Chapter 3: The Right Partner
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Coach Whittaker had stayed at the hospital with Aleksei and continued to outline the various points that Aleksei would have to follow to maintain their coach/athlete relationship (which was closer to a father/son relationship than either one cared to admit). During the hours since the early sports report they had alternately yelled, cursed, threatened, argued and laughed to get their opinions across, causing nurses to check the room more than once to insure no blood had been shed. Eventually, the noise had lessened and then finally disappeared completely into a comfortable silence as Whittaker watched the final news of the evening and Aleksei thumbed through an old People magazine and listened with one ear.
"Next up - sports - with more information about Olympic Skater Aleksei Rocmanov and up-and-coming skater Jordan Jamison. This is Mike Foster, we'll be right back."
"Now those are two names you haven't heard in the same sentence before," Whittaker joked out-loud.
"Fire and ice," Aleksei mumbled in return, casting a quick eye toward the TV.
Again, the sports reporter appeared on TV, all perfect hair, makeup, and dental-enhanced smile. The same report that ran earlier was repeated with some additional comments from friends stating his mood was good, and he was resting comfortably.
"It's good to know we'll soon see Aleksei up and skating again soon but unfortunately it looks as if Jordan Jamison's Olympic plans have just been lost. According to sources close to Ms. Jamison, her partner of four years, Bob Hanks, has terminated their partnership and become the skating partner of Chanelle Watts. That, of course, leaves Ms. Jamison very little time to find a new partner, let alone prepare for any bid in the upcoming Olympics, even if they are over three years away. We'll keep you advised of any further developments on both these stories. Next up, Roger with the weekend's weather forecast."
"Poor little thing," Whittaker commiserated with a shake of his head.
"Little is right. I'm surprised they have skates that fit her," Aleksei grumbled, continuing to thumb through his magazine.
"She just looks small on the ice next to that putz Hanks," Whittaker growled.
"Christ, Whittaker, she looks small off the ice too, even without the putz!" Aleksei argued. Remembering their little encounter in Canada that left him with six stitches still rankled and he absently rubbed the small scar on his un-cast leg. Amazingly enough, her furious expression still came to his mind's eye clearly; her dark green eyes flashing fire, her cheeks blushing darkly, despite her stage make-up, her gorgeous mouth casting aspersions on his heritage and his ineptness that had obviously caused the upheaval. Whittaker's voice suddenly brought him back from his memories.
"Still, she's a beautiful skater; reminds me of Ekaterina Gordeeva when she was younger."
"Only smaller, if that's possible," Aleksei qualified.
"I bet she could win Gold with the right partner," Whittaker stated, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, deep in thought.
"The Olympics are over three years away. They'd have to make it through U.S., Nationals and World Championships for a berth. Hell has a better chance of freezing over than that happening," Aleksei stated matter-of-factly.
"Not with the right partner," Whittaker re-emphasized.
"You're repeating yourself, Whittaker."
"Just thinking out-loud."
"Mr. Whittaker, visiting hours ended over an hour ago. I'm going to have to insist you leave now. Mr. Rocmanov needs a full night's sleep if he plans to leave tomorrow," a very serious, very large nurse stated from the doorway.
"I was just leaving," Whittaker stated, nodding good-bye to Aleksei and walking toward the door.
"His release papers will be signed by ten o'clock. Don't be late," The nurse stated firmly.
"Ten o'clock it is. I won't be late," Whittaker agreed and walked away whistling an indistinguishable tune.
Shaking her head in disapproval, the nurse directed her gaze to Aleksei and smiled in pleasure. "Is there anything I can do for you Mr. Rocmanov?"
"If it isn't too much trouble, I sure could use some ice water," Aleksei asked softly, his lips curving into a sexy smile.
As usual, the response was immediate. "Of course, Mr. Rocmanov. Is that all?"
Aleksei's smile widened to display perfectly straight, gloriously white teeth. "The ice water is more than enough, thank you."
With a quick smile of her own, the nurse rushed away to fill his request, her crepe soles squeaking on the gleaming tile floor.
Aleksei raised his muscled arms over his head and stretched, feeling the tension leave his upper torso for the first time since he'd entered the hospital. Folding his arms and resting his head against them, he closed his eyes and sent a quick, silent prayer heavenward. This time he'd gotten out with his life, but could he count on there being a next time? All of Whittaker's words crashed and echoed through his mind, replaying over and over. His coach was right - it was time to grow up. Now all he had to worry about was what Whittaker had in store for him over the next twelve weeks and why that pondering expression appeared in Whittaker's eyes when he'd watched the report on Jordan Jamison? With a sudden foreboding, he had the feeling life, as he knew it was about to change. And more drastically that he could ever imagine.
Text Copyright © 2000 by Constance E. Moynihan
