Page 151
I scroll faster, pushing that comment from my head. A headline flashes by, and when I catch the name Jim Ross—the Phantoms’ center—I swear, my fucking head is ready to explode, so I don’t stop to read more. I finally close the app and lock the screen. I can’t spiral today.
Isla’s leaving in two days, and I want to spend as much time with her as I can.
I want to be present for her.
I just need her.
So, with the setting on Do Not Disturb, I shove my phone into my pocket. Then, I take a deep breath to steady myself, open the door, and climb out.
It’s windy today, the cool air biting my cheeks as I hurry into the rink. It’s exactly what I need to knock the negativity out of my head.
Excitement builds inside me as I approach the door. In a matter of minutes, I’ll see Isla. None of those nasty comments matter now.
Inside, Kellan gives me a knowing smile. “Michael, hey. Came to watch your girl skate?”
“Hi, and yeah.” I thread my fingers through my hair, the move centering me. “She’s preparing for France, so she always seems to be here.”
He chuckles. “She asked me if she could stay for another hour, but I can’t stick around. I’ve got plans with my wife.”
An idea pops into my head, excitement building, this time heating me from the inside. “How about we close up for you tonight? I could drop the keys off at your place.”
“I don’t know…”
“C’mon,” I beg. “Isla works so damn hard. If she needs another hour of practice, I can stay with her and then close the rink. No problem.”
He studies me, chewing on the inside of his cheek, his eyes a little cloudy below his bushy brows. Then, he fishes the keys from his jacket pocket. “Here. I have a spare set at home, so just bring these with you to practice tomorrow.”
“You’re the best.” I take the keys and pocket them.
“Don’t make me regret it,” he says as he turns away. “Lock the door after me so no one else comes in.”
As the door closes, I do as Kellan told me. Then, I head toward the rink. “Ma Meilleure Ennemie” is playing, mixing with the sound of her blades scraping the ice as I sit in the stands.
She’s dressed in black leggings and a light blue sweatshirt. Her hair is in a high ponytail, and her cheeks are pink from exertion.
She hasn’t noticed me yet, making it feel like one of the days I’d sneak in and hide in the shadows to watch her. She called me a stalker, but I’d say I was more of a fan? A very dedicated one.
The song starts again, and Isla pushes off. Her strokes are long, and her edges are deep. Like always, her movements are effortless but precise.
The arena is her safe place. Even her posture changes the moment she steps onto the ice, her confidence and certainty growing. Her eyes glimmer with determination and power.
She doesn’t follow rules; she creates them.
She glides forward, starting to turn backward on the inside edge of her skate. I know this one; it’s a flip jump. She uses her toe pick to assist with liftoff and launches herself into the air. Her body rotates—one, two, three times—and then she lands on the outside edge of her skate.
Yes! I pump a fist.
She moves straight into a double toe loop, the transition flawless. Her eyes shine, and a small smile tips her lips, but she stays locked in, as if she isn’t just listening to the music but breathing it in, allowing the rhythm to flow inside her, spreading through her veins.
A long spiral sequence comes next. Like this, with her back arched, her free leg high and steady, her body control is insane. It always has been. Discipline, repetition, consistency. She’s spent her whole life doing this. Behind this beautiful image are years of pain, of training until her feet are torn up and bloody, of falling and then getting up and doing it again. That’s what is hidden behind every move, every jump.
She gathers speed down the long side and then skates backward, preparing for an inside-edge launch. A Salchow, I bet. She jumps and again rotates three times before she lands on the opposite outside edge. And she doesn’t stop. She goes from facing forward on the inside blade edge to skating backward on the outside edge. She uses her toe pick for assistance again, and then, she’s in the air, pushing from the outside edge. One, two, and she lands on the same outside edge.
Triple Salchow, double toe.
Fucking right! She nailed it.
Her landing is smooth, her knee bent just enough to absorb the impact.
