Love on the Edge

9. Chapter Nine

What do I do next?

I have never felt this way before. Not like this. Not with someone like him.

I like Ethan. More than I should, more than I know how to handle, if I’m being honest with myself.

It has always been me. Just me. I push myself. I fall. I get back up. I don’t ask for help. I don’t need anyone.

But Ethan isn’t just anyone. And for the first time, I am starting to wonder what it would be like to let someone stay.

He watches me, silent and steady, not pushing, not demanding—just waiting.

I know he sees it. The fight in my head, the way I’m trying to make sense of this, of him, of what we are.

We’ve been honest with each other from the start. Brutally, painfully honest. Maybe that’s why this feels different. Maybe that’s why I should stop fighting it.

Better yet—maybe I should give myself a chance to be happy. I haven’t had anything outside of the ice, I wouldn’t even be friends with Nina if I didn’t see her here.

I exhale, pulse kicking up, because I already know what I want to say. And that terrifies me. I wet my lips, my throat tight, forcing myself to look at him. Say it. Say it before you talk yourself out of it.

"I want to try this."

Ethan’s brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t look shocked. He looks like he was waiting for me to say it.

“With me?” His voice is steady, but there’s a quiet kind of hope underneath.

I swallow hard. Saying it makes it real. "Yeah."

A long beat of silence follows my reluctant confession. My chest tightens and my hands curl into my lap, pressing against my thighs like I need something to hold onto.

Then, slowly, Ethan nods. "Okay."

That’s it. No questions. No hesitation. He’s choosing this, too.

I exhale, the tension in my chest loosening just a little, but something else settles there, something heavier, something real.

I don’t know what comes next. I don’t have all the answers.

But I want to figure it out.

Nationals are two weeks away. My program should feel perfect by now. Every jump should be second nature, every movement locked into my body like instinct. But something is wrong.

Technically, I have everything. I’m landing all my jumps, my spins don’t travel, my footwork is sharp. But when I watch it back, it still feels… empty.

I’ve been seeing a dietitian to get the results I want the right way. I haven’t told anyone. Not even Ethan.

It’s not a secret. But I’m keeping it like one. I don’t know why.

Maybe because if I say it out loud, he’ll look at me like I’m fragile. Like I need saving. That's probably the worst thing he could do.

The rink is empty except for me. It has been for hours.

"What are you still doing here, Valeria? You've been here since this morning." I turn at the sound of Nikolai’s voice. He stands by the boards, arms crossed, watching me like he already knows the answer.

“I just want to try something with my program, if that's okay.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just exhales through his nose and gestures toward the ice. A silent go-ahead.

He’s going to watch and tell me if this sucks.

I step back onto the ice, find my starting position and press my fingers into my sides.

The music starts, and I begin like I always do—controlled, precise, every step exactly where it should be. But this time, I let myself move.

My hands extend, fingers tracing shapes in the air, my body shifting in time with the melody. Not just steps and transitions. There’s real emotion behind it.

I arch through my opening sequence, letting my head tip back, letting the music pull something out of me instead of just calculating the rhythm.

Stepping into my first turn, I soften my arms instead of holding them rigid. My fingertips brush over my collarbone before reaching upward, the movement smooth, like I am reaching for something just out of my grasp.

More breath. More space. Less force.

I step into my next jump, but instead of focusing only on height, I extend my free leg just a fraction longer, let my arms sweep out wider as I land. It’s a small detail, something I would have dismissed before. But now, it feels right.

I move through the next section, not just skating but performing.

Not just counting beats. Not just preparing for the next jump. For once, I just let myself be in it.

The music fades, and I hold my final position longer than usual, letting the moment settle into my muscles before I straighten.

I exhale, pulse still steady from the routine, but my chest feels different—lighter.

For the first time in a long time, I felt it.

I turn toward Nikolai, bracing for his usual critique. A correction, a dismissal, another thing to fix.

But he’s just standing there. Arms crossed, eyes locked on me like he is assessing something he has never seen before.

Silence. Then he nods once, it’s small, but enough. "That," he says, voice even, measured in a way that makes my stomach tighten, "was incredible."

The words hit harder than any criticism ever has.

He steps closer, his gaze sharper now, assessing, weighing. “You have always been precise, always been powerful. But that? That was something else entirely.” His expression shifts, something rare flashing in his eyes. “That was artistry.”

I’ve spent years chasing his approval, perfecting every edge, every takeoff, every landing, but this is the first time he has looked at me like I did something more.

Something beyond technique.

Something beyond control.

Something real.

His voice lowers, quieter, but still firm. "Do you feel it now?"

