Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The room wasn’t any different than it had been the night before. A bed sat in the corner with a squat wardrobe positioned nearby. A decent sized window hovered between them. But something about the stark familiarity added a layer of tension.

Josée paced the length of her room in the Olympic Village, twisting her fingers until they cracked. It’s not like last time, she tried to convince herself. Not at all.

But it was. That day had been the first ice dancing event, the short dance. Josée and Jacques had performed with all their practiced perfection, scoring 82.05 points. Josée wasn’t sure what she had been expecting; of course she wanted a high score, but everything was mirroring last time so closely.

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the memories. It had been quite some time since their previous performance at the Olympics. So what if the first part of their event was similar to last time? That only meant they were good at the short dance.

But the free dance is tomorrow, her mind prattled on. That’s the one that made us lose the gold last time.

It doesn’t have to this time, Josée shot back fiercely, quickening her step as she paced. We know what to expect. We know our routine. Jacques would never drop me a second time.

She abruptly paused as her partner’s face flashed through her mind. Slowly, Josée sat down on the edge of her bed. Jacques had never seemed as angry about losing the gold as she was—Used to be, she instinctively corrected herself. He seemed more distressed over the fact that he had dropped her.

But that won’t happen again, she thought, staring down at her hands in her lap. This is our second chance.

A shiver ran up her spine, and Josée blinked hard. Her mother, Mariette Voland, had never liked the idea of second chances. If winning the first time wasn’t enough, you didn’t deserve to try again. Much yelling and quite a bit of broken furniture had happened when Josée told her that she and Jacques were entering the Olympic trials again.

Will Mama even be there tomorrow? Josée wondered. She hadn’t seen her mother in the crowd during the short dance that day. Then again, she hadn’t been looking particularly hard.

Letting out a sigh that felt like all the air in her lungs, Josée glanced over her shoulder at the window. A knot settled in her stomach; what was Jacques doing right then? He hadn’t seemed any less confident that day than he always was. Josée wondered if he had even noticed their short dance score was so similar to last time.

And if he did notice…what is he thinking?

__________________

Across the hall, behind the closed door of his room, Jacques was in a state of near-panic.

“C’est une catastrophe!” he exclaimed aloud, running his hands through his hair as he stared at himself in the wall mirror. “It is just like last time! What—what if—”

That “what if” was too much for him to say out loud. Besides, he really didn’t need to say it. He knew exactly what hung in the balance. If their free dance wasn’t perfect, beyond perfect, they could end up with another silver medal…or worse.

"I can’t be the reason we lose,” Jacques told the anxious-looking Jacques in the mirror. “Not again.” Josée wanted this so badly; he had to help her win.

Sighing, he placed his hands on the mirror and stared down at the floor. Another loss wouldn’t hurt so much if it was only him competing.  Even though not much time had passed since the Ridonculous Race, Jacques felt he had really learned a lot. Nobody ever said wake-up calls were fun, but they really were useful. Jacques had seen himself (and his behavior) in a new light, one that he didn’t like, and had been conscious of that fact ever since. He was sure that losing the Olympics wouldn’t cause the downward spiral of anger and hurt that it had before, at least for himself.

But Josée, he worried, drumming his fingers on the glass in front of him. She has worked so hard on her temper. What if we lose and she can’t control it? She would hate herself, and couple that with another loss…Jacques could already hear her angry sobs about how untalented and pathetic she was.

“I cannot let that happen again,” he said aloud, taking a step back to stare at himself once more. “I cannot be the reason her dreams are crushed a second time.”

As he continued to stare determinedly into the mirror, memory flickered in the back of Jacques’s mind. He flinched, but there was no use fighting it. The images were already sweeping in.

Ice scraped steadily beneath Jacques’s skates as he leaned into a neat turn. Josée, never more than a pace away, glided around in front of him and extended her arms. Jacques took her hands, grinning in an attempt to make her current smile more genuine as he listened for the right cue in the music.

There! The sounds around them gently swelled, and Jacques’s heart roared in his ears. This was it, their moment, the final lift before they won the gold. Pulling Josée a bit closer, Jacques bent his knees, readjusted his grip, and swept his partner off her feet.

