Shining Through Read online

  SHINING THROUGH

  Elizabeth Harmon

  ¶

  PRONOUN

  Thank you for reading. If you enjoy this book, please leave a review or connect with the author.

  All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

  Copyright © 2017 by Elizabeth Harmon

  Cover design by Dani Barclay

  Interior design by Pronoun

  Edited by Lauren Plude

  Distribution by Pronoun

  ISBN: 9781537865041

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  Heating It Up/Chapter 1

  More by Elizabeth Harmon

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Flawless.”

  The hairstylist for Good Day U.S.A! cupped her hands beneath Tabitha Turner’s sleek, straight hair. Like so much else in Tabitha’s life, it was golden, perfect and completely manufactured.

  “You’ve done a wonderful job.” Tabitha flicked her tongue across lips the precise ruby shade as her fingernails. As a champion figure skater, she’d been groomed from childhood to know perfect was the only description that mattered. “Thank you.”

  The stylist shrugged off the compliment, though her smile showed it pleased her. “It’s easy when I start with a beautiful client. Everyone’s so psyched to see you win gold in Grenoble.”

  In the chair beside Tabitha’s, Mia Lang shifted her gaze over, then back. The chill was palpable. Here was one person not psyched to see Tabitha win gold in Grenoble.

  “The Winter Games are still six months off,” Tabitha said. “First, I need a winning season. But the support of the great people I’ve met means so much.”

  The words rolled easily off her tongue, and though they were true, she’d said them so often that she wondered if anyone believed her.

  “Well, everyone I know is pulling for you. You’ve worked so hard for it. Not that you haven’t,” she added with a nod at Mia. She glanced at the girl who sat alone in the back of the room, waiting her turn in the chair. “Or you, Antoinette! Boy, everyone here is so proud to watch a hometown girl make her debut this weekend as a top-level figure skater!”

  “Actually, it’s my second season skating at senior level,” Antoinette said. “But it’s my first year competing in the International Series, so I am excited about that.”

  Her cool tone suggested this wasn’t the first time she was dismissed as an afterthought. Tabitha knew the feeling all too well. It had been the fuel that propelled her from obscurity to the top of her sport.

  Mia smoothed her hand over her already perfect dark hair and beamed with the easy confidence that came with being the latest phenom. “Hey, we get it. Tabitha’s the queen and we’re the princesses. But don’t count us out.”

  Tabitha definitely wasn’t.

  The stylist added a heavy layer of hairspray to subdue Tabitha’s natural waves under the melting heat of TV studio lights. The assistant show-runner bustled into the dressing room. Cleavon Riggs raised his hand to his forehead in a comically over-the-top swoon, before belting out the opening line of “Isn’t She Lovely?” His Stevie Wonder impression was heavy on the falsetto. “They both look fabulous! You two can come with me while Annette takes her turn in the chair.”

  “It’s Antoinette.” The girl rose from her seat and approached Tabitha’s chair. “But you’ll know my name soon enough.”

  Tabitha pushed her face into a bright confident smile. She hadn’t become one of the top figure skaters in the world by worrying about who was nipping at her heels. The stylist removed the plastic cape covering her clothes, and Tabitha stood, smoothing her off-the-shoulder red silk t-shirt and skin-tight True Religion jeans. A red and lavender scarf and lavender stilettos balanced elegant and trendy. But not too trendy. No one would suspect she’d paid less than a hundred bucks for the entire outfit at the West Hollywood Goodwill. She tossed her hair against her shoulders and gave Cleavon a serene smile. “I’m ready.”

  Cleavon directed Tabitha and Mia through the maze-like corridors to the sound stage. “I assume your coaches and your agents have briefed you on the interview topics?”

  Tabitha nodded. “First, they’ll ask what we’re doing to prepare for the season, then we’ll talk about how excited we are to compete this weekend at Star Spangled Skate.”

  “Be sure to mention how close all of you girls are,” Cleavon added.

  Girls. The word set her teeth on edge. Tabitha was twenty-three, a woman trying to compete in a sport dominated by teenagers like Mia, who’d enjoyed advantages she never had. Teenagers who weren’t staring down the barrel of their final season and their last chance to fulfill a dream.

  Mia laughed. “Never mind that seven of us are competing to be the three who skate in Grenoble.”

  “Eight, counting Antoinette,” Tabitha added. “But it never comes up at all at our weekly slumber and pedicure parties.”

  Where had that come from? The snarky comment sounded like something her sister Samara might say. Mia gaped, either with shock or amusement, Tabitha wasn’t sure. Cleavon blinked; alarmed that he might have missed a fascinating interview topic. “You have those?”

  “We’re spread out all over the country,” Mia responded. “It’s a little hard to get together.”

  They reached the brightly lit studio, where two sleek, orange couches sat before a backdrop that suggested a window looking out onto the Chicago skyline. Majestic buildings gleamed against the cloudless blue sky of a perfect late September day. Techs bustled around, adjusting lights and the lapel mics worn by the show’s hosts. An exuberant voice greeted them.

