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Breathing hard and grinning like crazy at each other, Patrick grabbed my hand, twirled me into him, then dropped me down into a dramatic dip, matching the last beat of our program music.

Applause filled our ears, but Patrick and I stayed frozen in our ending pose for an extra couple of seconds, absorbing the moment, absorbing the fact that we absolutely killed it. We were taking home another Grand Prix gold, I could feel it.

Patrick pulled me out of our pose and grabbed me up into a tight hug, picking my skates off the ice and squeezing my back. “We did it, P,” he whispered into the crook of my neck. “We came back stronger than ever. I think that was our best yet.”

I nodded against him, my face hurting from smiling so hard. “We did.”

Placing me back on my skates with a knowing grin, Patrick held my hand and spun me around to face the crowd.

Waving graciously and smoothing into a bow, I snuck a glance at Patrick, and the excitement on his face filled me with intense relief.

Here’s the thing—I knew Patrick would be happy if he listened to me and continued competing instead of retiring, but there was still a tiny part of me, maybe like five percent of me, that was nervous I was wrong.

Turns out, I never should’ve doubted myself.

We just needed one more shot at the Olympics and then we’d get our gold.

Two years ago in Beijing, nerves got the best of us.

After the free dance, we slipped to fourth place, just a couple points shy of the podium.

Initially, the results were devastating, especially considering that we did not skate our best. I let myself dwell for a couple of dark days, but then I jumped straight into plotting and planning our next four years.

Patrick and I were smarter, calmer, and stronger now. We could really do this. We just needed one more chance.

Facing the last section of the crowd, so much excited energy coursed through my veins that I couldn’t help it, I threw my fist up and shouted, “Yes!”

The crowd went wild. I knew the judges weren’t too fond of showing any emotion, but I couldn’t—

“Couldn’t help it, could ya?” Patrick let out a wry chuckle. We’d been skating together so long that we could practically read each other’s minds.

I spun into him again and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I don’t know how you can! We killed it, Patrick.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said with a grin. Still holding me tight in his arms, he started gliding us off the ice.

Laughing into his chest, I said, “We’ll never beat the dating allegations now.”

“Eh, I could do worse.” He gave me a little wink before dropping a kiss on my hair.

“Now a public kiss?” I asked, acting aghast. “So scandalous, Patrick.” I lovingly smoothed a hand over the faded freckles on his cheek, playing up our romantic bit for the crowd.

“Oh, shut up,” he joked, an amused grin tugging at his lips.

He was happy .

Genuinely happy.

And that made me wanna do a happy dance right then and there in front of the entire crowd.

Patrick gently dropped me to my skates right in front of the opening in the boards where our coaches were waiting for us.

Michelle, with her slicked back bun and smart blazer, was giving a dazzling smile to the camera.

Her husband, Luka, decked out in a designer plaid suit and wearing an Italian hat over his bald head, shot us a thumbs up.

A Cheshire cat smile spread on Michelle’s face as we smoothed off the ice. “You guys nailed it. Great work,” she said, which was high praise for her. She rarely handed out compliments. She usually took the “bad cop” coach approach, opposite of Luka, who was always feeding us bubbly encouragement.

Luka pulled us in for a hug and planted enthusiastic kisses on both our cheeks. “Fantastic.”

Michelle handed us our skate guards so we could walk up to the kiss-and-cry booth for our scores.

Up in the booth, Patrick and I automatically took our usual places beside each other. We were used to this. Throughout our career, we’d sat in similar booths all over the world together.

I waved and blew a few kisses to the camera. Patrick curled his arm up into a muscle pose.

The crowd quieted as we waited for our scores.

Coming down from the adrenaline high of competing, the cold started seeping into me, making me shiver in my low-cut dress, which was probably made of more mesh than actual material.

Patrick reached an arm around me for a side hug and rubbed my shoulder while we waited.

I shared a smile of thanks with him. Sometimes he knew what I needed before I even did.

But as soon as the scores started coming in, Patrick’s body locked up beside mine.

My face faltered as I stared at the numbers on the screen.