For a brief moment, everything was simply perfect. His stance was steady, Josée was posing, and Jacques could even see the judges out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t notice what was happening because nothing felt like it was wrong. Then, a tiny warning pinged through his mind.

My grip isn’t secure enough.

The thought wasn’t even finished before Jacques realized Josée had lost her balance. Cold horror swept over him so completely he couldn’t breathe. His muscles tensed, his stomach twisted then plunged. He tried to regain his hold, to catch her, to prevent this complete, utter disaster from happening. But it was too late; gravity had taken hold.

NO! Jacques wasn’t sure if he had yelled the word or if it was just incredibly loud in his own head. He didn’t hear the crowd gasp; he didn’t see his own horrified expression in the overhead wide screen; he couldn’t even recognize that this was the worst possible nightmare he could ever have. All he saw was his partner, his best friend, his Josée crash onto the icy floor, taking all their hopes of gold and dreams of winning down with her. And it was all his fault.

Jacques shook his head so hard his neck twinged, blinking back the tears that always accompanied that memory. The room suddenly felt colder and emptier than ever before. And laden with memories of sitting in a similar room with Josée as she raged, then collapsed, then sobbed into his shoulder for hours.

Jacques turned toward the door. This wasn’t helping his nerves; he needed to get out of that room.

The walk down the hallway was silent; he figured Josée and most of the other athletes on this floor were resting for the next day’s events. Which he knew he should be doing as well.

Just a short walk, he reasoned, striding into the elevator and pressing the down button before there was a chance to argue with himself. I will be back in plenty of time to prepare for tomorrow.

Outside, a brisk wind was already blowing. Jacques shoved his hands into his pockets, watching several stray leaves chase each other across the sidewalk. The wide, concrete path wound in a serpentine circle around the Olympic Village, bordered here by a restaurant, there by a row of hedges. A massive fountain gurgled in the center.

Jacques trailed along the path, keeping his eyes fixed on the lengthening shadows before him as the sun sank below the row of buildings. It was quiet, which he couldn’t decide if he was grateful for or not. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to other athletes laughing and chatting, but the silence left him with only his own thoughts for company.

What happens if we lose again? Jacques wondered. Would Josée want to try a third time? Would he?

He wandered toward the edge of the path where the hedges were far enough apart for him to see the fountain. He didn’t think he would want to try again; there were too many things he wanted to do besides train for the next Olympic event. But if Josée wanted to, he knew he would. She is my partner, he thought, leaning against the guard rail to peer into the rippling water below. I would do anything—

“Jacques!”

Jacques looked up sharply as his name cut through the silence. He glanced over his shoulder to see Josée herself striding toward him. His stomach tightened with concern; was something wrong? Josée always emphasized how important it was to rest before a competition. What could be urgent enough to bring her all the way out here on the night before their final performance?

“’Allo, Josée,” he said, unconsciously searching her face for any hint as to what she needed.

His partner offered a small, tense smile as she leaned on the rail beside him. “What are you doing out here?” she asked; her tone didn’t hold the exasperation it usually did when she found out he wasn’t resting before a competition. In fact, she sounded suspiciously quiet.

“Taking a short walk,” Jacques replied, emphasizing the “short” a bit, just in case she was wondering.

Josée made a small, acknowledging noise in the back of her throat, her eyes fixating on the hotel across the fountain. A beat of silence passed, then another. Just as Jacques was preparing to ask if she was alright, she spoke.

“We shouldn’t be nervous, you know.”

He glanced down at her, but her gaze was still glued to the hotel. A thousand different responses assaulted Jacques’s mind, but he kept silent, waiting for her to continue.

“We’ve practiced and practiced,” Josée said. “We know the routine. And we got a good score today.” She finally cast Jacques a sideways glance, her eyes flashing a final, unspoken thought: I shouldn’t be nervous, right?

After allowing another beat of silence, just to be sure she didn’t want to add anything else, Jacques took a steadying breath. “I think it’s a-kay to be nervous,” he said softly. Memories flashed through his mind—a loose grip, Josée falling, the sound of impact—Jacques blinked them away. I won’t hurt her again.

He glanced at Josée to find her still watching him, waiting for him to say something else. “I’m nervous,” he admitted. But not because of the gold medal, his mind finished.

