten the right resources for them isn’t your fault,” Blake says directly into my ear.

“No! I’m not good enough. To win the gold, to win over the audience, to… win your love.” My voice breaks, and I sob anew.

“Oh, Cupcake,” Blake moans, and I just know I’m about to be let down.

This wasn’t supposed to be anything more than what was agreed upon. This is why I don’t get close to people. And now we’re going to have this conversation right before the most important performance of my entire life. I should have just shut my goddamn mouth.

Blake pulls back from me, gripping my chin with force. “Open your eyes,” they demand.

“No,” I pout.

“Imani. Open your goddamn eyes. Now,” Blake says in a deadly serious voice, making it apparent they aren’t being sexy or funny. “Trust me.”

I blink my tear-filled eyes open and gaze straight into those beautiful blue eyes.

“You are having some insane subdrop right now, and I don’t know if you even know what you’re saying. But just so there’s no fucking confusion, I’m insane foryou. Imani, I love you more than I love the game. If I had a career-ending injury during my final, I would shake it off if I could only go home and recover at your side. I know you know what a declaration like that means. My entire life has been wrapped up in hockey, but I finally found the one thing that makes it a second priority. And again, in case you’re not thinking clearly and I need to spell it out: you’re the first.” Blake’s face is stern but loving, their eyes jumping between mine.

“I need to tell you something,” is my answer to the best thing they could have said to me.

“Anything.” Blake nods.

“I think… I might be… I could possibly have… anorexia,” I sputter out warily.

Their hand on my back rubs a big circle as their hand on my chin loosens and moves to push my hair out of my face. “Thank you for telling me that. Are you telling yourself at the same time?”

I feel my face screw up in frustration. “Lowell and my nutritionist have been fine with my intake and output… But. I don’t know. That stupid doctor was concerned. And you—you’re an athlete.” I look at Blake with derision. “You eat like shit. I don’t ever want to eat like that.”

A laugh bursts out of Blake, and they let a smile linger.

It encourages me to continue. “But. I’m tired of… living like this. Do you know I punish myself when I eat dinner with you? No one has ever told me I’m mean to myself except for you. So. Maybe I could stop doing that? If there’s a way?”

Blake takes the washcloth off my forehead, flinging it somewhere I’m not privy to. Then they kiss me there, lingering for several moments.

“I still have the pamphlet from the doctor. It outlines a lot of options, and I’m sure we can find the best one for you,” Blake breathes against my skin.

“We?” I dare to ask, unsure where their assertions of love extend.

“The ‘we’ is optional. But, I’m here. If you want me,” Blake says easily.

I pull back, still safely ensconced in their arms. “I’m not promising anything. Just so we’re clear.”

“Okay. But this? This was a start, Cupcake.” They cock their head and consider me. “I’ve been to a lot of therapy myself. Does that help to hear?”

My eyes widen in shock, and I blink several times. “Is that where you learned to have such a good disposition?”

“Oh, I’ve always been funny. That’s a defense mechanism.” Blake winks at me. “My dad is a hockey legacy. That… was not a great environment to be raised in. It probably could have gone nicer, except for the fact that my father is a raging dick.” They laugh, but it’s mean.

“But you’re so cool, calm, and collected,” I argue.

“Sure, because I had to learn how to be.” Blake pauses. “It’s hot, though, right? It works as a top.”

“Why haven’t you ever told me this before?” I ask them, searching their face for what I now see are the cracks of strain from holding everything all together, all the time. I’m reminded that Blake is their team captain, not just here at the Olympics, but at home in Toronto. And then there’s all the fucking work of beingmyDominant.