Love on the Edge

12. Chapter Twelve

I call Valeria again. It goes straight to voicemail. She blocked me. I can’t blame her. My life is a mess—a ridiculous, spiraling mess, and it’s only getting worse.

Margo’s return wrecked everything. I rejected her. Told her to sign the papers, told her we had nothing left to talk about, that if she needed to communicate, she could go through Ryan. She didn’t take it well.

Now she wants time with CC, and maybe she should get it—but only if CC wants to. For now, my parents are supervising their visits. It seemed like the best option until I heard CC start crying.

I shift on the couch, turning toward her, concern tightening in my chest. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

She sniffs, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her pajama top. “I don’t wanna see Mommy.”

The words stop me cold.

I expected hesitation. Maybe some fear. But not this.

I keep my voice gentle, careful. “Why not, honey?”

Her small hands twist in her lap, fingers tangling together, like she’s trying to hold something in. For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, “She doesn’t like me.”

A slow, sinking dread spreads through my chest, wrapping tight around my ribs. I grip the couch, trying to process what she just said, trying to figure out how to fix something I don’t even understand yet.

I tuck a curl behind her ear, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Sweetheart, what do you mean?”

CC sniffs again, looking down as she picks at a loose thread in her pants. “She’s only nice when people are watching. When it’s just us… she doesn’t care.”

My stomach twists. I clear my throat, swallowing back the anger already simmering beneath my skin. “Baby, tell me what happened.”

She hesitates, shifting in place, her little shoulders curling inward. “She forgets things, Daddy.”

I exhale slowly. “What kind of things?”

She shrugs, but it’s not careless—it’s defeated. “She forgot my birthday.”

A sharp, cold weight settles in my stomach.

“She didn’t even know how old I was,” CC murmurs, voice small, like she’s embarrassed to even say it out loud. “Grandma told her. And then she said happy birthday. But she didn’t mean it.”

I don’t say anything because I don’t trust myself to speak.

“She forgets my favorite color, too,” CC adds after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s pink, Daddy. It’s always been pink.”

She shouldn’t have to explain that. She shouldn’t have to remind her own mother.

But then she exhales sharply, like she’s been holding something in, like the words have been sitting on her tongue for too long. “She says I talk too much.” I still. “She says I ask too many questions. That I whine. That I should stop being so loud.”

A deep, burning rage coils inside me, tightening with every word.

“She says I act like a baby,” CC continues, her voice wobbling. “I try to be good. I try really hard. But she still gets mad.”

I inhale carefully, keeping my voice soft, even as my hands clench into fists. “How does she get mad, baby?”

“She sighs a lot. Like I’m annoying. And she rolls her eyes. And…” CC’s voice drops to a whisper. “She yells sometimes.”

I fight every instinct to react, to let the fury clawing up my throat break free, to stand up and destroy whatever control Margo still thinks she has. Instead, I force my voice to stay even. “Did she ever… hurt you?”

CC shakes her head quickly. “No. Not like that.”

Relief should come. It doesn’t.

“She just… stops listening,” CC whispers. “She looks at her phone. She walks away. Sometimes she acts like I’m not even there.”

I can’t breathe. I should’ve known. I should have seen it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitates, and when she finally speaks, her words are so soft, so fragile, I almost don’t hear them. “Because I thought you were happy.”

The breath leaves my lungs.

She thought I was happy with Margo. Until the day she walked out and didn’t look back. That if she told me—if she admitted how she felt—she would ruin that for me.

My arms tighten around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, my voice low but firm. “Listen to me.”

She sniffles, curling closer into my chest.

“You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to. Okay?”

She doesn’t answer at first. Then, barely above a whisper, “But she’s my mom.”

The ache in her voice is unbearable.

I close my eyes, swallowing hard. “I know, baby. But a mom is supposed to make you feel safe. A mom is supposed to love you, take care of you. If she’s not doing that, then you don’t have to see her just because she’s your mom.”

CC doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, finally, she exhales, her small shoulders sagging as the tension drains from her tiny frame. “I wanna go to bed, Daddy.”

I kiss her hair. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you tucked in.”

I walk her to her room, pulling the covers up around her, smoothing a hand over her back. But as I step out of her room and close the door, a slow, burning anger spreads through my chest.