Josée blinked, breaking the intensity of her stare before saying, “Because we could lose.” It was a statement, not a question.

No, because I could single-handedly destroy everything you want in less than a second. Jacques momentarily bit his tongue to keep the words from slipping out. Aloud, he said, “We have just as much a chance of winning as any of the other teams.”

Josée arched her eyebrows doubtfully but didn’t say anything. Jacques frowned, suddenly noticing she was restlessly working the guard rail between her hands. He shifted closer, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

“It will be a-kay, Josée,” he told her. “This time tomorrow, we’ll be back at the Village with our gold medals and a ‘undred reporters begging to take our picture.” That earned a small smile from his partner. Encouraged, Jacques continued. “We will be on the cover of every ice dancing magazine, and you will finally have your dream of winning the Olympics.”

Josée tilted her head to one side to look up at him. “I thought winning was our dream,” she said.

Jacques gazed past her thoughtfully for a moment. The first time, yes, it had been their dream to win. But now…Now my dream is to do this without hurting her again. “I do want us to win,” he replied slowly, glancing back at her. “And that is the—the most important thing.”

She held his gaze for a moment longer. “That is what you’re worried about, isn’t it?” she asked. “Not winning?”

“In a way, oui,” Jacques hedged.

Josée raised an eyebrow at him, silently prompting him to continue.

Jacques allowed himself a near-silent sigh. “I just don’t want to ruin this for you,” he confessed, barely able to raise his voice above a whisper. “Not again.”

On the edge of his vision, Jacques saw Josée’s eyes widen. A beat of silence passed in which he waited for her to say something, and at last, she let out a sigh of her own.

“That’s why you’re nervous about tomorrow,” she said, sounding almost as if she was talking to herself. “Not because of winning.” She paused, leaning forward and drawing Jacques’s gaze toward her. “Because you think you’ll drop me again?”

It took Jacques a moment to realize her last words had been a question. He shifted, his arm around her suddenly feeling bulky and in the way. “Ah, right,” he said quietly. “Because of that.”

Josée studied him for a moment, eyes flickering as she thought. “You know I…I won’t be mad at you…right?” she asked. “Not like last time, anyway.”

Jacques glanced across the fountain again. “We have worked so hard to get here,” he replied. “I don’t want us to lose again because of—”

The words halted on the end of his tongue as Josée abruptly shifted, pushing her head under his chin and effectively closing his mouth.

“It-it’ll be okay,” she said, a bit unsteadily, but with no less determination. “You won’t drop me.” Jacques felt her take a deep breath. “And—and even if we don’t win the gold…we’ll always be partners.” She hesitated, then added, “I, um…I promise.”

Jacques was glad she couldn’t see his face, for his eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise. Maybe she’s trying to let go, he realized. Of all those things her mother always tells her, that she believed, about winning and gold. And now she was attempting to tell him that, in her own halting, awkward sort of way.

A warm trickle of pride weaved through Jacques’s thoughts, dislodging the worry and tension that had taken up residence there during the past several weeks. He turned to wrap both arms around Josée and gave her a tight squeeze.

“Josée, you are wonderful,” he told her. “And I am so proud of you.”

She squeezed him back, letting out a slightly embarrassed giggle. “Don’t tell me I’m wonderful until we’ve won,” she said.

Jacques looked down at the top of her head. “You don’t have to win to be wonderful.”

__________________

It wasn’t the early morning light that woke Josée. And it wasn’t the birdsong filtering in through the window. In fact, nothing could wake her up…because she already was awake.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Josée slid off the end of her bed. She had given up trying to sleep around four in the morning and had sat there for the rest of the night. Normally, she would have scolded herself for not resting enough before the competition, that it always led to sloppy performances, but there was no point to that today. Nervous energy coursed through her in little, white pulses, tightening her chest until drawing breath made her dizzy.

Only a few more hours, she thought, although knowing that didn’t offer any sort of reassurance. The wait is almost over.

Her hands trembled as she fastened on her costume. The blood-red leotard seemed to cling to her tighter than it had the last time she wore it. Had she sewed too many sparkles onto it? What if she ripped the muslin skirt during the performance?

