Whispers on the Ice (2 page)

“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 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.

* * * * *

“Chanelle Watts?” Jordan whispered in disbelief, horror clearly written on her expressive face.

“That’s what he said. He feels his chances for Olympic Gold are, how did he put it? ‘Supremely better if his partner is closer in stature and maturity to himself than with a child.’ Or some shit like that,” Mindy growled, stalking about the small office like a caged animal.

Chanelle Watts had been Jordan’s good friend, up until three years ago when Jordan had introduced her to Bob at a party celebrating Chanelle’s sixteenth birthday. Bob had agreed, under protest, to take Jordan to the party, preparing to simply drop her off and pick her up two hours later. However, upon meeting the amazingly physically mature and lovely Chanelle Watts, he decided to stay. That Chanelle was five foot eight and more curvaceous than a sixteen year old had a right to be didn’t seem to bother Bob. In fact, it seemed to Jordan, that he spent the better part of the evening ogling Chanelle’s breasts than actually talking to her. To make matters worse, Jordan teased him for two weeks after the party that he couldn’t tell her what color Chanelle’s eyes were when she finally managed to drag him away from the party. That she was right didn’t matter to Bob, because he couldn’t tell her what color eyes Chanelle had, but he had turned nasty and said he didn’t have time for such childish games or partners and to grow up or he’d find another partner. When she stated that she was only thirteen after all, he had threatened once again to quit partnering her if she couldn’t act older and at that moment she had learned a hard lesson in life. To blend in, you often had to lose part of yourself, but in the end, it would all be worth it, or so she believed. So at the age of thirteen, she turned into an old lady, meticulous in her manners, her speech, the way she always maintained her composure and that was when sports commentators began to notice her sudden maturity and dubbed her the ‘Ice Queen’.

Jordan’s presence and skating matured to a degree where anyone who didn’t know her age assumed she was simply a very small woman; granted, missing the expected curves, but not everyone was full figured like Chanelle. All the music Jordan picked was serious, often melancholy, never requiring her to smile during a performance and thus allowing her to concentrate on her skating and landing the throws that Bob fiercely threw her into. Enduring his endless criticism of her abilities and how Chanelle could do this or that, never satisfying him in any way, but she never stopped trying.

Now, her last four years work was dissolving before her eyes. All because her partner had found her lacking yet again somehow. He moved on to what he believed to be a perfect partner, abandoning Jordan, but not before digging the proverbial knife in one last time.

“Where’s Dee?” Mindy asked, referring to Jordan’s coach and guardian, as she watched Jordan’s eyes cloud with conflicting emotions.

Jordan appeared baffled by the question, shaking her head in confusion then suddenly remembering. “She had to run over final details for our costumes. She should be home by now,” Jordan suggested, glancing quickly at her watch; Ten forty-nine p.m..

Mindy quickly dialed Jordan’s number, frowned at the busy signal and hung up. “Get your things—we’re out of here. Dee will know what to do,” Mindy hoped out-loud. Dee had been there when Jordan’s mother had died and her father hadn’t been able to face seeing his wife every time he looked at his daughter. It wasn’t that her father didn’t love her. He diligently sent little gifts and cards to her frequently. Still, he hadn’t been the same since her mother had died, seeming to want to slip silently away to join his wife, never thinking about what his behavior might do to an eight year old girl. He couldn’t deal with the burden of an eight-year old questioning why God took Mommy and why daddy seemed to be slipping away too. That was when Dee had volunteered to take guardianship of Jordan, already having known and coached her since she was five, and ready to answer any questions she might have about anything at anytime. It had been a blessing to both Jordan and Dee.

“Yes, Dee,” Jordan agreed softly, still numb with confusion.

