warbigbang 2011: fall better part 2
part 1
Q: Do you ever have doubts? You don’t wish you picked a different career path?
A: Of course I do. I think everyone does. But there are good moments too, and to me, they are worth everything.
---
April 2007
Bryan Patterson is awesome. That’s one thing Nate can say for sure.
They’ve been training together for almost a month and Nate hasn’t felt so good on the ice in a long time. Patterson has this kind of positive energy around him and his presence alone is enough to make Nate try to be the best he possibly can.
He feels so invigorated he would gladly stay longer at the rink, but Patterson gave him strict orders to lay low for the first few weeks and not overexert himself, so Nate dutifully gets off the ice after the two hours of his scheduled training session every day and goes to change back into his normal clothes. Nate falls into the routine quickly. He also suspects he might be turning into an ultimate Patterson’s fanboy, but it’s not as if he can help it when he’s training with an Olympic champion who also turned out to be a fantastic person.
All in all, living in Ontario seems to have only the good points. His mom spent the first few week calling him every day and worrying, but eventually gave up after she realized that Nate is doing fine on his own and not going to die of malnutrition any time soon. Even the whole mess with changing his school in the middle of the term was worth it.
The skating rink is amazing, too. He was introduced to the staff on his first day and they all seemed so friendly. Dorothy from the bar is an older woman who seems to have taken upon herself the mission of ensuring that Nate is eating properly (because you are all so skinny, it’s unhealthy, here, have a sandwich). There’s also Stéphane, the zamboni guy, who is one of the nicest and most genuine people Nate’s ever met, even if he has a problem with grasping the basic concept of personal boundaries.
And then there’s Brad.
Nate knows him, obviously - it’s hard not to get to know somebody when you’ve been competing against them for six years - and they’ve talked a few times, but he wouldn’t go as far as to call them friends. They hung out a few times after a competition was over, during the gala events, but neither of them initiated contact outside of that.
Brad trains with Stephen Ferrando and they book practice time at the same rink that Nate is using. The arrangement works out pretty well. Their training sessions never coincide, but they have met a few times, when Nate just got off the ice and Brad was putting his skates on outside the rink boundary, or when Nate arrived for his afternoon practice and they passed each other at the door.
His skating club in Baltimore wasn’t a really big one and there weren’t many skaters on his level training there, so the first couple of times he walked in on Brad changing into his practice outfit in a locker room felt a bit weird. Slowly, he got used to sharing his space with another skater and Brad has been nothing but friendly toward Nate in all this time.
All right, Brad hasn’t said much to him except an occasional “hello” when they’ve passed each other in the corridor, but Nate knows him well enough to interpret this as silent approval. He’s grateful for that, because the situation was weird enough without feeling like he was intruding.
He opens his locker and takes out his towel and a clean shirt. Sitting down, he tugs his skates off and stretches his legs out. He’s not really tired, not after only two hours worth of practice, but Bryan has been immovable in his insistence to take it easy. Besides, he’s not working on any choreography yet. They’re just trying to improve his technique on some of the jumps that were giving him trouble before.
“Nate, are you still here?” Patterson says, ducking his head into the room. Nate leans forward, looking around the corner.
“Yeah, I was just going to take a shower.”
“All right. Come back to the rink for a moment when you’re done.”
“Okay,” Nate replies, picking up his stuff. He goes to the small bathroom located at the back of the room. He undresses quickly and steps under the spray, the hot water soothing his tense muscles.
Patterson is waiting for him outside and Nate stops short, because there’s another man with him and he looks like Mike Wynn, only it can’t really be him, because what would Mike Wynn do at a skating rink in Ontario? The man is practically a legend, having won four World Championships in a row, before retiring a few years ago and going into choreography.
“Nate, glad you’re here,” Patterson says. “This is Mike Wynn.”
Nate is sure his brain has just short-circuited, because Mike Wynn is at the rink with him. Wow.
“Hello,” he says, fervently hoping he’s not staring too much.
“So, Nate, you know that Mike is a choreographer now, and I really think you could benefit from working with him. If you are interested, of course.”
“I -- Oh God, yes, of course I’m interested!” Nate exclaims and then adds quickly, “That is, if you’d like to work with me, sir, I’d be honored.”
“Mike’s fine,” Wynn laughs. “And yes, I’ve watched some of your performances. You have great potential, but we need to work on bringing your personality out some more.”
“Perfect, that’s settled then,” Patterson says, nodding approvingly. “Nate, you can go home now. We’ll sort out all the paperwork tomorrow.”
“Yeah, okay. That’s great.” Nate smiles. “See you tomorrow then.”
He bumps into a delivery guy on his way out, almost colliding with him when he turns the corner.
“I’ve met Mike Wynn,” he informs him over a pizza box, still a bit dazed.
“Uh. Good for you, then?” the guy replies, looking at him with puzzlement.
Yeah. Definitely good for him.
---
May 2007
There’s a small line at Starbucks when Brad comes in, only three people in front of him - a girl ordering some extremely complicated drink that takes her a minute just to spell out, Nate and an older lady. Brad wonders what kind of coffee Nate prefers, plain black or some pussy latte. Or maybe he drinks tea, he looks a bit like a tea kind of guy.
“A double espresso, please,” Nate says when he reaches the counter. Well, that rules out the pussy beverages theory.
“That’s $2.50,” the girl behind the counter informs him. Nate digs into his pocket, only to come out empty-handed. He frowns, opening his messenger bag.
“Sorry, just let me find my wallet,” he mutters, searching for it frantically. The girl taps her fingers on the counter.
“I can’t put that on the cuff for you,” she says annoyed. The older woman standing behind Nate coughs impatiently.
“I know, I’m sorry, I think I left my wallet somewhere else. Sorry,” Nate apologizes, biting his lower lip.
“Here, I’ve got it,” Brad says, taking a bill out of his pocket and putting it on the counter. Nate startles, turning back to look at him.
“You don’t have to -” he starts, but Brad cuts him off.
“No big deal, you can pay me back later,” he says.
“I will,” Nate promises. “Thanks a lot.” He waits for Brad while he orders his coffee (black, no sugar, whatever you call it here) and they grab a table in the corner.
Nate pulls out a stack of books from his bag and sets them on a chair next to him. Brad eyes them questioningly. Right, Nate must still be in high school. “Homework?” he asks.
“Yes,” Nate confirms. “I have a few tests coming up and I really don’t want to fail them. You don’t go to college.” It’s an observation, not a question.
“No,” Brad says. “I could have, but I haven’t really wanted to. Not like I would’ve been able to focus on it much, not with skating at the same time.”
“Sounds logical,” Nate says and smiles wryly. “But we really don’t need to talk about school.”
“We don’t,” Brad agrees. “What do you want to talk about then? Your training? I’m sure I could get you to share some very useful tips and use them to kick your ass at the next Nationals.”
Nate laughs earnestly, throwing his head back. Brad allows himself a small smirk.
Nate starts to say something when they are interrupted by a girl. She’s the one who was placing an order that took a hundred years to prepare. Brad dislikes her on the spot.
“Hi, I’m sorry, but are you Brad Colbert? I thought I recognized you.”
“No, sorry,” Brad says, leaning back in his chair. “Who the hell is Brad Colbert?”
The girl snorts derisively. “Oh, he’s a figure skater. But I guess you wouldn’t care anyway,” she adds, turning on her heel and walking away.
“You get a lot of fans asking you for an autograph?” Nate asks. He’s keeping a perfectly straight face, but the look in his eyes gives his amusement away.
“Sometimes. Sometimes I even sign something for them,” Brad says. “Jesus, but some of them are fucking crazy if you ask me.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Nate laughs. “Last year after the press conference at the junior Worlds there was a woman, she was probably older than my mother, but I could swear she tried to feel me up. And to top that, she was there with her daughter, and the daughter asked how old I was, so I told them. Both were very disappointed by the truth.”
“Well, you do look a bit like the winner of a jailbait of the year contest,” Brad comments.
“Fuck you,” Nate says, smiling. “But now it’s your turn to share a story, so spill.”
Brad thinks for a moment and says, “I did a show last year, with Rudy - you know him, right?” he asks and continues when Nate nods. “Anyway, we finished in the evening and went back to the hotel. Our bus was leaving after midnight, I think it was close to 2am, and we were just leaving for it when the door opened and Poke came in, saying dawg, there’s a bunch of white girls waiting for you outside.”
“At 2am,” Nate says.
“Exactly.”
“Well, that’s some dedication.”
“More like highly developed stalking,” Brad snorts.
“Well, I guess you could call it that,” Nate says. His phone starts ringing in his bag, so he bends down to pull it out. “Sorry,” he tells Brad and answers the call. “Hello? Oh, yeah. Really? Yeah, thanks. I can be there in half an hour if that’s all right. Okay, see you.” He turns to Brad and says, “Sorry, I have to run, a friend wanted to arrange a study group meeting. I might as well show up if I don’t have a practice in the afternoon.”
“Sure. See you around,” Brad says.
“Tomorrow. Do you have a practice in the morning? I can pay you back then.”
“I do, in fact.”
“Until tomorrow, then,” Nate says, slipping the strap of his bag over his head. Brad watches him go, finishing the rest of his coffee in a few gulps.
---
Brad’s on the ice, working on his short program. Nate leans against the wall, listening to the soft strains of music from the rink. He’s never heard Brad’s program before, he didn’t even know what Brad was skating to this season. It’s something strong and confident, if music could even be described that way. Powerful. It suits Brad.
It’s not long before it’s quiet again, under the maximum limit of two minutes and forty seconds, but it feels longer when Nate tries to imagine Brad’s every move on the ice. He could try to look, but Brad’s coach probably wouldn’t take too kindly to competition sneaking around the rink during his skater’s practice. But the music ends and soon he can hear footsteps outside the locker room. The door opens with a bang, Brad storming inside. He didn’t put his skate guards on, he’s holding them in his hand instead.
Nate refrains from asking “is everything all right?” or some other moronic question like that, since obviously something is not right.
“Hey, I’ve got your money back,” he says instead, hoping to distract Brad from whatever has him in a snit.
Brad doesn’t answer, rummaging in his locker. He still hasn’t taken his skates off and the ice chips on them are starting to melt, leaving small drops on the floor.
Nate pushes himself off the wall. He comes closer and sits down on a bench opposite Brad.
“You know,” he says, “I’ve been assured I make a pretty good listener. If you’re in a mood to talk.”
“I’m not,” says Brad through gritted teeth.
“Okay,” Nate says. “Then we can both be silent.”
Brad sits down as well, pulling out a tissue and wiping the blades on his skates meticulously.