There’s no time for this, she told herself sternly. Jacques is waiting for me. My costume is perfect, and we’re going to win. The knot in her stomach disagreed.

After applying liberal amounts of makeup in the mirror, and tweaking her outfit until it was a wonder that it didn’t simply fall apart, Josée left her room for the hotel lobby. Jacques was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, and she paused as she spotted him, momentarily distracted from her pounding heart as she took in his appearance.

His hair was brushed back in its usual style, his crisp, white shirt contrasting well with inky black trousers. But it was the way he was standing that distracted her the most. Her partner held his skate bag in one hand, allowing it to tug him into a lopsided stance as he gazed out a nearby window, half-smiling at some unknown thought. Josée blinked; he looked…Relaxed wasn’t quite right, but he certainly didn’t look like he was about to skate in their final Olympic ice dancing event.

Maybe he really was just worried about dropping me, she thought, approaching slowly so as not to disturb him. It hadn’t surprised her that he was thinking about it (she certainly was, too), but the fact that it had been bothering him so much... She fought back a guilty wince; she had responded rather violently to placing second last time and held an undercurrent of grudge for a long while afterward. Not again, she told herself. Never again, no matter what happens. I’m not a raging monster anymore. I’m—

“Bonjour, Josée!”

Josée startled out of her thoughts as Jacques finally noticed her. He flashed her a confident grin, and her anxiety stilled for a moment.

“Hi,” she said, striding up to him and suddenly wondering if she looked like she hadn’t slept at all last night. She certainly didn’t feel like it; her limbs trembled, and she shifted from one foot to the other in hopes of releasing some of her pent-up energy.

Jacques studied her for a moment before placing his hands on her shoulders and smiling down at her. “Vous êtes belle,” he said. “The other teams don’t stand a chance.”

Taking a breath to steady her heartbeat, which still felt like it was trying to pound its way out of her chest, Josée returned his smile. “Merci,” she replied, bending into a perfectly-poised curtsy and earning a wider grin from her partner.

“Come on,” he said, grasping her hand and tugging her toward the door. “We are supposed to check in at the ice arena. The competition starts soon!”

Less than thirty minutes later, Josée stood alongside Jacques in the rink’s waiting area. If she stood on her tiptoes, she could just barely see through the small window in the closed door, but it was enough. The massive curve of the arena, the chill in the air, even the smell of the vinyl barriers released an onslaught of flashbacks. She took a breath in an attempt to calm herself, but her lungs felt too small. The air crackled with tension as the teams behind her paced restlessly or conversed in hushed tones.

“Hey.”

Josée jumped as Jacques’s voice sounded close to her ear. “Yes?” she replied, glancing at him and wondering in the back of her mind how he could sound so calm.

Her partner took her hand and squeezed. “It’s a-kay,” he said. “We will do magnifique, just wait.”

Blowing out what little breath she had, Josée squeezed his hand back, channeling some of her nervous energy into her grip. “It’s the waiting that’s making everything worse,” she muttered. “How much longer can they possibly make us stay here?” Josée knew they had really only been waiting for a few minutes, but it felt so much longer.

As if he had read her thoughts, Jacques replied, “We have only been back here a couple-a minutes.” He paused to tilt his head at her. “Besides, we are skating almost last.”

“Rrrurrgh,” Josée grumbled, glaring at the door as if doing so would make time run faster. There were 24 teams competing that day, and some genius had decided to put her and Jacques as the 23^rd team to skate. Second to last, she thought uneasily. It’s not a bad sign. It has nothing to do with the final placing. Still, merely thinking the word “second” set off a swarm of anxiety in her head.

Jacques blinked sympathetically. “It’s better this way, remember?” he said. “If we are in the last few, we will be the ones everyone remembers when the competition is over.”

That’s not the only reason they could end up remembering us. Josée fought back a grimace, trying not to let Jacques notice, though there was really no point to that; he always noticed.

Stepping in front of her, Jacques took her by the shoulders the same way he had in the hotel lobby. Josée looked up, startling at the intensity of his gaze.

“I won’t drop you,” he said earnestly, his eyes boring into hers until she was sure he could see straight through to her thoughts. “I promise I won’t.”

