The mention of the ice and the routines acted like a switch. For the three of them, figure skating wasn't a hobby; it was a discipline measured in thousandths of a second, of suffocating pressures, and relentless muscle memory. But right now, on that cold sidewalk, Jake and Zinov were sizing each other up as if they were about to open the short program of a world final. Only this time, the game was much darker.
"Your place?" Jake repeated, taking a step forward and locking his eyes on the dark-haired man. "My place is by Bek's side, on and off the ice. Don't you forget who has the highest scores of the season in the free skate. And I haven't forgotten either that ever since you reappeared in our lives, Bek has done nothing but face trouble."