Patrick shifted uncomfortably and stole his arm back to push back his sweaty ginger hair.

My jaw angled to the side, trying to figure out if there’d been some kind of glitch, because those numbers did not match the program we just skated.

I shifted my gaze to Luka and Michelle. “Is that—”

I was cut off by a loud cheer from a side wing. My neck whipped around to see the French couple jumping up and down, crying happy tears while hugging each other. They should be happy—they just snatched the gold from us.

“Well, better luck next time.” Michelle planted a fake-smile on her face and lifted her chin at me as if saying, c’mon, play it up.

Patrick’s throat bobbed with a swallow as he continued staring at the numbers with a little crease between his eyebrows.

He finally dropped his head down in disappointment, making panic flare to life inside me.

No, no, no. This was not how it was supposed to go.

These crooked judges were ruining everything.

“C’mon, let’s head back to the locker room,” Luka said in a hushed tone.

“No,” I whispered, my breathing going raged with rage.

Patrick frowned.

Luka craned his neck to make eye contact with me. “We should go, Piper.”

“No.” I shook my head. “This is bullshit, ” I announced to anyone who would listen. “How the fuck do those numbers match what we just did?” I blurted out, throwing an arm out to the scores.

“Calm down,” Michelle ordered between clenched teeth.

I reeled back like she slapped me. She was mad at me ? Not the judges who just ripped us off? My jaw hardened as rebellious anger roared to life in my body.

Michelle’s eyes narrowed at me like she was a mother trying to reprimand a toddler, meaning I was the toddler in this scenario.

“Shit,” Patrick muttered, rubbing a hand down his exhausted face. “Piper, it’s fine, she—”

“Are you fucking serious?” I fumed at Michelle. Luka flinched, but I was just getting started. “Me? I should calm down?” A maniacal laugh escaped my mouth. “I think you should be more upset. We were just ripped off and you don’t even care.”

Michelle ran her tongue over our teeth. “Enough. Let’s go.”

“No, not enough,” I argued, standing now. “I want to talk to someone about this. I want to file a complaint. This was clearly rigged.”

“Hey,” Patrick said firmly, his face stern. He stood and grabbed my shoulders. His pale blue eyes locked on mine. “It’s okay, P,” he said in a softer tone, and that finally broke me.

“It’s not okay, Patrick,” my voice came out strangled.

“We were perfect. We had a winning program. What more do we have to do? It’s not right.

” Tears welled up in my eyes. “I’m so sick of this.

” I was sick of never getting rewarded for our hard work.

The dam holding back all my emotions burst wide open and there was no way of stopping my tears now.

“I know.” Patrick tugged me into a hug. “It’s okay. Pull it together,” he whispered in my ear as he rubbed my back. “You’re going to regret losing your composure. We’ve been in this position before, it’ll be fine.”

I fully knew he was right, but I couldn’t stop the huge emotions overwhelming my body, making me want to tear down everything in my path.

I was so fed up with all of it. I couldn’t get out of the deep dive I was barreling down at full speed.

I could practically taste my anger. My shoulders shook from the rage.

I wanted to scream. But I couldn’t. The only way for the emotions to escape was through my eyes.

“Is she crying?” Luka mumbled in a shocked tone.

I reared back and glared at him. “It’s called the kiss-and-cry, and I’ll cry if I fucking want to.”

Patrick sighed. His eyes shifted to something over my head before he pulled me against his chest and rubbed my back.

Tears were now streaming down my face for the first time in years. “I hate this sport, and I hate those stupid judges,” I blubbered, trying to wipe my face.

Patrick started leading me toward the locker room, but he stopped short before the steps down to the hallway, making me bump right into his back.

“What?” I asked, trying to crane my neck around him.

His body stiffened. When he turned back to me, a wary look crossed his face.

“What?” I sniffled up my tears.

A flash went off, practically blinding me.

And that’s when I realized I fucked up.

Big time.

My tear-streaked face was up on the jumbotron.

The kiss-and-cry had been mic’d up.

And now every single member of the press at the competition was aiming their camera at my face.