“I just talked to him yesterday,” I said stupidly.

“I know.” Bill squeezed my arm. “He stopped treatment last week, and it was quick. He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want to distract you.”

Did I make him proud?

I wanted to scream it and shake the answer out of Bill, but I could only nod, the hot needles of eyes on me prickling my skin. I stood there nodding as Bill hugged me.

Bill and other people were talking at me, platitudes all over the place, and I didn’t want any of them. I wanted them to shut up, shut up, shut up.

For once, I didn’t want to talk. I nodded and nodded, and an official told me I could talk to the press tomorrow, and they were delaying the medal ceremony too, that we’d have it before the gala. I was grateful, but couldn’t they just be quiet?

Apparently I won, beating Henry by less than a point. I didn’t care, though I’m sure Henry did—it was brutal to lose by fractions. I was probably the last person he wanted to see.

After practically ripping off my costume and shoving my bag at Bill, I made my escape, insisting on walking the short distance through Torino to the hotel where we were all staying.

Cool, steady rain soon soaked me. The mountains were shrouded in thick clouds as night set in. It felt later than it was, the rain apparently keeping people away from the restaurants and bars.

I didn’t bother with the hood of my jacket, weirdly enjoying the wet. The streetlights gleamed in puddles between dark, locked-up cafes. A Mini zoomed by on the narrow road, tires sending up splashes before the muffled silence settled in again.

I stopped for a while in front of a clock shop with an intricate Christmas-themed display in the window. The swaying chimes, spinning wheels, and cuckoo clocks mesmerized me, keeping the grief at bay. I felt strangely empty and light-headed.

It was hard to imagine that I’d never see Mr. Webber again. He’d never give me the cocked brow that spoke volumes. He’d never offer a hard-won smile after I worked my butt off and did everything he asked without complaining for once. He’d never again pat my knee in congratulations or condolence in the Kiss and Cry.

Why hadn’t I called him again this morning? I was struck violently with the need to know exactly when he’d died and what I’d been doing, and if I’d had time to call and hear his gravelly, sardonic voice one last time.

I didn’t think anything of the footsteps behind me until I turned down an even narrower side street a block from the bright windows of the hotel. My Chucks squelched as I headed down the steeper road, not ready to leave the shadows. When the footsteps followed, I turned just in case I was being a dumbass and was about to get mugged or something.

Henry stopped about fifteen feet back. On the higher ground of the sloping alley, he looked tall. I could just make out his typical serious expression, though for once he wasn’t frowning. His eyes looked soft with concern even at a distance, and my heart felt like it expanded even as my breath caught.