Page 42 of Love on the Edge
I barely have time to react before CC is in front of me, bouncing on the balls of her feet, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
Her eyes are wide, so wide, so full of something that makes my chest ache. “Your routine was so pretty!”
She grabs my hand, squeezing it like she needs me to feel how important this moment is.
“I saw you!” she says, her words tumbling over themselves. “I was watching the whole time, and it was so pretty. I want to skate like that someday!”
I blink at her, stunned. I’ve been coaching CC, teaching her mechanics, drilling her technique, making sure her foundation is solid. Together, we’ve been breaking down jumps, refining her edges, correcting her posture.
But she doesn’t say she wants to jump like me. She says she wants toskatelike me.
The realization hits deeper than I expect.
For a moment, I don’t know how to respond. My first instinct is to correct her—to tell her she has a long way to go, that she’s not ready yet, that I’m not ready yet.
But then, I catch the way she looks at me. And, for the first time, I don’t push it away.
I kneel down, adjusting her scarf, my fingers moving instinctively, like I need to do something with my hands to process what is happening.
Ethan is watching us, standing just a step back, his presence steady, quiet, warm. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t interrupt, just lets me have this moment.
I look back at CC, her excitement so pure, so certain.
“You already do,” I tell her softly.
She tilts her head, her little nose scrunching.
I smile, something small but real. “You’re going to be amazing, CC.”
She beams. Completely believing me. And I realize—I believe it too.
When I stand up and meet Ethan’s gaze, for a moment, neither of us speak. He just watches me, eyes searching, waiting, steady in a way that makes my chest feel too tight.
For once, I don’t feel like running.
He exhales slowly, voice softer than I expect. "That was beautiful."
I know he isn’t just talking about CC’s excitement. He saw me out there. Saw the way I let myself move, the way I let the music pull me instead of forcing myself through every step. He saw what I felt, what I haven’t allowed myself to feel in a very long time.
My pulse jumps, my breath catches, but I don’t look away. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that, so I don’t say anything at all.
Ethan steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s giving me time to stop him, to push him away, to run.
I don’t.
His fingers brush against my cheek, barely there, a fleeting touch, but it lingers, his warmth sinking into my skin, grounding me in place. There’s no urgency in his expression, no pressure—just patience, certainty, like he would wait as long as it takes.
Then he leans in, pressing his lips to mine.
The kiss is gentle, slow, unhurried, nothing like the last time we were tangled up in each other. There is no desperation here, no frustration—just the quiet weight of something real, something I can’t run from anymore.
Just Ethan, steady as ever, letting me feel this in my own time.
Letting me choose it.
I exhale against his lips, my fingers curling slightly at my sides.
When he pulls back, he doesn’t step away. His thumb grazes my cheek once before he drops his hand, like he’s giving me space, but I don’t think I need it.