“Sorry,” he offers after a while. “I’ve been having a shitty day and my coach is not helping.”
Nate nods, not interrupting. Brad sighs.
“My coach, he’s been serving me this fucking moto bullshit all day. I just had enough. The assistant’s not better, going on about how my fucking shirt was untucked and he wasn’t satisfied with my grooming. I’ve been fucking up my lutz all day and that’s the best they can offer me. And if I hear the word tempo one more time, I’ll go crazy.”
“You know what,” Nate says, “forget the money. You clearly need a break, come on, I’m taking you out for coffee.”
“I can’t.” Brad shakes his head. “I have to go back there.” He gets up, but then seems to think about it again. “No, fuck this. If I see Sixta again today, he’s going to get more closely acquainted with my skates than he’s ever wanted to. Let’s go.”
“All right. Do you need to change? I’ll wait for you outside.”
“Yeah, give me ten minutes.”
Nate leaves him alone and Brad joins him a while later, sports bag slung over his shoulder. He’s changed clothes and his hair is still damp from the shower.
“Coffee,” says Nate.
“Definitely,” Brad agrees.
“So how long have you been training with Ferrando?” Nate asks later, when they’re sitting in Starbucks, two identical mugs of coffee in front of them.
“About six years,” Brad answers. “Since I advanced to juniors.”
“That’s a long time,” Nate remarks.
Brad snorts. “Yeah. People always wonder why I don’t just find another coach, but I don’t want to. He’s good, you know, he’s basically a technical genius. And I don’t want a friend, I want a coach.”
“I wasn’t asking that,” Nate says. Brad looks at him evenly.
“You were thinking it.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Nate denies. “I get this. It can’t always be perfect, right? So we have to make do.”
“You make it sound like such a chore,” Brad comments.
“It’s figure skating. Did you expect sunshine and rainbows?” Nate replies, face deadpan.
“I don’t know, have you met Rudy?” Brad asks. Nate laughs, leaning back in his chair.
Talking to Brad is easy, so easy that they lose track of time and eventually Nate has to leave, almost late for his evening practice.
“I’ll see you around. Or. . .” He pauses, biting his lip. Brad looks at him questioningly. “How do you feel about another coffee? Tomorrow afternoon. If you have the time,” Nate says quickly, before he changes his mind.
“I don’t.” Brad shakes his head. “Practice,” he says by the way of explanation. “Or is that your way of preventing me from kicking your ass at the Nationals?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“What? No!” Nate protests. Shit. Brad’s remark brings him back to reality, because they might get along well, but the truth is that Brad is competition. And you don’t just go around inviting your competitors for coffee dates.
“Relax, Nate, I was joking,” Brad says. “I’ll see you around.”
“Sure,” says Nate, already going for the exit. He really shouldn’t be late and Brad’s comment reminded him he’s got some serious ass-kicking to do this year. Because he’s certainly not in it for sunshine and rainbows.
---
January 2008
Brad is alone on the ice, standing in the middle, facing the judges’ stands. The first notes of the music reverberate through the air. Every day, every hour spent at the training, it all comes down to this - the few minutes of a program, when he’s left to his own devices, when there are only his skates between him and the ice.
He doesn’t think when he skates, he doesn’t have to, the choreography basically ingrained in his muscle memory at this point, after countless repetitions. He lets himself get lost in the movement just a little bit, because this is what he loves about skating, speed, solitude, and no one can touch him.
He steps out on the landing of his last jump, but doesn’t fall down. He’s still standing when the music ends.
Later, he’s sitting in the kiss & cry area, and his coach is saying something, good, but I expect to see more aggressiveness from you in the long program, but Brad’s still on adrenaline high and he’s not really listening. And then his scores come through and he’s in the first place, all the judges unanimous.
Nate’s on the ice after him, the last skater in the group. They haven’t competed against each other for two years, when Brad already moved on to the seniors’ competition and Nate stayed in juniors for a couple seasons more. And now they’re here.
Nate skates a fast, jazzy routine, and he’s - he’s flawless, almost flying through every jump and when he’s halfway through the program, Brad realizes that he’s going to skate the whole thing perfectly. Nate looks like he still can’t really believe it when he hits the ending pose, after a combination of dizzying spins. His smile is blinding and Brad watches him on a small monitor in the mixed zone, reporters chattering excitedly around him.
“He’s the enemy here,” Godfather rasps. “He’s the one to beat, Brad, and we can do it with a clean long.”
The next day Brad skates a clean, solid long program, but Nate still skates better. In the kiss & cry Bryan Patterson squeezes him around the shoulders, grinning triumphantly and Godfather is scowling most of the time, but Brad, to his own surprise, doesn’t really care.
When they stand on the podium Nate is taller than him.
---
March 2008
Brad is changing into his practice outfit when Nate storms into the room. He’s looking as if he just rolled out of the bed, his hair sticking out in every direction.
“Oh, sorry,” he says, stopping in the doorway. “Have you seen Bryan anywhere? My coach,” he adds.
Brad slips his plain black t-shirt over his head.
“I saw him when I just came here. But I think he was leaving. Didn’t you have a practice in the morning?” he asks.
“Damn it,” Nate mutters under his breath. “I did, I already called him in the morning, but I wanted to apologize in person. I thought he’d still be here.”
“What did you do, you overslept?” Nate is usually so well put together that it’s strange seeing him like this.
“No. Jesus, don’t even ask,” he says, sitting down on the bench. “I had a hellish morning.”
“I’m not asking. But I can’t say I’m not intrigued.”
Nate slinks down in his seat and looks a Brad, shrugging helplessly.
“My upstairs neighbor left the kitchen faucet on overnight. My apartment is a mess, there’s water everywhere, I spent the whole morning wiping the floor and it’s still wet. And I’ll probably have to move out for a few days, until everything dries off.”
“Where are you going to stay?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll ask around, maybe I’ll find a cheap hotel near the rink or something.”
“I have a couch,” Brad informs him.
“That’s… good?” says Nate, puzzled.
“Yes. It’s a very nice couch, I’ve been told it’s quite comfortable. And it’s also not occupied at the moment, if you’re interested.”
“Really?” Nate asks as if he can’t believe his ears.
“I offered, didn’t I?” Brad raises an eyebrow.
“That you did,” Nate says, sounding relieved. “Then yes, I’m very interested in your couch. If it’ll have me.”
“I’ll ask her,” Brad assures him, smiling. “You can drop by in the evening, I’ll tell you what the answer was.”
He finishes tying his laces and gets up. Nate catches his wrist and looks him in the eyes.
“Hey. Brad. Thank you. Really, I appreciate it,” he says, not letting go.
“It’s not a problem. I’ll text you the address when I’m done here.”
---
Brad’s apartment is nice, if a little empty. It’s definitely a bachelor’s domain. There are a few empty plates scattered around the living room and a couple of DVD boxes in front of a TV screen. The furniture looks almost unused.
And there’s a couch, of course. It does look comfortable, wide, with a few fluffy pillows.
“This is Eloise,” Brad says when they come inside.
Nate blinks at him. “I thought you were joking when you said your couch was a she.”
“Not the couch.” Brad doesn’t say you moron, but his look conveys the sentiment adequately. “The cat.” As if on cue, one of the pillows meows and leaps off to the floor. A black cat trots to them.
“I didn’t take you for a cat person,” Nate says, kneeling on the floor. He reaches out to pet Eloise, but she hisses at him. Nate gets to his feet quickly. Brad doesn’t even try to hide his smirk.
“Technically she’s my sister’s, but her kid turned out to be allergic to cats. So she stays with me now. My mother takes her when I’m away. Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen.”
“Right,” says Nate, strategically sidestepping the cat and keeping to the opposite side of the room.
---
Nate tries to keep as far from the cat as possible for the whole week. It’s hilarious, if you ask Brad.
---
Brad’s fridge is woefully empty. Nate goes out to buy groceries - he figures it’s the least he can do, after Brad’s let him live with him for a week. Then he sets out to make dinner.
The cat comes into the kitchen when he’s halfway through. Nate drops a few pieces of pork loin in her dish as a peace offering, but the cat only sniffs disdainfully and ignores them. She hides under the table and watches Nate’s ankles all the time, her tail flicking slowly from side to side.
“Hi. I made dinner,” Nate says when Brad comes back from the rink.
“You didn’t have to,” Brad tells him.
“The fridge was almost empty. Really, do you eat at all when I’m not here?
Brad pretends to take offense, but he helps himself to a second serving when he’s eaten everything. Thankfully Nate’s made enough that there are still leftovers when they’re done.
---
“Honey, I’m home!” Brad exclaims the next time when he comes through the door.
“Dinner is in the fridge, you can reheat it,” Nate says, emerging from the bathroom. His shirt is sticking to his still damp skin. “I have to go, my practice is in half an hour.”
Brad burns the potatoes. Not that he’s going to admit it when Nate comes back.
---
Nate is fairly sure the cat hates him.
One of Eloise’s favorite pastimes seems to be lurking in dark corners and waiting for an opportunity to attack Nate’s ankles. His hands have a few scratches on them that weren’t an effect of skating-related accidents.
(Brad magnanimously offered to help him put a band-aid on them.
“Fuck you,” Nate replied.)
Currently Eloise is sitting under the table while Nate occupies the couch and engaging in a staring match with him.
“Brad, your cat looks like it’s plotting my violent death,” Nate says, not averting his gaze.
“She,” says Brad, not looking up from his laptop.
“What?” asks Nate.
“My cat is a she,” Brad explains. “And she’s not going to kill you.”
“If you say so. But you’re the one who’ll be hiding my body if you’re wrong,” Nate says and flops down dramatically onto the pillows.
---
One day Brad comes into the room to find Nate asleep on the couch, Eloise curled up on his chest. She wakes up a moment later, stretching out and looking curiously at Nate. Slowly, she raises a paw to pat his cheek.
Nate’s eyes blink open and he promptly freezes in place.
They stay like this for a while, looking at each other. Eventually Eloise seems to decide that Nate passed some kind of a crucial test, because she gets up, stretches her back and lays down again, this time on Nate’s stomach. Nate lets out a relieved breath.
Brad bursts out laughing and Nate shoots him a wounded look.
“See,” he says. “I knew she would start to like me.”
---
When one week turns into two, neither of them says a word.
But after two weeks, all the walls in Nate’s apartment are freshly repainted, the smell is gone and there’s really no reason to put it off any longer. So it comes as quite a revelation when Nate realizes he doesn’t really want to move out.
Sure, the couch was comfortable, but not that comfortable, so he shouldn’t have any problem with packing the rest of his stuff and leaving.
