Don't Let Me Fall

Prologue

2026 Winter Olympics, Paris, France

The tension in the air was more chilling than the cold temperature behind the arena doors. I kept my head turned forward, staring at the blue doors in front of me. Our coach never liked it when we saw the program before ours. She said that it was likely to get into our heads. That was the last of my concerns right now.

You know what the damndest thing about standing at a competition you have dreamed about since you were a little girl is? How one person can throw everything off balance.

I looked out the corner of my eye at Lev, and he is staring straight forward, his jaw set. Even with how mad I am at him, I cannot deny how beautiful he is. The sharpness of his jaw with the softness in his long hair contrasts in a way that makes him so masculinely feminine, you just have to stare. I know he can feel my gaze on him, but he pretends I'm not there.

I suppose that's fair, given what just happened. But he did it to himself, really. Right before our Olympic free skate. Our entire careers have led up to this moment, and I can't focus on a single thing.

I hear the music cut and hear the crowd roaring behind the closed doors. Our coach starts talking, but I don't listen. The only thing on my mind is our program. I have never feared being dropped on the ice before; but the coldness from Lev is scaring me to a concerning degree. We have never been this off right before a performance, and I don't know what to do to fix it.

Suddenly, we're walking. The instant we walk out of the doors, we're greeted with a full crowd and deafening cheers. We finished first in the rhythm dance, so we drew spots for the last slots. Of course, we drew number twenty. Our program will be the last thing the Olympics witnesses, for at least four years, and my partner won't even look at me.

I feel like I'm going to throw up.

Lev is smiling, acknowledging the crowd even if he refuses to acknowledge me. I put on a smile, fake it may be, because I refuse to let Mikhail and Cara see us undivided. They're sitting in the kiss and cry, the judges reviewing and tallying their scores. I hold my breath, digging my nails into my arms.

Mikhail Ivanov and Cara Delevingne are beasts on the ice, I won't deny it. For the rhythm dance, they had come in third with a total of 86.43, and first place right now is being held by Diya Khanna and August Forrester of the United States with a score of 214.31. The difference to first place is beating 127.88, which, by the crowd reaction, seems doable.

I reach down and take my skate guards off when the results ring over the speaker. "131.88, for a combined score of 218.31! Our new first place!" an announcer practically yells into the microphone. My heart drops and all sound goes fuzzy.

We achieved a score of 89.73 in our rhythm dance, which means we must achieve a score of at least 129 to come in first place. I look over at Lev, who actually meets my gaze. Neither of us would dare show it on our faces, but I could see it in his eyes, and I know he sees it in mine too: there is no guarantee of what is about to happen.

When the applause die down for Mikhail and Cara, who are beaming with radiating egos and smug facial expressions (they have never been gracious winners), Lev holds out his hand to me, his facial expression not quite as cold, but also not the usual Lev before our programs. I take his hand in mine, and we step out onto the ice.

Immediately, we're out of sync. Our footsteps are less than half a second apart from each other, which should be an insignificant detail. But it's not. The thing about me and Lev is that when we get on the ice together, we are undoubtably the exact same. We have never been out of sync, not by a millimeter. With him, everything is supposed to click.

"Representing Russia, here come Anya Kovalevsky and Lev Alipov. Heading into the free program in the lead with their impressive score of 89.73, they have a lot of ground to gain for that gold medal. At their young age of 19 and 20 respectively, they've already cemented themselves as one of the most prodigious pairs of their time. Tonight, we close out the 2026 Olympic Ice Dancing with their program, Eurydice."

We stop in the center of the ice, in our starting position: Lev puts his hands on the sides of my face, his forehead pressing into mine, while I grab onto his wrists. His hands are so big that his fingers cover my ears, muffling the applause around us. We both close our eyes, and my heart is thumping so loudly I'm afraid everyone can hear it. When the applause dies down, in the few seconds of silence before our music starts, I hear Lev whisper.

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