* * * * *

As Dee Carlen listened intently to the voice on the other end of the phone, astonishment and disbelief shifted across her features. One moment she would agree, the next offer suggestions as to an alternative. Jordan and Mindy watched in stunned silence, as Dee grew more animated and excited. Neither Jordan nor Mindy had ever seen Dee act this way. After what seemed an eternity, Dee ended the conversation, hung up the phone and with the biggest smile Jordan had ever seen, announced confidently, “Jordan Jamison, we’ve found you a new partner and a Gold Medal one at that!”

“We who?” Jordan inquired cautiously.

“A friend of mine who thinks—no actually has decided—that it’s in the best interest of his athlete to become ‘half of a pair’ and get this, and I quote, ‘get respectable and responsible!’” Dee explained, excitement taking over completely.“He saw the news report tonight and decided on the spot the two of you could very well be the next ‘G & G’ skating duo.”

“As far as I’m aware, there are no male skaters looking for new partners. Who, on earth, is that good and available?” Mindy asked curiously, knowing of no one other than Chanelle’s ex-partner and not even Dee would partner Jordan with that flunkie.

“You won’t believe me when I tell you!” Dee could barely contain her excitement, clapping her hands together then finally calming enough to gently hold Jordan’s pale face between her hands while she regained her composure.

Jordan’s emotions shifted from hope to terror waiting for her coach and friend to tell her whom she was about to be paired with. “Aleksei Rocmanov,” Dee proudly announced.

Jordan’s eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Mindy whooped in excitement and danced circles around Jordan exclaiming her approval.

“He’s a monster!” Jordan whispered, her face completely colorless, her dark eyes wide in disbelief.

“He’s gorgeous!” Mindy squealed in delight.

“He’ll kill me,” Jordan worried out loud, her voice a soft whisper.

Dee immediately sensed Jordan’s concerns about their differences in size and reassured her all would be well and that they would have the opportunity to meet each other in two days.

“He won’t do it,” Jordan predicted, shaking her head, remembering their unfriendly run-in in Canada.

“Yes he will.” Dee confirmed, nodding her head to emphasize her statement. “Whittaker’s promised he’ll be there.”

“He’s a single,” Jordan protested, looking for any way out of this seemingly crazy suggestion.

“Not any longer,” Marina replied.

“According to whom?” Jordan questioned hotly.

“His coach—and I’d say that’s a pretty accurate source.”

“Doesn’t Aleksei have the right to decide if he’s a single or not?”

“Not according to Frank Whittaker.”

“I was under the impression you still had a right to choose what you wanted to be in the U.S., something about amendments, and freedom of choice,” Jordan grumbled sarcastically, trying to control the growing urge to run as fast and as far away as possible. “Obviously, while I wasn’t looking, democracy went out the window.”

“Don’t be such a snot, Jordan. You have the freedom to say ‘no’. I’ll be the first to say I think it’s a mistake if you don’t skate well together. I’ve never made you do anything that could hurt you—I won’t start now. All Whittaker and I did was set up a meeting so the two of you could meet and we could see how you fit each other.”

“Rather like trying on new boots,” Jordan mumbled. “Besides, we already met—in Canada. Remember?”

“Let’s try it without bloodshed this time, okay?” Dee suggested, smiling as Jordan blushed in remembered embarrassment over the incident in Canada.

“I’ll do it—but only because of all you’ve done for me,” Jordan conceded.

“Damn—for the chance to get my hands on Aleksei Rocmanov, I’d even take my dusty old skates out of retirement and take a few turns around the ice.” Mindy exclaimed, pretending to skate as wobbly as she could across the thick carpet, all the while batting her eyelashes at an imaginary partner, then slipping ungracefully to the ground.

“Heaven help, Mr. Rocmanov,” Dee laughed, helping Mindy from her sprawled position on the floor, laughing all the while. “Heaven help me,” Jordan whispered quietly and cast a quick glance toward heaven.

* * * * *

“I’ve got your walking papers.” Frank Whittaker waved the hospital release papers at Aleksei, a Cheshire cat smile creasing his face.

“How about coach release papers?” Aleksei questions, a scowl creasing his brow as he reached for the crutches beside the hospital bed.