“Ready? I’ll bring your things to the rink if you left any,” Brad says coming into the room. “There’s nothing of yours in the kitchen.” He’s just got out from the shower and his skin is still damp in a few places, the shirt sticking to his body.
Oh.
“Yeah, I’m ready. Thanks again,” says Nate.
“You’re welcome. See you later, then.”
“Bye,” Nate says, turning around and leaving before he has the chance to say something fucking absurd like I’ll miss you or worse.
So it wasn’t the couch. He’s so fucked.
---
Fick poised to be the next big star
All eyes on the young national champion
By Evan Wright, special to theinsideedge.com
(04/14/2008) For a national champion, Nathaniel Fick is nothing but modest. He made an impressive senior debut at last season’s Nationals, receiving 88.75 points for technical elements and 86.06 points for program components in his long program - a really overwhelming result. Nate, as he asked me to call him, turns 19 next January. He placed fifth at the World Championships in April.
I visited him at his home rink in Ontario where he trains on a daily basis with his coach, Bryan Patterson. Before I had a chance to interview him, I watched him skate. Even though it was only a practice, he still managed to impress me with the elegant simplicity and the beauty of his lines. His skating is filled with emotion and he possesses the rare ability to convey it through even the smallest gestures. When I finally was able to speak with him in person, I was delighted to meet an intelligent young man with a wonderful sense of humor.
There’s been a lot of buzz that you’re the next rising star of U.S. figure skating.
I certainly don’t think of myself as someone special. I have a very large group of supporters - my coach, my family, they are responsible for my success as well. And I probably wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my first coach. She helped me so much when we trained together.
Yes, you went through a coaching change last year. Bryan Patterson is your coach now, but you trained with Jennifer Browning previously. Was it an amicable split?
Definitely. We got along really well; it was actually her suggestion to start looking for a new coach for me, somebody who could challenge me more every day. I had a great working relationship with Jennifer, but we both felt I needed some change in my life if I wanted to keep learning.
And what a change it’s been! A first place at the Nationals in your senior debut, that’s an amazing result.
Thank you. As I said, a lot of people deserve credit for this.
Tell me about your plans for the next season. Your first Grand Prix competition this year is Skate America in October. Are you ready?
I know I can still get better. The season hasn’t even started, so of course it’s not perfect yet, but I work hard every day with my coach. I’ve also begun working on my quadruple toe loop and I hope I can include it in my programs soon.
I wish you luck, then. And what about your plans for the off-season?
I’ve been invited to a couple of galas - Champions on Ice in Los Angeles and one show in Europe, in France. I’m very excited about them.
Have you looked ahead and set goals for the Nationals and Worlds next year?
I’ve thought about it, yes. I know it sounds terribly clichéd, but I really want to just focus on skating my best at those events. I’m not underestimating my competition. There are some great skaters competing this season.
Who’s got a shot at the medal, in your opinion?
Oh, Brad Colbert, definitely. He’s one of the best there. And Rudy Reyes, he’s amazing.
You and Brad train together, don’t you?
We train at the same rink, yes. I’d really like to be able to say that we’re friends.
[…]
---
May 2008
The hotel is not the most comfortable that Nate’s ever stayed in, but at least it’s close to the rink and the mattress is soft - though frankly, at this point Nate would probably be satisfied with a hole in the ground. It’s already noon here, but his body is convinced it’s still the middle of the night and he decides to forgo unpacking in favor of a short nap. He sets the alarm clock to wake him up in an hour and collapses on the bed.
When he wakes up again, Brad Colbert is sitting on the other bed, idly flipping through a magazine. The last time Nate saw him was at the World Championships last month. He wasn’t consciously trying to avoid Brad, not really, but it wasn’t hard to do, not when they both had less intense training schedules in the off-season and Nate was able to stay in Baltimore with his parents more often than not.
Brad looks good, surprisingly well-rested. Nate stares at him for a little longer than appropriate.
Someone up there must really have it in for him.
“Hi,” Nate says. “They didn’t tell me we were going to be roommates.”
“I think we might be the only people in this hotel speaking English. It took me more than half an hour just to check in.”
Nate sits up on the bed. His suitcase still lays unpacked in the middle of the room, so he sets to hanging his clothes in the wardrobe. His skates are at the bottom and he puts them on a shelf near the door. Brad’s own skates are already there.
He decides he must have a masochistic streak in him that he wasn’t previously aware of, because the next thing that comes out of his mouth is: “Did you get the gala schedule? I think there’s a group number practice in the evening tomorrow, but I’m pretty sure we can do whatever we want until then. I really wanted to do some sightseeing.”
“Are you kidding?” Brad snorts, stretching out on his bed. “I’m not moving from this room until I absolutely have to. I can’t even understand what they are saying to me here.”
“Well,” Nate says, picking on a lint on his trousers. “I’ve been assured my French is passable.”
Brad looks at him incredulously. “Of course you would speak French,” he says shaking his head. “When did you even have time to learn that?”
“I took French in high school.” Nate shrugs.
“Fine,” Brad sighs. “But no sooner than tomorrow morning, you won’t force me into dealing with all those frog-eating dicksucks today.”
“I’m not even going to attempt it. Jet lag really is a bitch. How come you’re not tired as hell?”
“I am.” Brad smirks. “I’m just choosing not to whine about it like a pussy.” He laughs when Nate throws a pillow at him. “Winning has made you soft, Mr. National Champion?”
“You’re just jealous,” Nate quips.
“You wish. I could kick your ass any time, Fick.”
“Prove it,” Nate laughs.
Brad doesn’t answer, just observes him through half-closed eyes. Suddenly his look turns more predatory and he launches himself at Nate, pinning him down onto the mattress, hands curling around Nate’s wrists.
“Do you yield, Nate?” he asks softly, looking him in the eyes.
Fuck yes, Nate wants to say, because Brad is laying half on top of him, one of his legs between Nate’s knees and Nate’s finding this really hard to ignore. He takes a deep breath, licking his lips unconsciously.
“Brad…” he says quietly.
Nate’s heart is beating fast in his chest; he wonders if Brad can feel it, too. He moves a little, bringing his right knee up and Brad’s whole body tenses immediately. Nate freezes in place then, too, because seriously, what the fuck are they doing?
“Brad, get off me,” he says and Brad lets go off his wrists, sitting up and retreating from Nate’s space quickly. Nate coughs.
The awkward silence is interrupted by a sharp knock. Brad gets up to his feet and crosses the room, opening the door slightly.
“Bonjour monsieur,” says the maid and launches into a long speech in rapid-fire French.
“I’m sorry, do you speak English?” Brad interrupts her. She blinks at him.
“Engleesh? Non, je suis désolée, je ne parle pas anglais,” she explains. Brad just shakes his head helplessly.
“Okay, I’ve got this,” says Nate, coming up behind him. “Je comprends le français un peu,” he tells the maid and she beams at him, picking up where she left off. She speaks fast, gesticulating a lot and Nate winces.
“Pardon,” he says. “Pouvez-vous parler, uh, plus lentement?” he asks and she nods, slowing her words down. Nate listens intently and turns to Brad.
“They have room service here. We can order dinner today if we want to and apparently it’s been pre-paid,” he translates.
“Well, do you want to order in?” Brad asks. Nate considers it.
“Yeah, we could. I don’t feel like going out tonight, not really.”
“Fine,” Brad agrees. “Do they have a menu here?”
Nate exchanges a few more sentences with the maid and she leaves them a menu card, telling them to ring the reception desk when they’re ready to order.
“Here,” Nate says, handing Brad the card. “It’s in English.” Their fingers brush when Brad takes the paper from him and Nate withdraws his hand quickly.
He really needs to get a grip on himself, or the next few days are going to be hard. Pun very much not intended.
---
The next day Brad grudgingly lets himself be dragged to various touristic sights, after extracting from Nate a promise of going for a good coffee when the day is over. A map in hand, they go to explore the city and after a while Brad finds himself listening to Nate’s improvised history lecture. The topic has never held much interest for him, but Nate is so enthusiastic about it that anybody would have trouble ignoring him when he talks about old battles and dynasties.
“And that’s the Church of the Holy Cross. Can you imagine it’s more than 700 years old?” Nate says. His eyes are shining and he looks relaxed, smiling at Brad. Brad smiles back, because Nate’s excitement is a bit contagious.
It’s a startling revelation, because Brad doesn’t like letting his guard down in front of other people as a rule, but somehow Nate makes it all easier.
However, as interesting as it is, there’s only so much sightseeing Brad can handle, so when the sun begins to set, painting the stone facades orange, he spots a small café almost hidden at a narrow street and points it out to Nate.
“I believe I was promised coffee in exchange for putting up with this,” he says.
“Don’t act like it was such a hardship.” Nate smirks. “But fine, let’s see what they have to offer here.”
The café is small and a bit cramped inside, but not in a bad way. Several customers sit on mismatched armchairs, talking in hushed voices. The smell of freshly ground coffee permeates the air.
They find a table near the back, squeezed in a partially curtained-off corner of a room. There’s only a two-seater sofa next to it. Their knees bump together when they sit down.
Nate reaches for the drinks list. “Do you have any preference?” he asks Brad.
“Coffee,” Brad answers. “Dark. Strong.”
Nate laughs. “I’m pretty sure there was a bad pun in there, but I’m not going to stoop so low. How about an espresso then?”
“It’s fine.” Brad nods.
Nate motions for the waitress and she comes to collect their orders. She speaks English, Brad notes with relief, but lets Nate order for him anyway.
Their drinks arrive shortly after - café au lait for Nate (which Brad suspects is a fancy French name for ordinary latte) and espresso for Brad - though Brad isn’t even sure there’s enough for two sips in the cup. The cup itself more closely resembles a thimble.
“Water for you, sir,” says the waitress, putting a glass in front of him.
“To drink after your coffee,” Nate supplies helpfully in reply to Brad’s confused look. “Trust me, you’ll need it.” He smiles disarmingly.
“Why the hell would anyone serve a glass of water with espresso? These pussies can't even handle - ow, fuck!” he coughs after downing his coffee in one go. The stuff could probably burn a hole in the floor.
“Told you.” Nate has the temerity to laugh, the fucker. “It’s not the kind you’d get in Starbucks.”
“That’s why you ordered latte? Oh, you’ll pay for this,” Brad threatens, drinking his water. It’s blissfully cold.
“You said you wanted something strong.” Nate shrugs, smiling innocently.
“You are American, no?” The waitress, who still hasn’t left their table, asks. She looks like she’s enjoying the show. “You will learn to appreciate proper coffee, no worry. American coffee is no good,” she says disdainfully.
“Do you want another one? Since you finished yours already…” Nate asks.
“No, thank you very much.” Brad tells him. “I think my throat will never recover.”