She was expecting a rush of tension, a moment where she felt distrustful of that statement while trying to convince herself she didn’t. But that wasn’t at all what she felt. A trickle of warmth leaked into her chest, loosening her lungs for the first time in hours. Her next words had left her mouth before she even realized she was speaking.

“I know,” she replied quietly. “I trust you.”

Jacques gave her a look of combined relief and confidence. “Let’s find a place to sit down,” he said. “We are going to be in here a while longer.”

“A while longer” turned out to be an understatement. Josée fidgeted on the bench next to Jacques, alternating between eyeing the athletes around them and straining to see the skaters already on the ice. Why were there so many? Why hadn’t she noticed before? All of them glittered with sparkly, crisp costumes, some matching, some purposefully contrasting. Josée suddenly wished she had picked a more original costume color than red.

Several of the other teams were eyeing her and Jacques as well. Her stomach twisted sharply; did they recognize them? It was highly possible, considering that the Ridonculous Race had only ended a few months ago.

Out of the corner of her eye, Josée saw Jacques craning his neck to look out at the stands, undoubtedly scanning them for his family. She didn’t bother following his gaze; she didn’t know if her mother was there, and she was trying hard not to care.

She’s already mad that we’re trying again, she told herself. It would only make everything worse if we lose a second time and she’s here to watch it.

Josée leaned toward Jacques. “How much longer?” she asked, though she knew the question was pointless; he wouldn’t know any more than she did. However, she did know she could count on him for a response, one that would make ignoring thoughts of her mother much easier.

“I do not know,” Jacques said, glancing away from the stands. “We weren’t this far down the list last time.”

Josée’s heart missed a beat. It’s NOT a bad sign! “Y-you remember that?” she asked Jacques.

Her partner nodded, his gaze growing distant. “Um-hmm,” he hummed faintly. “I remember.”

          Josée twisted her fingers in her lap. She hadn’t paid much attention to all that last time. She had been too excited beforehand, and afterward…She swallowed hard; she didn’t want to think about afterward.

“It won’t be like last time,” she replied aloud. She must have sounded more unconvinced than she realized, for Jacques gave her a reassuring smile.

“I know that,” he said simply.

Time dragged on at an unfairly slow rate. Several times, Josée was tempted to find some manager to complain to, but she forced herself to stay on the bench. It will be soon, she constantly reminded herself until eventually she had repeated it so many times that the words began to sound odd in her own mind. She busied herself instead with the echoing voice of the announcer. So far, the highest final score was 196.70 points.

Which means we need at least 196.71 points to beat them, she thought. She would prefer to win by a noticeable amount, but if that’s what it came down to, she’d take any win. But that’s the total score, she reminded herself, half-standing in an unsuccessful attempt to see onto the ice. That’s the short dance score PLUS the free dance score.

So for the free dance, they needed at least…at least… What was their score from the previous day? Josée turned to Jacques to ask if he remembered, but stopped short when she noticed the expression on his face.

He was wriggling in his seat, eyes flickering around the room without pause. He seemed to be radiating a sort of restless, excited energy. Josée frowned, nudging him to get his attention.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, suddenly aware that the room around them was nearly empty.

“We’re next,” he whispered back.

Josée’s limbs tensed of their own accord, and for a moment, the room around her faded to black. It’s time, it’s time, IT’S TIME!

“Josée?” A gentle nudge brought her back to reality. She looked up to find Jacques watching her with concern. “Deep breath,” he continued. “We can do this.”

Wordlessly nodding, Josée turned to the door. Inhale, exhale. They were going to do fine. Inhale, exhale. It would all be over in just a few more minutes. Inhale, exhale. She didn’t even have to worry about impressing Mama this time.

She cast a sideways glance at Jacques. I only need to make him proud, she thought. A tiny spark of determination kindled within her; Josée pounced on it before her nerves could put it out. I only want to make him proud.

The door abruptly opened, and there stood one of the rink managers. Josée’s stomach dropped sharply. The man squinted at her and Jacques through a pair of thick glasses, then, seemingly satisfied they were who he was looking for, beckoned eagerly.

Josée exchanged a glance with Jacques, the knot in her stomach tightening. She slowly pulled herself to her feet, her legs trembling in a way that had nothing to do with her skates. Heart pounding in her throat, she followed her partner through the door.