  “All rightie! Whooooo’s next?” Peter Flanagan approached, rubbing his hands together. His trademark paisley bowtie added a jaunty note to his conservative dark gray suit. “Oh goodness, don’t you look amazing! And tall!” In her four inch heels, Tabitha was the same height as her coach. He turned to Cleavon. “I knew she would be a tall one, but such lines. Such beautiful, beautiful lines. If I know one thing, it’s how to spot skating talent! Have I ever said that?”

  “A time or two,” Tabitha said fondly. Peter had his quirks, but he’d taken her into his coaching group when she was fifteen, after every other top coach had written her off as too old. In the eight years since, he’d never given up on her. “And it will be our year, right?”

  “Absolutely, my dear. Absolutely.”

  “Tabitha, dear. Lovely to see you again,” said Claudia Davis, Mia’s coach.

  “Lovely to see you too.” Tabitha returned the air kiss and
social hug of one of the coaches who’d passed on her. Claudia moved onto Antoinette and her coach.

  The frenetic energy around the set indicated air time was just a few minutes away. Celeste Fields, a striking black woman in a lemon yellow dress, greeted them and directed Tabitha, Mia and Antoinette to sit beside her. Co-host Michael Connor, who was shorter and older than Tabitha had expected, sat with the coaches. A technician attached their microphones, and moments later the house lights dimmed. With a blare of the show’s peppy theme song, they were on the air.

  After introducing the skaters and showing clips of each competing, Celeste turned to Tabitha. “You’ve been training as a skater, since you were what? Seven? Eight?”

  “I started skating when I was six, but it wasn’t until I was twelve that I became serious about competing.”

  Celeste smiled. “We hear you were so determined, you went to the rink manager and promised to work every night until midnight to pay for your ice time.”

  Tabitha’s cheeks grew hot, and it wasn’t from the lights. The story was well known, and unlike much of her official biography, it was true. Peter thought it showed her early determination, but it also brought back the desperation she’d felt to hold onto the only area of her life where she had any control. Though her memories of that day were more embarrassing than inspiring, she laughed along with the others. “I think I kind of shocked them.”

  “I think they saw a future champion,” added Michael. “At nineteen, you were this close to skating in the Winter Games, but fell short. Now at twenty-three, you’re the top skater in a very competitive U.S. ladies’ field!”

  Tabitha bobbed her head to acknowledge the studio audience’s polite applause. She’d worked damn hard to earn it.

  “Since only three skaters will qualify for Grenoble, how does that impact the relationships among you girls?”

  Inside, Tabitha cringed. No one would ask her male teammates something so ridiculous.

  “It doesn’t at all,” Mia gushed, shifting the focus away from Tabitha. “We’re super close and all the U.S. skaters are just amazing!”

  “Well you’re certainly amazing! Just fifteen years old, and already a world medalist,” said Celeste. “And coached by the legendary Claudia Davis, who if I’m not mistaken is Peter’s ex-wife!”

  Laughter echoed in the studio though Tabitha failed to see the humor. Claudia’s smile twisted as if she’d just sucked on a lemon. Her coach’s neck reddened, but he hid his embarrassment with a good-natured chuckle. “Well Celeste, you’ve certainly done your homework. Yes, Claudia and I were married several years ago. She is a talented coach for whom I have the utmost respect.”

  Silver-haired Claudia accepted the compliment with a satisfied smile.

  “She’s had an amazing run of success at the Winter Games with three skaters taking home the gold?” Celeste’s expression grew serious. “That’s something that’s eluded you, and now in your final season as a coach, you’re giving it one more try.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “That just gets me, right here.”

  “A story perfect for Hollywood,” Michael added, as the trumpet fanfare from the Rocky theme song played, accompanied by cheers and applause from the audience.

  “And contender Antoinette Curtis is ready to jump in the ring and mix it up with the champs!” He threw a one-two air punch. “Antoinette, you once spoke about the mindset of a champion. Can you share a bit about what that means?”

  “Oh yes,” said Antoinette. “It means committing myself to whatever it takes to be the best. That means working hard, sacrificing and putting in the effort, even when it’s the last thing in the world you feel like doing.”

  Passion rose in Antoinette’s voice, and Tabitha fought the urge to rub the goosebumps that rose on her arms. This scrappy underdog had described what Tabitha once felt about her skating. Only she didn’t any longer.

  Why not? And how do you get that passion back?

  Celeste smiled. “I can’t imagine skating is ever the last thing any of you feel like doing! And your off-ice lives are just as impressive. Tabitha, tell us about Harvard!”

  Tabitha blinked and her stomach rolled. Though she’d expressed interest in the school, the closest she’d come was an online no-credit literature class. That didn’t make her a Harvard student by a long shot. She’d never even set foot on the campus. “I’m not—”

  “Not enrolled at the moment,” Peter interjected. “Because her focus right now is on the Winter Games. But once she retires from competing, she’ll return to her studies.”

  “And we know she’ll excel,” added Michael. “Pre-med isn’t it?”

  She bit back a laugh at the idea that she was a champion athlete who studied organic chemistry in her free time. Her manufactured persona had some outlandish qualities, but then, so did her real one. While the dishonesty bothered her, Peter insisted it was part of projecting a polished, wholesome image. She responded with a non-committal smile. “I’m still deciding.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHEN THE SEGMENT ENDED, AND the show broke for commercials, Cleavon came to escort the skaters and their coaches back to the Green Room.