“Your choice. Here, try this,” Nate says, sliding his own cup towards Brad. “I promise it’s good.”
Brad takes a cautious sip - he’s not going to repeat his previous mistake - but the coffee tastes good. It’s delicate and not too sweet, a bit like warm coffee-flavored ice cream.
At Brad’s barely perceptible nod Nate’s face lights up and he leans forward to take the cup from Brad when he offers it back. Their knees touch again under the table and Brad doesn’t move his leg back. Nate startles and looks Brad in the eyes. Then he looks down at his cup, but Brad thinks he can feel him pressing his knee into Brad’s leg, the pressure so light it might as well be accidental.
It probably is accidental, Brad decides when Nate takes a sip from his cup and his face doesn’t betray anything. He must be reading into things that obviously aren't there.
Neither of them move for a while, until Nate clears his throat.
“It’s getting late. We should go if we don’t want to be late for practice,” he says. He quickly finishes his coffee and puts the cup back on the table.
“Yes.” They pay at the counter and exit the café. It’s a short walk to the skating rink, less than half an hour, and they still have enough time, so they don’t bother with calling a taxi. The weather is nice, sunny but not unbearably hot.
“Brad.” Nate takes a deep breath. “I --” he pauses, shakes his head.
“What?” Brad asks when it becomes apparent that Nate isn’t going to continue.
“Never mind,” Nate tells him. “It wasn’t important.”
Brad wants to call bullshit, not important my ass, but he doesn’t.
They don’t talk for the rest of the way back and Brad isn’t entirely sure what the fuck has just happened.
---
Their group number is ridiculous, in Nate’s humble opinion. Some of the moves resemble more a chicken dance than anything else and the costumes really don’t help - bright, colorful shirts with far more sequins than should be allowed and bell-bottoms. It’s all very Dancing Queen, not that Nate has anything against ABBA, but some things really shouldn’t be done.
The gala is starting in a few minutes and Nate can already hear the audience talking in their seats, waiting impatiently for the show to begin. He feels the adrenaline start to kick in, the familiar rush when his body gets a bit restless, heart beating faster.
He catches sight of Brad in his peripheral vision - he’s talking to one of the female skaters, a girl from Canada. Nate doesn’t know her very well, but she seemed nice when he talked to her a couple times. Brad probably thinks so as well, because he’s smiling slightly, listening as she says something to him. Nate averts his eyes before he has a chance to do something stupid, like get jealous of something he can’t even have in the first place.
A harried assistant runs up to them, telling everybody to take their places. The tech guys are going over the schedule one more time and Nate tunes them out, trying to get into his headspace again.
The beginning of the show passes in a blur. They skate the opening number and Nate rushes backstage to change into the proper outfit for his exhibition. It’s a fast piece but with a sensual edge to it that Mike choreographed for him. For a short, crazy moment Nate wonders if Brad is watching, before he ends that train of thought.
The audience applause afterwards is deafening, the sound echoing in the arena, even though he botched a jump, but probably no one has even noticed. He grins to himself, bowing down low. A little girl skates to him and hands him a stuffed teddy bear that somebody has thrown on the ice. He hugs her and she squeals with delight.
He doesn’t have to skate again until the end of the show, so he takes his skates off after he steps off the ice. He wipes the blades carefully and puts the guards on them, before padding in his socked feet to the locker room. Somebody is rounding the corner just as Nate comes near and they nearly collide, Nate grabbing a handful of a black shirt.
“Whoa, easy,” he hears Brad say. Strong hands come up to his arms, steadying him.
They’re standing in a sequestered area, far from the lockers and the tech rooms. It’s dark here and almost quiet. Nate wants to say something, to break the silence, but the words are stuck in his throat and he can’t avert his eyes. Brad is wearing his skates and their height difference is even more pronounced.
Nate makes a low noise in the back of his throat and something flickers in Brad’s eyes at that. He leans down, keeping his gaze fixed on Nate’s face. They’re so close, too close for it to mean anything else and Nate closes his eyes instinctively, hoping --
“Brad, are you ready? You’re on the ice in one minute!” somebody shouts. Brad straightens with a soft curse and takes a step back.
“I -- Sorry,” he says, looking somewhere over Nate’s shoulder. “I need to --” He gestures at the door behind Nate and Nate moves away, feeling like an idiot.
“Sorry, I was just --” he mutters. “Um. Good luck.”
Brad nods, disappearing quickly through the door.
“Fuck,” Nate whispers, looking down at the teddy bear he’s still clutching in his right hand. “I’m so stupid,” he adds. The bear looks at him with unblinking eyes. It looks like it agrees.
---
Grand Prix series a disappointment for Fick
Nate Fick doesn’t make it to the GP Final
By Ray Griego | Posted: Nov 22, 12:11p ET | Updated: Nov 22, 12:11p ET
Trophée Eric Bompard is over and we can state with all certainty that Nate Fick will not make it to the Grand Prix Final this year. After a less than satisfying performance at Skate America, where he barely made the podium, he buried his chances completely today, finishing eighth after his long program. Fick, asked about it after the competition, stated that he didn’t feel well going into the program. “I skated like I wanted to get out of there and it showed in my performance. Now I want to focus on my training before the upcoming competitions. Today was a lesson and I learned it. I hope to put this behind me and improve my results.”
Coach Bryan Patterson said about his student: “His performance was off, but we’re going to analyze it and pinpoint what’s wrong. He’s a good competitor and he trains hard.” Perhaps as a way to justify Fick’s results Patterson also added, “Sometimes he’s just too accommodating for everybody and it messes with his training. So we’re going to keep a bit more under the radar strategy this time. I want to let him focus solely on his training now.”
We can only ask ourselves if Fick’s good result at the Nationals last season was only a fluke. Given his performance this season, his chances at defending the title look really slim.
Comments
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ninja_turtle | good luck, Nate! | +4
1 hour ago
I really hope he’ll do better. I loved his programs at the nats last year!
___
ohdear_ohdear | so that really sucked | -11
50 minutes ago
>>We can only ask ourselves if Fick’s good result
>>at the Nationals last season was only a fluke.
well, that’s true. he sucks, you have to be blind not to see it. just another pretty boy that all the judges fall in love with, but that’s all there is
___
twirls_n_twizzles | re: so that really sucked | +17
45 minutes ago
Not to start a war, but I don’t think that’s fair. He was brilliant when he was competing in juniors, it’s not like the last Nationals were his first competition ever. And he’s bound to be really stressed this year, what with the way the reporters have been pestering him all the time. Kudos for Mr Patterson for saying this!
___
Dustin77 | I call bullshit | +18
37 minutes ago
Just wanted to say that the author of this article is a judgmental asshole
---
February 2009
“And we’re back with our short program commentary, live from Delta Center in Salt Lake City. This is Gary Wilson.”
“And Paul Anderson.”
“The last group has finished their warm-up session already.”
“On the ice right now is Nate Fick.”
“Oh yes, the defending champion, earned a truly wonderful score last year.”
“But he had a slump in form this season, didn’t make it to the Grand Prix Final. Will he manage to win this time?”
“Well, there’s certainly a lot of pressure on him right now. He must make these opening moves, starts the program with a triple axel - oh no.”
“In the practice session yesterday he had a bit of trouble with the jumps and now he repeated the same mistake.”
“Now a combination, triple toe-triple toe… and he got that one, almost collided with the boards, but he did it.”
“I think the second jump might have been a bit under-rotated, we’ll have to wait for a repetition in slow motion to know for sure.”
“Straight-line footwork sequence into a triple flip jump. And now a spin combination, oh, this is good!”
“Very well-centered.”
“I’d risk saying that spins are definitely his best element.”
“Maybe he drinks Swiss water.” [chuckles]
“Ah, yes, there is something about the Swiss and their spins. And he can rival the best of them.”
“32.76, that’s his technical elements score. And 34.50 for program components. One point deduction for the fall and he’s currently in the fourth place.”
“He doesn’t look too happy with the score, that’s no wonder.”
“Let’s hope he’ll be able to pull himself together in time for the long program.”
“And the next skater is Rudy Reyes. We’ve been hearing about his plans for retirement after this season.”
“Yes, I think he will make an official statement when the season is over.”
“It seems that now the way to the top spot is still open, so this is his chance for a perfect end of his competitive career.”
“Well, Fick can still come through after the long program, we’ve seen it happen.”
“And now Rudy Reyes starts his program. He has a quadruple toe planned first - yes! and he lands it. Perfect.”
“His jumps really are amazing. Easy, smooth outflowing edge. And now watch this, the arc of his next jump. The entrance edge, the landing edge. The completeness of the arc, oh, that’s just perfect.”
“He’s nailing this program so far.”
“And now the sit-spin, changed sit-spin. A little off-center here, but still very nice.”
“Another jump, a triple salchow this time. And, yes! Clean landing, wonderful.”
“Waiting for the judges’ scores impatiently…”
“Oh yes, well, that’s terrific. He’s easily in the lead now”
“Brad Colbert is skating next. He was the silver medalist last year, and also two years ago.”
“I think he’s tired of coming in second place. This may be a year of change for him.”
“Definitely one of the crowd’s favorites, just look at the number of banners.”
“Oh yes, he does have a lot of fans. Well, he’s one of those skaters who really deserve it.”
“He has great technique. The artistic value can be argued sometimes.”
“No, no, his programs are artistic, in their own way. A little, a little dry, maybe, but that’s subjective. He’s rather reserved on the ice.”
“But there’s a charm in that. This is a steady, clean, confident program.”
“And it’s not easy, some of his elements are extremely challenging. Like this step sequence, amazing.”
“It’s a fast program, great tempo. You can see the influence of his coach here.”
“And it’s over already.”
“Those are wonderful marks, 78.39 overall. There’s your new leader.”
---
US Nationals results are up
Nate Fick talks about his performance, makes plans for the next season
By Anne Miller | Posted: Feb 14, 07:36p ET | Updated: Feb 14, 07:36p ET
US Nationals just came to an end. Brad Colbert took the gold, ahead of Rudy Reyes and Evan Stafford. Nate Fick, the defending champion, ended off the podium, dropping down to fifth place after he fell twice in his long program today. We held an impromptu Q&A session with him.
Q: Nate, can you tell us what happened?
A: I made mistakes. I guess I wasn’t focused enough. I’m going to work on my technique now, to hopefully prevent this from happening in the future.
Q: This cost you a place on the world team.
A: I am aware of this, but wishing it had gone differently won’t change a thing. I have months to practice now and I want to draw conclusions from this season. I know I can be a better skater. This season was a difficult one, but it happens.
Q: So you’re planning to make a comeback next year?