Instantly, bright light rushed into her eyes, and she was forced to squint as she took in the rink. It was just as massive and pure white as she remembered, the stands surrounding it packed with cheering spectators. Josée took a shaky breath, and it wasn’t until she noticed her own face on the overhead wide screen that she realized she wasn’t smiling.

Hastily constructing a performance-worthy grin, Josée cast a sideways glance at Jacques. He looked back with a much more genuine smile, and they paused at the edge of the rink.

“It’ll be a-kay, Josée,” he murmured, leaning toward her to ensure only she would hear him. “This is our moment.”

“I know,” she replied breathlessly. She briefly took his hand and squeezed. “We can do it.”

Jacques flashed her that broad, confident grin that always succeeded in calming her nerves, then turned to lead the way onto the ice.

Josée had often thought about what skating onto the Olympic rink for the second time would feel like. She was expecting at least to be hesitant; at most, terrified beyond all reasonable thought. But as she stepped over the threshold, her skates seemed magnetically drawn to the ice, and all at once, she was out.

Taking yet another steadying breath, she skated after Jacques, flashing a wide smile at the nearest camera. She broke even with her partner, and they began circling the rink’s edge, arms raised.

“Jacques Collet and Josée Voland, skating for Canada,” boomed the announcer, his voice echoing through the arena until Josée could feel it vibrating in her chest.

A cheer rippled through the stands, maybe not as loud as it had been before, but that could change. That would change, if this day went the way she didn’t dare hope it would. Matching Jacques’s stride, she glided to the center of the rink then half-turned into a smooth halt. She had forgotten how big it was; ice spanned out around her like a frosty ballroom floor.

As Jacques skated into position behind her, Josée’s eyes unconsciously roamed the stands. There was Jacques’s family in the front row (of course; where else would they be?). There was no sign of Josée’s mother. She couldn’t decide if that was disappointing or a relief.

At least it’ll be easier to focus, she silently admitted, without her watching me.

“Ready?”

Josée barely managed to stop herself from startling as Jacques’s voice sounded in her ear. She hesitated; was she? With conformation that her mother wasn’t there, her nerves were beginning to morph into a tense sort of excitement. She wanted to feel ready. Josée glanced over her shoulder at her partner. With her face now turned away from the cameras, she allowed her smile to soften. “I’m ready,” she whispered back.

As if that had been a previously-arranged cue, a hush fell over the stands. Josée’s heart began to beat faster, and she reached for the spark of excitement, willing it to stay alive.

Gracefully lifting her arms, she angled her skates and paused. Music gently skimmed across the icy arena as Jacques reached for her hands, then, moving as one person, they swept forward.

It’s too late to worry now, she told herself, leaning back as Jacques spun her in a circle. I know the steps; Jacques knows the steps. We are performers, and we can do this.

Ice scraped beneath her skates as she shifted into a twirl, perfectly synced with Jacques beside her. The stands blurred, and gradually, the tense knot in her stomach loosened. Josée propelled herself forward, wrapping an arm around her partner and raising the other as they glided backward. Music swept through her mind, chasing away her anxious thoughts until Josée suddenly forgot to be nervous. There was only Jacques, always beside her, and her skates, faithfully carrying her along, and this routine that she had poured so much effort into.

The movements came without her needing to call them. She and Jacques weaved fluidly around each other, paused to spin, then Jacques swept her off her feet and sent her gliding away in another direction. This was why she performed: for the beauty of dance, how it stirred something deep within her, and the security of knowing Jacques was always right there to help her through the next move.

The smooth rhythm continued for what felt like a blissful forever, then something in Josée’s mind abruptly twinged, brought on by a subtle shift in the musical key. It’s time. The words were loud, as if spoken by some outside force, but they were all she needed to remember. The lift; it’s time for the lift!

She swept around to face Jacques, intertwining her arms with his in a waltz-like position. Still moving in long, flowing steps, Josée looked up at her partner, searching his face. Jacques gazed back, his eyes momentarily reflecting her own sudden tension before changing. It took Josée a moment to realize he was silently telling her something, but once she did, the message came through louder than if he had shouted it:

I will not drop you.

