Tessa and Scott: The One That Got Away (short story)

The One That Got Away

Scott slumped down further on the couch. The buzzing in his head had escalated to a heavy-metal band in his temples, and his belly was sloshing from all the cheese fries and liquor. He had thrown up twice already, but he still felt seasick.

Tracey – or was it Stacey – had fallen asleep hours ago. He'd left for two seconds to get some more beer and the little wench had the nerve to pass out on the couch before he'd gotten what he wanted from her. It was expensive, getting them tipsy enough to go home with him, but it was cheaper than paying them in advance, and curves like hers didn't come cheap.

He groaned, a deep, distant sound to his sloshing head. He needed something strong and wild to block out what had happened earlier that day, and now since Strong and Wild had turned into Sleeping Beauty, he had nothing but his thoughts.

His phone was still lying against the wall where he'd thrown it. Scott lurched to his feet, nearly knocking Tracey/Stacey off the couch, and picked it off the ground. His body complained as he straightened - he had put on some weight since he quit skating, and his joints knew it.

The case was cracked, but the screen still lit up when he pressed the power button.

And there she was. As radiant as ever. Strong and beautiful. Luscious chocolate-brown hair swept back into loose curls. Green eyes, deep as a sky, adoring and stunning. Perfectly shaped lips, red as his own throbbing blood. Creamy skin he longed to feel against his own again. A flawless body in a skintight white dress.

On her arm, a distinguished-looking older man in a tuxedo.

He couldn't help scrolling through the article again, as if rereading it would make it change. "Fashion mogul Tessa Virtue, 42, married millionaire software designer Walter Perrot, 64, this morning at the Montreal Cathedral. She was accompanied by her 10-year-old daughter Josephine and her 4-year-old son Brighton, while Perrot was accompanied by his 26-year-old son Christopher. The couple will reside in Perrot's vast estate outside Montreal."

Scott's hand curled into a fist just looking at the picture of the old man. What could this guy give Tessa that Scott couldn't? Besides the whole estate and all-the-money-in-the-world part.

There had been a time where he'd thought everything was possible, that one day he'd wake up with her lying beside him, instead of a drunken stripper.

That had been a long time ago.

Because two years after they'd won the Olympics together, Tessa had met an old man named Giuseppe Lambertenghi, who carried her off to his mansion in Rome and gave her everything her heart could desire.

She never spoke to Scott again.

His head ached, and it wasn't from the drinking. He still remembered that day when, after denying it for years, he'd finally told her how he felt. And he could never forget how she'd laughed.

"Of course I love you, Scott," she'd said. "You've been just like a brother through all this."

It had been thirteen years since they had retired from skating. Thirteen years since he'd had a real conversation with her. Thirteen years since he was allowed to touch her as part of his job.

He needed another drink.

Tessa sat up in bed and glanced over at Walter, still snoring like a saw. Out of the three wedding nights she'd had, this one was by far the worst.

Rule number one: Never invite skaters to a wedding.

First of all, the Pojes came. Tessa still couldn't understand how Kaitlyn was six months pregnant and barely showing. It was her third pregnancy, and she still had a waist like a bee.