A: I’m planning to be the best I can be.
part 3
Q: Do you ever have doubts? You don’t wish you picked a different career path?
A: Of course I do. I think everyone does. But there are good moments too, and to me, they are worth everything.
---
April 2007
Bryan Patterson is awesome. That’s one thing Nate can say for sure.
They’ve been training together for almost a month and Nate hasn’t felt so good on the ice in a long time. Patterson has this kind of positive energy around him and his presence alone is enough to make Nate try to be the best he possibly can.
He feels so invigorated he would gladly stay longer at the rink, but Patterson gave him strict orders to lay low for the first few weeks and not overexert himself, so Nate dutifully gets off the ice after the two hours of his scheduled training session every day and goes to change back into his normal clothes. Nate falls into the routine quickly. He also suspects he might be turning into an ultimate Patterson’s fanboy, but it’s not as if he can help it when he’s training with an Olympic champion who also turned out to be a fantastic person.
All in all, living in Ontario seems to have only the good points. His mom spent the first few week calling him every day and worrying, but eventually gave up after she realized that Nate is doing fine on his own and not going to die of malnutrition any time soon. Even the whole mess with changing his school in the middle of the term was worth it.
The skating rink is amazing, too. He was introduced to the staff on his first day and they all seemed so friendly. Dorothy from the bar is an older woman who seems to have taken upon herself the mission of ensuring that Nate is eating properly (because you are all so skinny, it’s unhealthy, here, have a sandwich). There’s also Stéphane, the zamboni guy, who is one of the nicest and most genuine people Nate’s ever met, even if he has a problem with grasping the basic concept of personal boundaries.
And then there’s Brad.
Nate knows him, obviously - it’s hard not to get to know somebody when you’ve been competing against them for six years - and they’ve talked a few times, but he wouldn’t go as far as to call them friends. They hung out a few times after a competition was over, during the gala events, but neither of them initiated contact outside of that.
Brad trains with Stephen Ferrando and they book practice time at the same rink that Nate is using. The arrangement works out pretty well. Their training sessions never coincide, but they have met a few times, when Nate just got off the ice and Brad was putting his skates on outside the rink boundary, or when Nate arrived for his afternoon practice and they passed each other at the door.
His skating club in Baltimore wasn’t a really big one and there weren’t many skaters on his level training there, so the first couple of times he walked in on Brad changing into his practice outfit in a locker room felt a bit weird. Slowly, he got used to sharing his space with another skater and Brad has been nothing but friendly toward Nate in all this time.
All right, Brad hasn’t said much to him except an occasional “hello” when they’ve passed each other in the corridor, but Nate knows him well enough to interpret this as silent approval. He’s grateful for that, because the situation was weird enough without feeling like he was intruding.
He opens his locker and takes out his towel and a clean shirt. Sitting down, he tugs his skates off and stretches his legs out. He’s not really tired, not after only two hours worth of practice, but Bryan has been immovable in his insistence to take it easy. Besides, he’s not working on any choreography yet. They’re just trying to improve his technique on some of the jumps that were giving him trouble before.
“Nate, are you still here?” Patterson says, ducking his head into the room. Nate leans forward, looking around the corner.
“Yeah, I was just going to take a shower.”
“All right. Come back to the rink for a moment when you’re done.”
“Okay,” Nate replies, picking up his stuff. He goes to the small bathroom located at the back of the room. He undresses quickly and steps under the spray, the hot water soothing his tense muscles.
Patterson is waiting for him outside and Nate stops short, because there’s another man with him and he looks like Mike Wynn, only it can’t really be him, because what would Mike Wynn do at a skating rink in Ontario? The man is practically a legend, having won four World Championships in a row, before retiring a few years ago and going into choreography.
“Nate, glad you’re here,” Patterson says. “This is Mike Wynn.”
Nate is sure his brain has just short-circuited, because Mike Wynn is at the rink with him. Wow.
“Hello,” he says, fervently hoping he’s not staring too much.
“So, Nate, you know that Mike is a choreographer now, and I really think you could benefit from working with him. If you are interested, of course.”
“I -- Oh God, yes, of course I’m interested!” Nate exclaims and then adds quickly, “That is, if you’d like to work with me, sir, I’d be honored.”
“Mike’s fine,” Wynn laughs. “And yes, I’ve watched some of your performances. You have great potential, but we need to work on bringing your personality out some more.”
“Perfect, that’s settled then,” Patterson says, nodding approvingly. “Nate, you can go home now. We’ll sort out all the paperwork tomorrow.”
“Yeah, okay. That’s great.” Nate smiles. “See you tomorrow then.”
He bumps into a delivery guy on his way out, almost colliding with him when he turns the corner.
“I’ve met Mike Wynn,” he informs him over a pizza box, still a bit dazed.
“Uh. Good for you, then?” the guy replies, looking at him with puzzlement.
Yeah. Definitely good for him.
---
May 2007
There’s a small line at Starbucks when Brad comes in, only three people in front of him - a girl ordering some extremely complicated drink that takes her a minute just to spell out, Nate and an older lady. Brad wonders what kind of coffee Nate prefers, plain black or some pussy latte. Or maybe he drinks tea, he looks a bit like a tea kind of guy.
“A double espresso, please,” Nate says when he reaches the counter. Well, that rules out the pussy beverages theory.
“That’s $2.50,” the girl behind the counter informs him. Nate digs into his pocket, only to come out empty-handed. He frowns, opening his messenger bag.
“Sorry, just let me find my wallet,” he mutters, searching for it frantically. The girl taps her fingers on the counter.
“I can’t put that on the cuff for you,” she says annoyed. The older woman standing behind Nate coughs impatiently.
“I know, I’m sorry, I think I left my wallet somewhere else. Sorry,” Nate apologizes, biting his lower lip.
“Here, I’ve got it,” Brad says, taking a bill out of his pocket and putting it on the counter. Nate startles, turning back to look at him.
“You don’t have to -” he starts, but Brad cuts him off.
“No big deal, you can pay me back later,” he says.
“I will,” Nate promises. “Thanks a lot.” He waits for Brad while he orders his coffee (black, no sugar, whatever you call it here) and they grab a table in the corner.
Nate pulls out a stack of books from his bag and sets them on a chair next to him. Brad eyes them questioningly. Right, Nate must still be in high school. “Homework?” he asks.
“Yes,” Nate confirms. “I have a few tests coming up and I really don’t want to fail them. You don’t go to college.” It’s an observation, not a question.
“No,” Brad says. “I could have, but I haven’t really wanted to. Not like I would’ve been able to focus on it much, not with skating at the same time.”
“Sounds logical,” Nate says and smiles wryly. “But we really don’t need to talk about school.”
“We don’t,” Brad agrees. “What do you want to talk about then? Your training? I’m sure I could get you to share some very useful tips and use them to kick your ass at the next Nationals.”
Nate laughs earnestly, throwing his head back. Brad allows himself a small smirk.
Nate starts to say something when they are interrupted by a girl. She’s the one who was placing an order that took a hundred years to prepare. Brad dislikes her on the spot.
“Hi, I’m sorry, but are you Brad Colbert? I thought I recognized you.”
“No, sorry,” Brad says, leaning back in his chair. “Who the hell is Brad Colbert?”
The girl snorts derisively. “Oh, he’s a figure skater. But I guess you wouldn’t care anyway,” she adds, turning on her heel and walking away.
“You get a lot of fans asking you for an autograph?” Nate asks. He’s keeping a perfectly straight face, but the look in his eyes gives his amusement away.
“Sometimes. Sometimes I even sign something for them,” Brad says. “Jesus, but some of them are fucking crazy if you ask me.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Nate laughs. “Last year after the press conference at the junior Worlds there was a woman, she was probably older than my mother, but I could swear she tried to feel me up. And to top that, she was there with her daughter, and the daughter asked how old I was, so I told them. Both were very disappointed by the truth.”
“Well, you do look a bit like the winner of a jailbait of the year contest,” Brad comments.
“Fuck you,” Nate says, smiling. “But now it’s your turn to share a story, so spill.”
Brad thinks for a moment and says, “I did a show last year, with Rudy - you know him, right?” he asks and continues when Nate nods. “Anyway, we finished in the evening and went back to the hotel. Our bus was leaving after midnight, I think it was close to 2am, and we were just leaving for it when the door opened and Poke came in, saying dawg, there’s a bunch of white girls waiting for you outside.”
“At 2am,” Nate says.
“Exactly.”
“Well, that’s some dedication.”
“More like highly developed stalking,” Brad snorts.
“Well, I guess you could call it that,” Nate says. His phone starts ringing in his bag, so he bends down to pull it out. “Sorry,” he tells Brad and answers the call. “Hello? Oh, yeah. Really? Yeah, thanks. I can be there in half an hour if that’s all right. Okay, see you.” He turns to Brad and says, “Sorry, I have to run, a friend wanted to arrange a study group meeting. I might as well show up if I don’t have a practice in the afternoon.”
“Sure. See you around,” Brad says.
“Tomorrow. Do you have a practice in the morning? I can pay you back then.”
“I do, in fact.”
“Until tomorrow, then,” Nate says, slipping the strap of his bag over his head. Brad watches him go, finishing the rest of his coffee in a few gulps.
---
Brad’s on the ice, working on his short program. Nate leans against the wall, listening to the soft strains of music from the rink. He’s never heard Brad’s program before, he didn’t even know what Brad was skating to this season. It’s something strong and confident, if music could even be described that way. Powerful. It suits Brad.
It’s not long before it’s quiet again, under the maximum limit of two minutes and forty seconds, but it feels longer when Nate tries to imagine Brad’s every move on the ice. He could try to look, but Brad’s coach probably wouldn’t take too kindly to competition sneaking around the rink during his skater’s practice. But the music ends and soon he can hear footsteps outside the locker room. The door opens with a bang, Brad storming inside. He didn’t put his skate guards on, he’s holding them in his hand instead.
Nate refrains from asking “is everything all right?” or some other moronic question like that, since obviously something is not right.
“Hey, I’ve got your money back,” he says instead, hoping to distract Brad from whatever has him in a snit.
Brad doesn’t answer, rummaging in his locker. He still hasn’t taken his skates off and the ice chips on them are starting to melt, leaving small drops on the floor.
Nate pushes himself off the wall. He comes closer and sits down on a bench opposite Brad.
“You know,” he says, “I’ve been assured I make a pretty good listener. If you’re in a mood to talk.”
“I’m not,” says Brad through gritted teeth.
“Okay,” Nate says. “Then we can both be silent.”
Brad sits down as well, pulling out a tissue and wiping the blades on his skates meticulously.
“Sorry,” he offers after a while. “I’ve been having a shitty day and my coach is not helping.”
