I lean into him, a goofy giddiness galloping through me. I think of my list, but I can’t tell Finn I love him in a busy area of the airport. Can I?
He rests his head against mine and whispers, “I want to be there. I want to watch you skate live.”
“You see me skate live almost every day.”
He sighs, and a twinge of regret pinches through me that I can’t just accept that he wants me in his life. “Yeah, but not in costume,” he says. “And not with the music. And not after I’ve said I love you.”
I shoot upright and stare at him again. He simply smiles at me, and everyone around us seems to fade into blurs and silence. He slides one hand up to my shoulder and then into my hair. He brings me closer and kisses me right there in front of everyone.
He keeps it sweet and tame when I want to go deeper, and he pulls away far too soon. I keep my face close to his as I open my eyes and drown in the dark depths of his. “I love you too,” I whisper.
“Yeah, I know, Kitten.” He tucks me against his side and settles back into the chair again, apparently to wait casually for the flight to board. “Put your headphones back in and go over your routine, okay?”
He holds out one of my earbuds, and I take it from him and slip it in my ear. My routine music still loops, but now all I can hear is Finn saying, “I love you,” over and over and over.
It’s wonderful.
ten
. . .
The Nagoya IceArena hums with energy as I lace up Hope and Glory for the most important performance of my life. My hands shake slightly, but it’s anticipation more than nerves. I know exactly what I want now, and it has nothing to do with proving myself to anyone but me.
The feathered costume feels perfect against my skin, the blue sequins catching the arena lights like ice crystals. I’ve run through my routine mentally a thousand times on the flight, and my ankle feels strong and ready.
“Thirty minutes until warm-up,” the official announces in accented English.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply, letting the familiar scent of cold air and leather fill my lungs. When I open them, I catch a glimpse of the stands through the tunnel entrance. Finn’s out there, waiting to watch me perform. The thought sends warmth spiraling through my chest.
My phone buzzes with a text from him:Break a leg, Kitten. Not literally, because then we won’t be able to skate together. I love you.
I grin and then pull out my small piece of paper one more time. The words I wrote in my own handwriting stare back at me, and I know with absolute certainty that every single item on that list is mine. Not my mother’s, not anyone else’s expectations. Mine.
“Ivy Dane, you’re up for warm-up.”
I tuck my phone into my bag and glide onto the practice ice with the other competitors, my blades carving familiar lines. The international skaters move around me with their own nervous energy, but I feel centered and calm. This is where I belong, not because I have to be here, but because I choose to be.
My warm-up jumps feel clean and controlled. I don’t do my performance jump now, but a double instead of a triple, and my height is amazing, my rotation controlled.
I land strongly, and my ankle and leg hold me, and I don’t think I’ll have any problems during today’s skate.
I’m ready.
Back in the staging area, I stretch and visualize while other skaters take their turns. The scores flash on the monitors, some impressive, some disappointing. I don’t let myself calculate what I’ll need to make the team. I just focus on skating my best.
“Ivy Dane, representing the United States.”
The announcement echoes through the arena as I skate out to center ice. I smile in all directions, then bend to take my starting position. The crowd quiets, and in that moment of silence, Finn yells, “Mee—ow!”
I swear I’m going to kill him, though a tiny smile touches my face. Right after I do the very best routine of my life.
The opening notes of my music fill the arena, sounds I’ve heard countless times in the past year, and I push off into my first element. The spiral sequence flows like water, my free leg extended in a perfect line. I build speed around the perimeter, feeling the ice respond to every subtle shift in my weight.
The first jump approaches. Triple toe loop, the one that sets up everything else. I dig my toe pick and launch, rotating once, twice, three times before landing cleanly on my right foot. The crowd murmurs appreciation, and confidence surges through me.
Footwork sequence next, the intricate steps that showcase precision and artistry. My blades dance across the ice in perfect time with the music, each movement deliberate and controlled. I do a split-jump, and this is the part where I used to imagine flying, and today I feel like I actually am.
My smile is the most genuine I’ve ever felt while performing, and I execute my sit spin with the type of precision that even my mother would have to praise.
