Page 116 of Hate You Most

And then her mind shattered completely.

The courthouse on a Tuesday. The black dress that Dakota loved. The boots Viktoriya had refused to throw away because her mother had bought them for her. Her mouth that trembled as she'd said I do, because the whole thing was terrifying and ridiculous and real. The rings that were bought in a panic because she insisted that a marriage meant nothing without them.

The four photographs Dakota had taken and then stored on a hard drive. They were probably in a drawer somewhere now. Dakota had looked at her that night, with certainty in her eyes. Maybe Viktoriya had always known she would choose Dakota, but that choice was still treason to everything she'd ever known.

She remembered everything.

She had loved and hated Dakota through competitions and training, through injuries and retirement, through lies and across oceans and plane rides, through binding laws, fear, and her own self-destruction.

She had married Dakota.

She had run from Dakota.

She had tried to erase Dakota.

She had hated and loved Dakota.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

May 1st, 2023.

— Dakota Sanchez apartment. Detroit, Michigan.

Viktoriya had been certain that she would feel better as soon as her memory returned. She felt worse. The only thing she was grateful for was that she didn't wake up with a headache.

She remembered every past choice she'd made and knew that given the chance, she'd probably make those choices again. That didn't make her feel better at all. It felt like she was standing in the middle of a collapsing building. The floor was giving out beneath her, and the walls were fracturing. She had no clear path out.

Viktoriya's hands clasped together tightly as she sat on the edge of the couch, her gaze fixed on the floor ahead of her. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

Dakota almost refused to look her in the eyes. She stood a few feet away from her with a completely blank expression on her face. Like she was waiting for her to speak, waiting for her to do anything that could dissolve this drowning silence that had settled between them.

Her fingers tightened around the simple band on her finger. She exhaled slowly.

“I could leave,” she said after a moment. “It would fix things. For you. It would fix things for both of us.”

Dakota’s expression didn't change, but something in her posture did. “No,” Dakota said firmly. “It wouldn’t change anything and you're not leaving me again.”

Viktoriya swallowed, her gaze dropping. “It would remove the problem.”

“I am not a problem,” Dakota replied.

“I didn’t mean—” she started, then stopped. She hadn't meant that Dakota was the problem, Dakota was never the problem—she was. If she left then Dakota would eventually move on. She would find someone else that was better for her in all areas. Viktoriya could leave, trying to love a man again. Really try this time. It would break her completely, but it could work.

“You did,” Dakota said. “You meant that and that's okay. You’ve been trained to think like that. That if something makes your life harder, you cut it out. That if people get hurt, it’s because they were in your way.”

Viktoriya’s throat tightened. “That is not⁠—”

“It is,” Dakota cut in, not harshly, but without giving her space to retreat. “And you don’t get to do it again.”

Silence settled between them.

Her mind wanted desperately to come to some sort of long term conclusion that made sense for both of them. She wouldn't repeat what she'd done to herself.

“I could stay,” she tried instead, the words hesitant as they left her lips. “My father does not know that I live with you—I don't want him to find out. Which means no more skating and no competitions. It could work.”

Dakota let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “So you would be okay with never leaving this apartment? With never going out to get a coffee with me, never going to see a movie or see our friends? Would you be okay with never going anywhere, ever?”

God, this was a nightmare. An actual nightmare.