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“This championship is important. There’s no way none of us wouldn’t have joined you.”

“Thank you so much.” I wipe my damp cheeks. “I can’t wait to see Dad.”

“Trust me, he can’t wait either. Neither can I. The next trip is mine. That, or we’ll all come visit you.”

“That would be a dream.”

By the time we end the call, I’m running late, so I grab my duffel bag and rush out.

The music cuts off mid-spin. The silence in the rink is louder than the notes blasting from the speakers.

I come to a shaky stop, my legs burning, the cramps only getting stronger.

Elena claps, drawing my attention to her. “Enough for today.”

“I can do it again.” I straighten, getting back into position.

“No.” Her tone is firm, but the soft smile on her lips tells me she’s not upset with me. “You’re tired. In Russia, we say, Sdelal delo—gulyayi smelo. This is your second practice of the day. You did well. Now, you clearly need some rest.”

I skate to the boards and stop in front of her. “I’m fine.”

“That’s what you always say.” She brushes a strand of hair off my cheek. “Your jumps were off tonight. Your timing too. Are you in pain?”

Sighing, I rub my hands together. “Just cramps.”

“You’ve done more than enough. Go home and rest, Solnyshko. You need it.”

I smile but don’t say anything, afraid my voice would betray the emotions bubbling up inside me.

“Go change. Drink water. And rest. That’s an order,” she adds, winking at me. “Tomorrow will be better.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

My legs feel like lead as I drag myself to the locker room. The hallway smells like detergent and cold metal. Halfway down the hall, my vision blurs.

My breath catches. Shit. What’s going on?

My heart rate picks up, and within seconds, it’s hammering violently. I press one hand to my chest and another one to the wall, steadying myself.

Breathe. I just need to breathe…

I close my eyes and focus on that, but my chest aches and my throat tightens, making it almost impossible.

Pressing my back to the wall, I slump, letting it hold my weight. My ears ring as I force myself to inhale and count to three. Rather than loosen up, my throat continues to constrict. My hands are clammy, and my vision blurs at the edges.

I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and images of my life in Santa Clara bombard me. My parents. My brother. Milo following me around the house. Michael. God, I miss them all so much…even Michael.

Why does it hurt so bad? It’s never been like this.

I slide down the wall, pull my legs closer to my chest, and rest my forehead on my knees. One, two, three. Three, two, one, I think as I try to regulate my breathing.

“Isla?” The deep voice is gentle and full of concern.

With one more forced breath, I look up. Dean stands a few feet away, his skates slung over one shoulder, his gym bag over the other.

“Hey.” He sets his gear on the floor and kneels in front of me, his green eyes assessing me. “Are you okay?”