  Fiona Turner came over and embraced Tabitha. “Oh honey, I’m so proud of you. The best damn skater in the whole US of A, and you look gorgeous, to boot!”

  “So do you Mom.” The blue and white sleeveless dress Peter’s assistant chose during yesterday’s shopping trip to Neiman-Marcus complimented Fiona’s autumn-red hair, and covered the large Yin and Yang tattoo on her right shoulder. Fiona would have chosen something that showed more cleavage.

  “Yeah, I clean up good for an old carny gal.” Tabitha hoped Cleavon hadn’t overheard the carny gal comment. Peter had declared certain topics off-limits, Fiona’s unconventional background being one. “Where’s Samara?”

  “I don’t know.” Tabitha felt a stir of uneasiness. “Isn’t she with you?”

  Fiona’s mouth pinched with worry. “I haven’t seen her. ‘Course I’m not exactly her favorite person right now.” Fiona and Samara had been arguing for days over her sister’s loser, wanna-be rock star boyfriend. That Danté was the mirror image of Fiona’s loser, wanna-be rock star boyfriends wasn’t lost on Tabitha. “She could be anywhere,” said Fiona. “She’d better not have gone far, or else she’s grounded ‘til she’s thirty. If you see her, tell her I said so!”

  “You can tell me yourself, though twenty-one’s a little old for grounding.” Samara strolled in, munching a cinnamon-sugar doughnut from the craft service table out in the hall. In a thrift-shop schoolgirl skirt, holey fishnets and crimson motorcycle boots, she was the polar opposite of Tabitha. “Mmmm, yummy. Too bad you can’t have one,” she said with a teasing smirk.

  “Yeah too bad,” Tabitha said, though she could take or leave doughnuts. Chocolate however, was another story.

  “Where the hell were you?” With Samara safe and sound, Fiona could return to being mad.

  “One of the show runners heard I was in film school, so she took me upstairs to watch from the director’s booth.”

  That was hopeful news. As much as Fiona disliked Danté, Tabitha was more concerned about her sister’s inability to focus on anything. Part of it was the Attention Deficit Disorder, which remained undiagnosed until Samara’s junior year of high school. After graduation, she dabbled as a student hairstylist, a barista and movie extra, until finally, she had pursued her dream of becoming a filmmaker. Last year, she’d been accepted into the University of Southern California’s prestigious cinema studies program. But lackluster grades were putting the dream in jeopardy.

  Tabitha couldn’t shake the fear that if her figure skating hadn’t demanded so much of her family’s time, money and attention, Samara’s problems would have been noticed much earlier. Her sister might be almost through with college by now and making contacts in the industry, rather than struggling with sophomore classes and a bad boyfriend. “Did you learn anything?” Tabitha asked.

  Samara brushed the heavy fr
inge of blue-black bangs from her eyes. “I learned I never want to work in TV. And I couldn’t believe it when Celeste brought up Peter’s ex, or he’s never had a skater win at the Winter Games. Who expects gotcha questions on a show like this? Talk about low.”

  Tabitha couldn’t agree more. “I promise you, Peter’s bad luck at the Games ends this season.”

  Though there were countless things that could go wrong between now and February, the words brought certainty. She would win gold in Grenoble. She had to. Peter deserved it. And he wasn’t the only one. Samara had grown up as an afterthought. Fiona had worked two jobs so they could live in Beverly Hills near Tabitha’s training rink, rather than move back to her hometown in Missouri.

  Her mom and her sister deserved a victory and Tabitha would not let them down.

  She turned back to Samara, who was savoring the last of her donut, a blissful expression on her face as she chewed. “How do you think I did on the show?”

  Her sister brushed cinnamon sugar from her hands, and headed back to the food table, in search of her next delicacy. “Perfect. How else?”

  Outside, the real sky was considerably grayer than the fake one on Good Day U.S.A’s backdrop. Peter flagged down a taxi. Tabitha, Samara, and Fiona climbed in the back, while Peter took the front seat. Fiona’s phone had chimed earlier, now, she was scrolling through a message. “Son of a bitch,” she said under her breath.

  That could only mean man troubles. Ken, Fiona’s current boyfriend, and also their landlord, seemed to cause more than his share.

  “Is the Ken-ster having issues?” Samara asked with knowing sympathy.

  Fiona gave an exasperated sigh and shut off her phone. “He’s still pissed because I didn’t invite him along to Chicago. But it’ll all blow over by the time we’re home on Monday. He’s an Aries. What do you expect?”

  What did Tabitha expect? Heartbreak and disappointment, which seemed to come with every guy, regardless of his zodiac sign.

  If she’d learned anything from Fiona’s and Samara’s chaotic love lives, it was that following your heart after a troubled bad boy was a recipe for disaster. Tabitha had sworn off romance. If the day ever came when she let a man into her life, he would be neither troubled, nor would he have issues. But with the Winter Games coming up, it wasn’t something she thought about.