That was all the preparation Josée had for the next moment. Jacques shifted his position, secured his hold around her, and before Josée’s thoughts had time to catch up, he had lifted her off her feet.

Air roared in her ears, or maybe that was her own deafening heartbeat, and she had to remind herself to pose as Jacques skated in a tight circle. She gazed down at him, time and cameras and cheering fading into a muffled hum as she took in his expression. His jaw was taut with concentration, eyes boring straight into hers with a fiery determination that repeated the same promise over and over: I won’t drop you. I won’t.

The tension unconsciously faded from Josée’s thoughts, a sort of unfamiliar calm washing over her. Her smile widened without command. I trust him, her mind sang. I really, really trust him.

And then, it was done. Josée suddenly found herself lowered back to the rapidly-passing ice beneath Jacques’s moving skates, and then they were gliding away, weaving around each other for a moment longer as the music continued. Josée twirled in a tight circle, spreading her arms as she glided back, then Jacques was there again to lead them in another turn.

The music softened, then slowed; Josée allowed her movements to slow along with it. An invisible target waited in the center of the rink, and she aimed her curving strides toward it. Turning in one last circle, Josée spread her arms and let herself stop. Jacques stopped with her, took her hands, and they leaned toward each other, freezing in their final pose as the music tapered into silence.

A silence that hardly lasted one second. The stands erupted with wild cheers and flashing cameras, but for once, Josée hardly noticed. WE DID IT! She wanted to scream it at the top of her lungs, but she couldn’t. She could only stare at Jacques, then suddenly, before she had a chance to pull her emotions into check, she burst into tears.

She threw her arms around Jacques’s neck, aware that she probably looked insane between her tears and the disbelieving laughs that kept bursting out. Exhaustion was finally catching up with her, and her knees felt weak. She let her partner guide her down onto the ice.

“We did it, Josée!” he whispered, sounding just as choked up as he hugged her. “We really did it!”

Josée wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, clinging to each other as they cried in a way that was so, so much different than last time. Eventually, they broke apart, Jacques pulled her to her feet, and, with arms raised in triumph, they skated off the ice.

Josée’s legs trembled with mingled exhaustion and relief as she stepped onto the concrete floor. Somewhere nearby, a few photographers were busily snapping pictures. Josée alternated between flashing grins at them and at Jacques as they weaved through the narrow walkway to the announcement booth. Limbs still shaky with disbelief, she clambered in after her partner and dropped heavily onto the bench.

“I can’t—” she started, then stopped. She couldn’t what? Believe it was already over? That they got a second chance? That their performance had been so perfect?

Jacques returned her grin, reaching over to give her hand a tight squeeze. “I know,” he replied. “Me neither.”

Josée smiled back gratefully. It saved so much time, and mental energy on her part, that Jacques understood her so well. I don’t even have to say it, she thought. I don’t even have to understand it completely.

“Best scores, please!”

All coherent thought instantly fled Josée’s mind as the announcer’s voice reverberated through the arena. Silence fell like heavy snow, though her heartbeat continued to pound loudly in her own head.

“Jacques Collet and Josée Voland have earned for the free dance…”

Josée gripped Jacques’s hand, unable to control the shivers running along her spine.

“123.94 points,” the announcer continued.

Her mind instantly seized the information and started pouring through her memories for their short dance score, but the announcer beat her to it.

“They have a total score of 205.99 points, and are currently in first place.”

First place! It took all of Josée’s self-control to keep from letting the words out in an ecstatic yelp. Gold, gold, GOLD! her mind happily sang until it grew so loud she had to shake her head to think straight. He said currently in first place, she reminded herself sternly. There’s still one more team left.

“First place, Josée!” Jacques whispered beside her, voice trembling with excitement. “Do you know what that means?”

She hesitated, unsure whether or not to say aloud what she knew they were both thinking. Would it jinx them?

Apparently, Jacques wasn’t concerned about potential jinxes. “There’s only one other team left!” he said, practically bouncing with childlike energy. “We are guaranteed for the podium!”

Josée took a deep breath, fighting the powerful urge to shriek with delight and bounce along with him. Leaning toward him, she whispered back, “It also means we could end up with—with silver.” Again, her thoughts finished, taking an abrupt, anxiety-soaked plunge.

