Page 15 of Love on the Edge
We reach the boards. I pivot sharply, my body moving without thought, and launch into another sprint. I don’t feel the burn in my legs anymore—just the rhythm, the control, the sheer momentum that carries me forward.
"Good," Nikolai calls as I hit the opposite boards first. "Again."
I reset, push off hard, faster this time. Nina is keeping pace now, but I force myself to dig deeper, to go faster. I hit the final crossover and stop abruptly, ice spraying at my feet.
"That is what I want," Nikolai says, his gaze locked on me before flicking to the others. "The rest of you, push harder. Valeria should not be this far ahead."
I glance at Nina and Zara, breathing hard, but they don’t look annoyed—just determined.
"Show-off," Nina mutters under her breath, but there’s a grin on her face.
"Not my fault," I shrug, smirking back at her. "Try harder." She nudges me with her elbow before skating toward center ice.
"Edge drills," Nikolai commands. "Control. Depth. No wasted movement."
I drop into my edges, carving deep, my body shifting effortlessly between inside and outside edges. My weight stays perfectly centered, my movements fluid. Nikolai watches me closely, but for once, he says nothing.
I know what that means. Approval.
I glance over at Nina and Zara, both strong skaters, but I know my technique is cleaner. My control is sharper. My foundation has always been my greatest strength.
"Stronger knees," Nikolai calls, but it’s not directed at me. Zara adjusts her form. Nina grits her teeth and deepens her edge.
We move into turns, flowing through three-turns, rockers, counters. I barely think as I move, letting muscle memory take over. This is where I thrive— technical, clean. Every movement is intentional.
"Jumps," Nikolai calls next.
I reset, launching into a loop jump, my blade biting into the ice as I land cleanly. I barely have to check my exit before transitioning into another, then another.
Nina lands hers with ease. Zara’s is strong but slightly tilted forward on the landing.
I step into a flip jump, my arms tight, my rotation fast, my landing solid. Then a lutz—deep edge, explosive height, clean check-out. I feel Nikolai watching, analyzing, waiting for something to correct. But there’s nothing.
"Axels," he calls.
I already know the drill. Takeoff, arms tight, fast rotation, land strong.
I go first. I launch into my double axel, air position locked, rotation perfect. The ice meets my blade perfectly, my landing silent, my exit controlled.
"Excellent," Nikolai says. "Again."
I don’t hesitate. I push off again, stronger, faster.
"Triple Toe?" Nina teases.
I smirk. "Watch me."
This time I land with a slight wobble, but nothing that would cost me in competition.
Nikolai nods. "Good. Spins."
Nikolai calls out the next drill, and I move into a spin. They’re clean, controlled, exactly how they should be.
But something about it feels hollow.
The technique is there, the execution solid, but it’s just that—execution. A sequence of perfected movements without anything behind them. And I know—I know—that’s not enough.
"Combination," Nikolai calls.