I swallow, gripping the boards. "Yes."

He nods again, his mouth lifting in something that almost looks like satisfaction. "Good. Then do it again."

My body is still buzzing when I step off the ice, my muscles alive with something deeper than exhaustion. Not just from the movement, not just from the routine, but from the shift.

I untie my skates slowly, my fingers moving on autopilot, my mind still tangled in Nikolai’s words.

That was artistry.

I roll my shoulders, stretch out my legs, but the tightness in my chest doesn’t fade. It lingers, curling around my ribs, settling somewhere deep.

I should be thinking about my jumps, about my timing, about Nationals. I should be picking apart what went right, what I need to adjust, how to make it sharper.

But instead, all I can think about is how it felt. How it felt to just… let go.

I exhale, shaking out my limbs, forcing myself back into routine. Back into control.

Lacing up my sneakers, I tug on my sweatshirt, the fabric warm against my still-heated skin. The air inside the rink is heavy, thick with the energy I left on the ice.

The cold air outside hits fast, cutting through the leftover warmth still clinging to my skin, sending a sharp, electric jolt through my body. It feels almost like a reset, a shock to the system.

I barely register it before I hear his voice.

“Thought you’d be here.” Ethan is leaning against the wall near the entrance, hands in his pockets, watching me like he has been waiting.

I open my mouth, but no words come. I don’t know what I would even say. Before I can try, before I can ask why he’s here, he nods toward the lot.

“Someone wants to see you.” A second later, a familiar blur of energy appears, bundled up in a puffy jacket that makes her look half her size.

“Val!” Her voice is pure excitement, breathless and bright, cutting through the cold air like she couldn’t possibly hold it in for another second.

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 to skate like 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.

He exhales, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Drew’s throwing a party at his place.”

I blink, still catching up, still feeling the warmth of his mouth against mine. “Drew?”

He nods. “Yeah. He’s planning to propose to Nina and wants to have the engagement party right after.” His voice is light, but the way he watches me is anything but. “Would you come with me?”

It’s a simple question, one I should be able to answer without hesitation, but something about it makes my stomach flip.

Going with him means something. This isn’t casual. It’s not just a question about a party.

It’s an invitation into his world.

I hesitate, just for a second, long enough to feel the weight of the choice settle into my bones.

A small smile tugs at my lips, barely there. “Yeah. I’ll go.”

Before Ethan can respond, CC gasps so loudly it startles me, her entire body vibrating with excitement. “Wait! Does this mean you’re a couple now?”

I freeze. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

CC turns to Ethan, her eyes wide, bouncing on her toes like she can barely contain herself. “Are you and Val a couple?”

Ethan glances down at her, his smirk softening, something thoughtful flickering across his face. “Would you be okay with that?”

CC gasps again, even more dramatically this time, throwing her hands over her mouth like she just heard the most important news of her life. “Yes! That’s the best news ever!”

Ethan chuckles, shaking his head as he looks back at me. His expression shifts, the teasing edge fading, something quieter, steadier settling in its place. His voice drops slightly, just enough that it feels like this moment belongs to us.

“What do you say, Val?” There’s no pressure in his tone, no expectation, just the same quiet patience he has given me since the beginning. “Care to make this official?”

My breath catches. The old instinct kicks in—the one that tells me to deflect, to push this away before it becomes too much, before I let myself need something I don’t know how to hold onto.

I hesitate, not because I don’t want this.

Because I do. And that terrifies me.

I spent my entire life believing I didn’t need anyone. That control was what mattered, that discipline would protect me from everything else.

Ethan breaks that apart just by standing here.

He didn’t push when I shoved him against a locker and used him to forget. He didn’t push when I tried to act like it meant nothing. He didn’t even push when he saw me unraveling, when he called me out on what I was doing to myself.

He just stayed.

I think about the moments that led me here—not just the big ones, not just the arguments or the desperate touches, but the quiet ones. The way he looks at me like I’m something worth seeing. The way he listens, even when I’m not saying anything. The way he never asks me to be anything other than what I am.

I think about how easy it would be to say no. To walk away before this turns into something I can’t undo. But I don’t want to.

I meet his gaze, my heart pounding, my fingers flexing at my sides before I step forward, closing the space between us. “Yeah.”

The word settles between us, heavier than it should be, lighter than I expected.

I nod once, something solid and certain rooting in my chest. “Let’s make it official.”

CC lets out an ear-splitting cheer, jumping up and down, her excitement so pure, so overwhelming, that I can’t help but laugh. Ethan just looks at me, his smile slow and certain, not cocky, not triumphant.

Just happy.