Jacques nudged her firmly. “Don’t think like that,” he said. “Our performance was complétement parfait. As long as the last team doesn’t beat our 205.99…” He let his silence finish the sentence.

Josée glanced back toward the rink. “Okay,” she said, trying to ignore the apprehension and exhilaration battling for control over her emotions. “Let’s—let’s go find somewhere to wait.”

A small lounge area had been set up for the top three teams. Josée paused, eyeing the gold position’s bench. It looked exactly the same as the other two benches, but it was what it represented.

“Go on.”

She glanced over her shoulder as Jacques spoke.

“Sit down,” he grinned, nodding at the bench.

“This doesn’t mean we’ll stay there,” she replied, mostly to force the wild excitement bubbling within her to quiet down.

“Ai, Josée,” Jacques sighed, but in a way that Josée knew meant he wasn’t annoyed. “Just enjoy the moment.”

Not yet, she silently replied, sliding hesitantly onto the edge of the bench, as if some part of her thought it might suddenly collapse. It didn’t; a rebelliously pleased thrill rippled through her. No, no, not yet.

There were two other teams on the silver- and bronze-place benches, all looking more than a bit disgruntled at having been moved down a slot. Josée frowned, glancing away. What would it feel like to be waiting for your gold medal, then have to give it up? I hope I don’t have to find out, she thought nervously.

Minutes slowly ticked passed. Josée fidgeted on the edge of the bench. Why did this involve so much waiting? She turned to Jacques, looking for a distraction.

“What do we do after this?” she asked.

He shrugged, straightening to see over her head toward the rink. “I guess that depends on our placing,” he admitted. He drummed his fingers on the bench. “We are on the podium, though. And we can’t get bronze.”

We can get silver, she wanted to say. But Jacques looked so hopeful; she bit her tongue and settled with a slight nod, casting around for something different to say. However, before she had a chance to think, much less say, anything else, the announcer’s voice echoed through the stadium again.

“Best scores, please!”

Josée’s heart stopped beating for a full two seconds, then rapidly sped up. She gripped Jacques’s hand, probably harder than necessary, but she barely noticed.

“Alexander Shelton and Lydia Shelton have earned for the free dance…”

There was the dramatic pause again. Jacques’s hand was beginning to feel sweaty in hers, but she couldn’t let go.

“119.45 points,” the announcer continued. “They have a total score of—” Josée held her breath—“199.78 points and are currently in third place!”

A scream had escaped Josée before she even realized what had happened. She and Jacques leapt from the bench at exactly the same moment. For an instant, she could only stand there trembling as disbelief and exhilaration shot through her in fizzing bolts of lightning. Then, finally, she found her voice.

“WE WON!” she shrieked, her words lost in the cheers of the crowd around them. Throwing herself at Jacques, Josée burst into tears for the second time.

Jacques squeezed her tightly, crying just as hard. “We won, Josée!” he exclaimed, picking her up and twirling in a circle. “We finally won the gold!”

We won the gold. The words echoed through her mind with fiery intensity. We. Won. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t do anything. Wait, no, she could do something, she was doing something, the only thing she could think to do right then. Josée pulled back and, hardly waiting for Jacques to look down at her, rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

The stands around them were still shaking with cheering crowds, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that the cameras were rolling; she didn’t care that their fans were watching; she didn’t even care that Mama was going to see this. She only cared about Jacques and their wonderfully perfect victory.

Slowly, she pulled back to look at her partner. A massive grin had stamped itself onto his face, and he was staring off into space with an extremely dreamy expression. Josée couldn’t suppress a giggle as she wrapped her arms around him in another hug.

We are good enough to win the gold, she thought, and second chances really do count.

So…Mama had been wrong. The thought felt strange in her mind, but she didn’t dismiss it. Josée shut her eyes to think better. Were there other things Mama was wrong about? Maybe she didn’t have to be perfectly poised all the time. Maybe she could fall in love with her partner, and that would be okay.

Josée tightened her grip around Jacques. Maybe now was the moment she could finally leave some of those things behind.

And in this moment of absolute victory, it really felt possible.