Nate nods, not interrupting. Brad sighs.
“My coach, he’s been serving me this fucking moto bullshit all day. I just had enough. The assistant’s not better, going on about how my fucking shirt was untucked and he wasn’t satisfied with my grooming. I’ve been fucking up my lutz all day and that’s the best they can offer me. And if I hear the word tempo one more time, I’ll go crazy.”
“You know what,” Nate says, “forget the money. You clearly need a break, come on, I’m taking you out for coffee.”
“I can’t.” Brad shakes his head. “I have to go back there.” He gets up, but then seems to think about it again. “No, fuck this. If I see Sixta again today, he’s going to get more closely acquainted with my skates than he’s ever wanted to. Let’s go.”
“All right. Do you need to change? I’ll wait for you outside.”
“Yeah, give me ten minutes.”
Nate leaves him alone and Brad joins him a while later, sports bag slung over his shoulder. He’s changed clothes and his hair is still damp from the shower.
“Coffee,” says Nate.
“Definitely,” Brad agrees.
“So how long have you been training with Ferrando?” Nate asks later, when they’re sitting in Starbucks, two identical mugs of coffee in front of them.
“About six years,” Brad answers. “Since I advanced to juniors.”
“That’s a long time,” Nate remarks.
Brad snorts. “Yeah. People always wonder why I don’t just find another coach, but I don’t want to. He’s good, you know, he’s basically a technical genius. And I don’t want a friend, I want a coach.”
“I wasn’t asking that,” Nate says. Brad looks at him evenly.
“You were thinking it.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Nate denies. “I get this. It can’t always be perfect, right? So we have to make do.”
“You make it sound like such a chore,” Brad comments.
“It’s figure skating. Did you expect sunshine and rainbows?” Nate replies, face deadpan.
“I don’t know, have you met Rudy?” Brad asks. Nate laughs, leaning back in his chair.
Talking to Brad is easy, so easy that they lose track of time and eventually Nate has to leave, almost late for his evening practice.
“I’ll see you around. Or. . .” He pauses, biting his lip. Brad looks at him questioningly. “How do you feel about another coffee? Tomorrow afternoon. If you have the time,” Nate says quickly, before he changes his mind.
“I don’t.” Brad shakes his head. “Practice,” he says by the way of explanation. “Or is that your way of preventing me from kicking your ass at the Nationals?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“What? No!” Nate protests. Shit. Brad’s remark brings him back to reality, because they might get along well, but the truth is that Brad is competition. And you don’t just go around inviting your competitors for coffee dates.
“Relax, Nate, I was joking,” Brad says. “I’ll see you around.”
“Sure,” says Nate, already going for the exit. He really shouldn’t be late and Brad’s comment reminded him he’s got some serious ass-kicking to do this year. Because he’s certainly not in it for sunshine and rainbows.
---
January 2008
Brad is alone on the ice, standing in the middle, facing the judges’ stands. The first notes of the music reverberate through the air. Every day, every hour spent at the training, it all comes down to this - the few minutes of a program, when he’s left to his own devices, when there are only his skates between him and the ice.
He doesn’t think when he skates, he doesn’t have to, the choreography basically ingrained in his muscle memory at this point, after countless repetitions. He lets himself get lost in the movement just a little bit, because this is what he loves about skating, speed, solitude, and no one can touch him.
He steps out on the landing of his last jump, but doesn’t fall down. He’s still standing when the music ends.
Later, he’s sitting in the kiss & cry area, and his coach is saying something, good, but I expect to see more aggressiveness from you in the long program, but Brad’s still on adrenaline high and he’s not really listening. And then his scores come through and he’s in the first place, all the judges unanimous.
Nate’s on the ice after him, the last skater in the group. They haven’t competed against each other for two years, when Brad already moved on to the seniors’ competition and Nate stayed in juniors for a couple seasons more. And now they’re here.
Nate skates a fast, jazzy routine, and he’s - he’s flawless, almost flying through every jump and when he’s halfway through the program, Brad realizes that he’s going to skate the whole thing perfectly. Nate looks like he still can’t really believe it when he hits the ending pose, after a combination of dizzying spins. His smile is blinding and Brad watches him on a small monitor in the mixed zone, reporters chattering excitedly around him.
“He’s the enemy here,” Godfather rasps. “He’s the one to beat, Brad, and we can do it with a clean long.”
The next day Brad skates a clean, solid long program, but Nate still skates better. In the kiss & cry Bryan Patterson squeezes him around the shoulders, grinning triumphantly and Godfather is scowling most of the time, but Brad, to his own surprise, doesn’t really care.
When they stand on the podium Nate is taller than him.
---
March 2008
Brad is changing into his practice outfit when Nate storms into the room. He’s looking as if he just rolled out of the bed, his hair sticking out in every direction.
“Oh, sorry,” he says, stopping in the doorway. “Have you seen Bryan anywhere? My coach,” he adds.
Brad slips his plain black t-shirt over his head.
“I saw him when I just came here. But I think he was leaving. Didn’t you have a practice in the morning?” he asks.
“Damn it,” Nate mutters under his breath. “I did, I already called him in the morning, but I wanted to apologize in person. I thought he’d still be here.”
“What did you do, you overslept?” Nate is usually so well put together that it’s strange seeing him like this.
“No. Jesus, don’t even ask,” he says, sitting down on the bench. “I had a hellish morning.”
“I’m not asking. But I can’t say I’m not intrigued.”
Nate slinks down in his seat and looks a Brad, shrugging helplessly.
“My upstairs neighbor left the kitchen faucet on overnight. My apartment is a mess, there’s water everywhere, I spent the whole morning wiping the floor and it’s still wet. And I’ll probably have to move out for a few days, until everything dries off.”
“Where are you going to stay?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll ask around, maybe I’ll find a cheap hotel near the rink or something.”
“I have a couch,” Brad informs him.
“That’s… good?” says Nate, puzzled.
“Yes. It’s a very nice couch, I’ve been told it’s quite comfortable. And it’s also not occupied at the moment, if you’re interested.”
“Really?” Nate asks as if he can’t believe his ears.
“I offered, didn’t I?” Brad raises an eyebrow.
“That you did,” Nate says, sounding relieved. “Then yes, I’m very interested in your couch. If it’ll have me.”
“I’ll ask her,” Brad assures him, smiling. “You can drop by in the evening, I’ll tell you what the answer was.”
He finishes tying his laces and gets up. Nate catches his wrist and looks him in the eyes.
“Hey. Brad. Thank you. Really, I appreciate it,” he says, not letting go.
“It’s not a problem. I’ll text you the address when I’m done here.”
---
Brad’s apartment is nice, if a little empty. It’s definitely a bachelor’s domain. There are a few empty plates scattered around the living room and a couple of DVD boxes in front of a TV screen. The furniture looks almost unused.
And there’s a couch, of course. It does look comfortable, wide, with a few fluffy pillows.
“This is Eloise,” Brad says when they come inside.
Nate blinks at him. “I thought you were joking when you said your couch was a she.”
“Not the couch.” Brad doesn’t say you moron, but his look conveys the sentiment adequately. “The cat.” As if on cue, one of the pillows meows and leaps off to the floor. A black cat trots to them.
“I didn’t take you for a cat person,” Nate says, kneeling on the floor. He reaches out to pet Eloise, but she hisses at him. Nate gets to his feet quickly. Brad doesn’t even try to hide his smirk.
“Technically she’s my sister’s, but her kid turned out to be allergic to cats. So she stays with me now. My mother takes her when I’m away. Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen.”
“Right,” says Nate, strategically sidestepping the cat and keeping to the opposite side of the room.
---
Nate tries to keep as far from the cat as possible for the whole week. It’s hilarious, if you ask Brad.
---
Brad’s fridge is woefully empty. Nate goes out to buy groceries - he figures it’s the least he can do, after Brad’s let him live with him for a week. Then he sets out to make dinner.
The cat comes into the kitchen when he’s halfway through. Nate drops a few pieces of pork loin in her dish as a peace offering, but the cat only sniffs disdainfully and ignores them. She hides under the table and watches Nate’s ankles all the time, her tail flicking slowly from side to side.
“Hi. I made dinner,” Nate says when Brad comes back from the rink.
“You didn’t have to,” Brad tells him.
“The fridge was almost empty. Really, do you eat at all when I’m not here?
Brad pretends to take offense, but he helps himself to a second serving when he’s eaten everything. Thankfully Nate’s made enough that there are still leftovers when they’re done.
---
“Honey, I’m home!” Brad exclaims the next time when he comes through the door.
“Dinner is in the fridge, you can reheat it,” Nate says, emerging from the bathroom. His shirt is sticking to his still damp skin. “I have to go, my practice is in half an hour.”
Brad burns the potatoes. Not that he’s going to admit it when Nate comes back.
---
Nate is fairly sure the cat hates him.
One of Eloise’s favorite pastimes seems to be lurking in dark corners and waiting for an opportunity to attack Nate’s ankles. His hands have a few scratches on them that weren’t an effect of skating-related accidents.
(Brad magnanimously offered to help him put a band-aid on them.
“Fuck you,” Nate replied.)
Currently Eloise is sitting under the table while Nate occupies the couch and engaging in a staring match with him.
“Brad, your cat looks like it’s plotting my violent death,” Nate says, not averting his gaze.
“She,” says Brad, not looking up from his laptop.
“What?” asks Nate.
“My cat is a she,” Brad explains. “And she’s not going to kill you.”
“If you say so. But you’re the one who’ll be hiding my body if you’re wrong,” Nate says and flops down dramatically onto the pillows.
---
One day Brad comes into the room to find Nate asleep on the couch, Eloise curled up on his chest. She wakes up a moment later, stretching out and looking curiously at Nate. Slowly, she raises a paw to pat his cheek.
Nate’s eyes blink open and he promptly freezes in place.
They stay like this for a while, looking at each other. Eventually Eloise seems to decide that Nate passed some kind of a crucial test, because she gets up, stretches her back and lays down again, this time on Nate’s stomach. Nate lets out a relieved breath.
Brad bursts out laughing and Nate shoots him a wounded look.
“See,” he says. “I knew she would start to like me.”
---
When one week turns into two, neither of them says a word.
But after two weeks, all the walls in Nate’s apartment are freshly repainted, the smell is gone and there’s really no reason to put it off any longer. So it comes as quite a revelation when Nate realizes he doesn’t really want to move out.
Sure, the couch was comfortable, but not that comfortable, so he shouldn’t have any problem with packing the rest of his stuff and leaving.
“Ready? I’ll bring your things to the rink if you left any,” Brad says coming into the room. “There’s nothing of yours in the kitchen.” He’s just got out from the shower and his skin is still damp in a few places, the shirt sticking to his body.
Oh.
“Yeah, I’m ready. Thanks again,” says Nate.
“You’re welcome. See you later, then.”
“Bye,” Nate says, turning around and leaving before he has the chance to say something fucking absurd like I’ll miss you or worse.
So it wasn’t the couch. He’s so fucked.
---
Fick poised to be the next big star
All eyes on the young national champion
By Evan Wright, special to theinsideedge.com
(04/14/2008) For a national champion, Nathaniel Fick is nothing but modest. He made an impressive senior debut at last season’s Nationals, receiving 88.75 points for technical elements and 86.06 points for program components in his long program - a really overwhelming result. Nate, as he asked me to call him, turns 19 next January. He placed fifth at the World Championships in April.
I visited him at his home rink in Ontario where he trains on a daily basis with his coach, Bryan Patterson. Before I had a chance to interview him, I watched him skate. Even though it was only a practice, he still managed to impress me with the elegant simplicity and the beauty of his lines. His skating is filled with emotion and he possesses the rare ability to convey it through even the smallest gestures. When I finally was able to speak with him in person, I was delighted to meet an intelligent young man with a wonderful sense of humor.
There’s been a lot of buzz that you’re the next rising star of U.S. figure skating.
I certainly don’t think of myself as someone special. I have a very large group of supporters - my coach, my family, they are responsible for my success as well. And I probably wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my first coach. She helped me so much when we trained together.
Yes, you went through a coaching change last year. Bryan Patterson is your coach now, but you trained with Jennifer Browning previously. Was it an amicable split?
Definitely. We got along really well; it was actually her suggestion to start looking for a new coach for me, somebody who could challenge me more every day. I had a great working relationship with Jennifer, but we both felt I needed some change in my life if I wanted to keep learning.
And what a change it’s been! A first place at the Nationals in your senior debut, that’s an amazing result.
Thank you. As I said, a lot of people deserve credit for this.
Tell me about your plans for the next season. Your first Grand Prix competition this year is Skate America in October. Are you ready?
I know I can still get better. The season hasn’t even started, so of course it’s not perfect yet, but I work hard every day with my coach. I’ve also begun working on my quadruple toe loop and I hope I can include it in my programs soon.
I wish you luck, then. And what about your plans for the off-season?
I’ve been invited to a couple of galas - Champions on Ice in Los Angeles and one show in Europe, in France. I’m very excited about them.
Have you looked ahead and set goals for the Nationals and Worlds next year?
I’ve thought about it, yes. I know it sounds terribly clichéd, but I really want to just focus on skating my best at those events. I’m not underestimating my competition. There are some great skaters competing this season.
Who’s got a shot at the medal, in your opinion?
Oh, Brad Colbert, definitely. He’s one of the best there. And Rudy Reyes, he’s amazing.
You and Brad train together, don’t you?
We train at the same rink, yes. I’d really like to be able to say that we’re friends.
[…]
---
May 2008
The hotel is not the most comfortable that Nate’s ever stayed in, but at least it’s close to the rink and the mattress is soft - though frankly, at this point Nate would probably be satisfied with a hole in the ground. It’s already noon here, but his body is convinced it’s still the middle of the night and he decides to forgo unpacking in favor of a short nap. He sets the alarm clock to wake him up in an hour and collapses on the bed.
When he wakes up again, Brad Colbert is sitting on the other bed, idly flipping through a magazine. The last time Nate saw him was at the World Championships last month. He wasn’t consciously trying to avoid Brad, not really, but it wasn’t hard to do, not when they both had less intense training schedules in the off-season and Nate was able to stay in Baltimore with his parents more often than not.
Brad looks good, surprisingly well-rested. Nate stares at him for a little longer than appropriate.
Someone up there must really have it in for him.
“Hi,” Nate says. “They didn’t tell me we were going to be roommates.”
“I think we might be the only people in this hotel speaking English. It took me more than half an hour just to check in.”
Nate sits up on the bed. His suitcase still lays unpacked in the middle of the room, so he sets to hanging his clothes in the wardrobe. His skates are at the bottom and he puts them on a shelf near the door. Brad’s own skates are already there.
He decides he must have a masochistic streak in him that he wasn’t previously aware of, because the next thing that comes out of his mouth is: “Did you get the gala schedule? I think there’s a group number practice in the evening tomorrow, but I’m pretty sure we can do whatever we want until then. I really wanted to do some sightseeing.”
“Are you kidding?” Brad snorts, stretching out on his bed. “I’m not moving from this room until I absolutely have to. I can’t even understand what they are saying to me here.”
“Well,” Nate says, picking on a lint on his trousers. “I’ve been assured my French is passable.”
Brad looks at him incredulously. “Of course you would speak French,” he says shaking his head. “When did you even have time to learn that?”
“I took French in high school.” Nate shrugs.
“Fine,” Brad sighs. “But no sooner than tomorrow morning, you won’t force me into dealing with all those frog-eating dicksucks today.”
“I’m not even going to attempt it. Jet lag really is a bitch. How come you’re not tired as hell?”
“I am.” Brad smirks. “I’m just choosing not to whine about it like a pussy.” He laughs when Nate throws a pillow at him. “Winning has made you soft, Mr. National Champion?”
“You’re just jealous,” Nate quips.
“You wish. I could kick your ass any time, Fick.”
“Prove it,” Nate laughs.
Brad doesn’t answer, just observes him through half-closed eyes. Suddenly his look turns more predatory and he launches himself at Nate, pinning him down onto the mattress, hands curling around Nate’s wrists.
“Do you yield, Nate?” he asks softly, looking him in the eyes.
Fuck yes, Nate wants to say, because Brad is laying half on top of him, one of his legs between Nate’s knees and Nate’s finding this really hard to ignore. He takes a deep breath, licking his lips unconsciously.
“Brad…” he says quietly.
Nate’s heart is beating fast in his chest; he wonders if Brad can feel it, too. He moves a little, bringing his right knee up and Brad’s whole body tenses immediately. Nate freezes in place then, too, because seriously, what the fuck are they doing?
“Brad, get off me,” he says and Brad lets go off his wrists, sitting up and retreating from Nate’s space quickly. Nate coughs.
The awkward silence is interrupted by a sharp knock. Brad gets up to his feet and crosses the room, opening the door slightly.
“Bonjour monsieur,” says the maid and launches into a long speech in rapid-fire French.
“I’m sorry, do you speak English?” Brad interrupts her. She blinks at him.
“Engleesh? Non, je suis désolée, je ne parle pas anglais,” she explains. Brad just shakes his head helplessly.
“Okay, I’ve got this,” says Nate, coming up behind him. “Je comprends le français un peu,” he tells the maid and she beams at him, picking up where she left off. She speaks fast, gesticulating a lot and Nate winces.
“Pardon,” he says. “Pouvez-vous parler, uh, plus lentement?” he asks and she nods, slowing her words down. Nate listens intently and turns to Brad.
“They have room service here. We can order dinner today if we want to and apparently it’s been pre-paid,” he translates.
“Well, do you want to order in?” Brad asks. Nate considers it.
“Yeah, we could. I don’t feel like going out tonight, not really.”
“Fine,” Brad agrees. “Do they have a menu here?”
Nate exchanges a few more sentences with the maid and she leaves them a menu card, telling them to ring the reception desk when they’re ready to order.
“Here,” Nate says, handing Brad the card. “It’s in English.” Their fingers brush when Brad takes the paper from him and Nate withdraws his hand quickly.
He really needs to get a grip on himself, or the next few days are going to be hard. Pun very much not intended.
---
The next day Brad grudgingly lets himself be dragged to various touristic sights, after extracting from Nate a promise of going for a good coffee when the day is over. A map in hand, they go to explore the city and after a while Brad finds himself listening to Nate’s improvised history lecture. The topic has never held much interest for him, but Nate is so enthusiastic about it that anybody would have trouble ignoring him when he talks about old battles and dynasties.
“And that’s the Church of the Holy Cross. Can you imagine it’s more than 700 years old?” Nate says. His eyes are shining and he looks relaxed, smiling at Brad. Brad smiles back, because Nate’s excitement is a bit contagious.
It’s a startling revelation, because Brad doesn’t like letting his guard down in front of other people as a rule, but somehow Nate makes it all easier.
However, as interesting as it is, there’s only so much sightseeing Brad can handle, so when the sun begins to set, painting the stone facades orange, he spots a small café almost hidden at a narrow street and points it out to Nate.
“I believe I was promised coffee in exchange for putting up with this,” he says.
“Don’t act like it was such a hardship.” Nate smirks. “But fine, let’s see what they have to offer here.”
The café is small and a bit cramped inside, but not in a bad way. Several customers sit on mismatched armchairs, talking in hushed voices. The smell of freshly ground coffee permeates the air.
They find a table near the back, squeezed in a partially curtained-off corner of a room. There’s only a two-seater sofa next to it. Their knees bump together when they sit down.
Nate reaches for the drinks list. “Do you have any preference?” he asks Brad.
“Coffee,” Brad answers. “Dark. Strong.”
Nate laughs. “I’m pretty sure there was a bad pun in there, but I’m not going to stoop so low. How about an espresso then?”
“It’s fine.” Brad nods.
Nate motions for the waitress and she comes to collect their orders. She speaks English, Brad notes with relief, but lets Nate order for him anyway.
Their drinks arrive shortly after - café au lait for Nate (which Brad suspects is a fancy French name for ordinary latte) and espresso for Brad - though Brad isn’t even sure there’s enough for two sips in the cup. The cup itself more closely resembles a thimble.
“Water for you, sir,” says the waitress, putting a glass in front of him.
“To drink after your coffee,” Nate supplies helpfully in reply to Brad’s confused look. “Trust me, you’ll need it.” He smiles disarmingly.
“Why the hell would anyone serve a glass of water with espresso? These pussies can't even handle - ow, fuck!” he coughs after downing his coffee in one go. The stuff could probably burn a hole in the floor.
“Told you.” Nate has the temerity to laugh, the fucker. “It’s not the kind you’d get in Starbucks.”
“That’s why you ordered latte? Oh, you’ll pay for this,” Brad threatens, drinking his water. It’s blissfully cold.
“You said you wanted something strong.” Nate shrugs, smiling innocently.
“You are American, no?” The waitress, who still hasn’t left their table, asks. She looks like she’s enjoying the show. “You will learn to appreciate proper coffee, no worry. American coffee is no good,” she says disdainfully.
“Do you want another one? Since you finished yours already…” Nate asks.
“No, thank you very much.” Brad tells him. “I think my throat will never recover.”
“Your choice. Here, try this,” Nate says, sliding his own cup towards Brad. “I promise it’s good.”
Brad takes a cautious sip - he’s not going to repeat his previous mistake - but the coffee tastes good. It’s delicate and not too sweet, a bit like warm coffee-flavored ice cream.
At Brad’s barely perceptible nod Nate’s face lights up and he leans forward to take the cup from Brad when he offers it back. Their knees touch again under the table and Brad doesn’t move his leg back. Nate startles and looks Brad in the eyes. Then he looks down at his cup, but Brad thinks he can feel him pressing his knee into Brad’s leg, the pressure so light it might as well be accidental.
It probably is accidental, Brad decides when Nate takes a sip from his cup and his face doesn’t betray anything. He must be reading into things that obviously aren't there.
Neither of them move for a while, until Nate clears his throat.
“It’s getting late. We should go if we don’t want to be late for practice,” he says. He quickly finishes his coffee and puts the cup back on the table.
“Yes.” They pay at the counter and exit the café. It’s a short walk to the skating rink, less than half an hour, and they still have enough time, so they don’t bother with calling a taxi. The weather is nice, sunny but not unbearably hot.
“Brad.” Nate takes a deep breath. “I --” he pauses, shakes his head.
“What?” Brad asks when it becomes apparent that Nate isn’t going to continue.
“Never mind,” Nate tells him. “It wasn’t important.”
Brad wants to call bullshit, not important my ass, but he doesn’t.
They don’t talk for the rest of the way back and Brad isn’t entirely sure what the fuck has just happened.
---
Their group number is ridiculous, in Nate’s humble opinion. Some of the moves resemble more a chicken dance than anything else and the costumes really don’t help - bright, colorful shirts with far more sequins than should be allowed and bell-bottoms. It’s all very Dancing Queen, not that Nate has anything against ABBA, but some things really shouldn’t be done.
The gala is starting in a few minutes and Nate can already hear the audience talking in their seats, waiting impatiently for the show to begin. He feels the adrenaline start to kick in, the familiar rush when his body gets a bit restless, heart beating faster.
He catches sight of Brad in his peripheral vision - he’s talking to one of the female skaters, a girl from Canada. Nate doesn’t know her very well, but she seemed nice when he talked to her a couple times. Brad probably thinks so as well, because he’s smiling slightly, listening as she says something to him. Nate averts his eyes before he has a chance to do something stupid, like get jealous of something he can’t even have in the first place.
A harried assistant runs up to them, telling everybody to take their places. The tech guys are going over the schedule one more time and Nate tunes them out, trying to get into his headspace again.
The beginning of the show passes in a blur. They skate the opening number and Nate rushes backstage to change into the proper outfit for his exhibition. It’s a fast piece but with a sensual edge to it that Mike choreographed for him. For a short, crazy moment Nate wonders if Brad is watching, before he ends that train of thought.
The audience applause afterwards is deafening, the sound echoing in the arena, even though he botched a jump, but probably no one has even noticed. He grins to himself, bowing down low. A little girl skates to him and hands him a stuffed teddy bear that somebody has thrown on the ice. He hugs her and she squeals with delight.
He doesn’t have to skate again until the end of the show, so he takes his skates off after he steps off the ice. He wipes the blades carefully and puts the guards on them, before padding in his socked feet to the locker room. Somebody is rounding the corner just as Nate comes near and they nearly collide, Nate grabbing a handful of a black shirt.
“Whoa, easy,” he hears Brad say. Strong hands come up to his arms, steadying him.
They’re standing in a sequestered area, far from the lockers and the tech rooms. It’s dark here and almost quiet. Nate wants to say something, to break the silence, but the words are stuck in his throat and he can’t avert his eyes. Brad is wearing his skates and their height difference is even more pronounced.
Nate makes a low noise in the back of his throat and something flickers in Brad’s eyes at that. He leans down, keeping his gaze fixed on Nate’s face. They’re so close, too close for it to mean anything else and Nate closes his eyes instinctively, hoping --
“Brad, are you ready? You’re on the ice in one minute!” somebody shouts. Brad straightens with a soft curse and takes a step back.
“I -- Sorry,” he says, looking somewhere over Nate’s shoulder. “I need to --” He gestures at the door behind Nate and Nate moves away, feeling like an idiot.
“Sorry, I was just --” he mutters. “Um. Good luck.”
Brad nods, disappearing quickly through the door.
“Fuck,” Nate whispers, looking down at the teddy bear he’s still clutching in his right hand. “I’m so stupid,” he adds. The bear looks at him with unblinking eyes. It looks like it agrees.
---
Grand Prix series a disappointment for Fick
Nate Fick doesn’t make it to the GP Final
By Ray Griego | Posted: Nov 22, 12:11p ET | Updated: Nov 22, 12:11p ET
Trophée Eric Bompard is over and we can state with all certainty that Nate Fick will not make it to the Grand Prix Final this year. After a less than satisfying performance at Skate America, where he barely made the podium, he buried his chances completely today, finishing eighth after his long program. Fick, asked about it after the competition, stated that he didn’t feel well going into the program. “I skated like I wanted to get out of there and it showed in my performance. Now I want to focus on my training before the upcoming competitions. Today was a lesson and I learned it. I hope to put this behind me and improve my results.”
Coach Bryan Patterson said about his student: “His performance was off, but we’re going to analyze it and pinpoint what’s wrong. He’s a good competitor and he trains hard.” Perhaps as a way to justify Fick’s results Patterson also added, “Sometimes he’s just too accommodating for everybody and it messes with his training. So we’re going to keep a bit more under the radar strategy this time. I want to let him focus solely on his training now.”
We can only ask ourselves if Fick’s good result at the Nationals last season was only a fluke. Given his performance this season, his chances at defending the title look really slim.
Comments
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ninja_turtle | good luck, Nate! | +4
1 hour ago
I really hope he’ll do better. I loved his programs at the nats last year!
___
ohdear_ohdear | so that really sucked | -11
50 minutes ago
>>We can only ask ourselves if Fick’s good result
>>at the Nationals last season was only a fluke.
well, that’s true. he sucks, you have to be blind not to see it. just another pretty boy that all the judges fall in love with, but that’s all there is
___
twirls_n_twizzles | re: so that really sucked | +17
45 minutes ago
Not to start a war, but I don’t think that’s fair. He was brilliant when he was competing in juniors, it’s not like the last Nationals were his first competition ever. And he’s bound to be really stressed this year, what with the way the reporters have been pestering him all the time. Kudos for Mr Patterson for saying this!
___
Dustin77 | I call bullshit | +18
37 minutes ago
Just wanted to say that the author of this article is a judgmental asshole
---
February 2009
“And we’re back with our short program commentary, live from Delta Center in Salt Lake City. This is Gary Wilson.”
“And Paul Anderson.”
“The last group has finished their warm-up session already.”
“On the ice right now is Nate Fick.”
“Oh yes, the defending champion, earned a truly wonderful score last year.”
“But he had a slump in form this season, didn’t make it to the Grand Prix Final. Will he manage to win this time?”
“Well, there’s certainly a lot of pressure on him right now. He must make these opening moves, starts the program with a triple axel - oh no.”
“In the practice session yesterday he had a bit of trouble with the jumps and now he repeated the same mistake.”
“Now a combination, triple toe-triple toe… and he got that one, almost collided with the boards, but he did it.”
“I think the second jump might have been a bit under-rotated, we’ll have to wait for a repetition in slow motion to know for sure.”
“Straight-line footwork sequence into a triple flip jump. And now a spin combination, oh, this is good!”
“Very well-centered.”
“I’d risk saying that spins are definitely his best element.”
“Maybe he drinks Swiss water.” [chuckles]
“Ah, yes, there is something about the Swiss and their spins. And he can rival the best of them.”
“32.76, that’s his technical elements score. And 34.50 for program components. One point deduction for the fall and he’s currently in the fourth place.”
“He doesn’t look too happy with the score, that’s no wonder.”
“Let’s hope he’ll be able to pull himself together in time for the long program.”
“And the next skater is Rudy Reyes. We’ve been hearing about his plans for retirement after this season.”
“Yes, I think he will make an official statement when the season is over.”
“It seems that now the way to the top spot is still open, so this is his chance for a perfect end of his competitive career.”
“Well, Fick can still come through after the long program, we’ve seen it happen.”
“And now Rudy Reyes starts his program. He has a quadruple toe planned first - yes! and he lands it. Perfect.”
“His jumps really are amazing. Easy, smooth outflowing edge. And now watch this, the arc of his next jump. The entrance edge, the landing edge. The completeness of the arc, oh, that’s just perfect.”
“He’s nailing this program so far.”
“And now the sit-spin, changed sit-spin. A little off-center here, but still very nice.”
“Another jump, a triple salchow this time. And, yes! Clean landing, wonderful.”
“Waiting for the judges’ scores impatiently…”
“Oh yes, well, that’s terrific. He’s easily in the lead now”
“Brad Colbert is skating next. He was the silver medalist last year, and also two years ago.”
“I think he’s tired of coming in second place. This may be a year of change for him.”
“Definitely one of the crowd’s favorites, just look at the number of banners.”
“Oh yes, he does have a lot of fans. Well, he’s one of those skaters who really deserve it.”
“He has great technique. The artistic value can be argued sometimes.”
“No, no, his programs are artistic, in their own way. A little, a little dry, maybe, but that’s subjective. He’s rather reserved on the ice.”
“But there’s a charm in that. This is a steady, clean, confident program.”
“And it’s not easy, some of his elements are extremely challenging. Like this step sequence, amazing.”
“It’s a fast program, great tempo. You can see the influence of his coach here.”
“And it’s over already.”
“Those are wonderful marks, 78.39 overall. There’s your new leader.”
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US Nationals results are up
Nate Fick talks about his performance, makes plans for the next season
By Anne Miller | Posted: Feb 14, 07:36p ET | Updated: Feb 14, 07:36p ET
US Nationals just came to an end. Brad Colbert took the gold, ahead of Rudy Reyes and Evan Stafford. Nate Fick, the defending champion, ended off the podium, dropping down to fifth place after he fell twice in his long program today. We held an impromptu Q&A session with him.
Q: Nate, can you tell us what happened?
A: I made mistakes. I guess I wasn’t focused enough. I’m going to work on my technique now, to hopefully prevent this from happening in the future.
Q: This cost you a place on the world team.
A: I am aware of this, but wishing it had gone differently won’t change a thing. I have months to practice now and I want to draw conclusions from this season. I know I can be a better skater. This season was a difficult one, but it happens.
Q: So you’re planning to make a comeback next year?
A: I’m planning to be the best I can be.
part 3