Margo doesn’t get to do this to her.

She doesn’t get to waltz back in, pick CC up like a trophy she abandoned, and expect her to shine.

She doesn’t get to keep doing this. She sure as hell doesn’t get to win.

I take out my phone to call my parents, but the doorbell rings. I sigh, running a hand over my face, hoping to God it isn’t Margo.

My next sigh is one of relief as I see Nina, Drew, Ryan, and my parents. It takes a second, but there’s two additional people behind them; Ana Lucia and Emilio Blaze.

Wordlessly, I step aside, letting them in, and shut the door behind us.

Emilio clears his throat, his expression tense as he holds up his phone. “We’re not here for a good reason.”

My stomach sinks.

On the screen—Margo. Sitting in my parents’ house, staring into the camera.

CC inhales sharply beside me, her little voice barely a whisper. “Oh no…”

I press play.

She inhales shakily, then lets out a slow, measured breath, staring directly into the camera.

"I wasn’t going to do this." Her voice wavers, but there’s steel beneath the vulnerability. "But I can’t sit back and let people keep worshiping someone who doesn’t deserve it. Someone who destroyed my family."

A pause. A perfect, calculated pause.

"A few months ago, I was on tour." She exhales sharply. "A tour Ethan knew about, supported, and encouraged. It wasn’t a surprise. It wasn’t me abandoning my family. It was my career—the same way skating is for Valeria Blaze."

She leans forward, voice thick with resentment. "I was eighteen when I got pregnant. Fresh out of high school. I gave up everything for my family. I stayed. I put my dreams on hold. And how did Ethan repay me?"

Her voice hardens, ice creeping into every word. "By replacing me the second I left."

She wipes at her eyes, shaking her head. "And now? The world worships her. The golden girl of figure skating. But let’s be real—do you really think she got here on skill alone?"

She lets the question hang.

"How many women lose their opportunities the second they get pregnant? But Valeria? She didn’t have to choose. She just took what wasn’t hers."

Her gaze sharpens.

"Sponsors. Fans. Companies backing Valeria Blaze—you’re standing behind a homewrecker. A woman who slept her way to the top."

The video cuts to black.

I tighten my grip on Emilio’s phone, my pulse hammering as I scan the headlines and comments.

Valeria Blaze: The Ice Queen Who Slept Her Way to the Top?

Major Sponsors Pull Support Following Margo Valentine’s Explosive Video

“She doesn’t deserve to compete.”

“Knew she was too perfect. Fake bitch.”

“Drop her from competing for Team USA. She’s a disgrace.”

The phone pings again with a statement from Valeria.

I have dedicated my entire life to this sport. Every success I’ve had is because of discipline, sacrifice, and relentless hard work. The accusations being made about me are false, and I refuse to let them overshadow what truly matters—my performance on the ice.

My personal life has never been, and will never be, a factor in my career. I will not engage in baseless rumors or let them distract me from my goals.

I will be at Nationals. I will be ready. My focus remains on my training, my performance, and my future.

—Valeria Blaze

I grip the phone so hard his knuckles turn white.

Ryan sighs, rubbing his temple. “I’m sorry, man… but Margo just filed for full custody.”

“What?”

CC screams. “No! Daddy, no! Don’t let her take me!”

I pull her into his arms. “Never, sweetie. But I think you need to tell Uncle Ryan what you told me about your mom.”

She looks at me, clearly terrified, but I just nod. I will protect her at all costs.

Silence crashes down over the room, thick and suffocating, wrapping around each of us like a vice. The only sound is CC’s shaky breaths, her little fingers clutching my shirt like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded.

Nina is the first to move, dropping into a crouch so she’s eye level with CC. Her voice is gentle, but her eyes burn with fury. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to be scared. No one—no one—is ever going to let her take you.” She brushes a stray curl from CC’s damp cheek, her hand trembling slightly.

Drew exhales hard, running a hand through his hair, looking like he’s barely keeping his temper in check. “What the hell is wrong with her?” His voice is sharp, his usual easygoing nature completely gone. “She walks away for months, and now she thinks she deserves custody?” He shakes his head, his jaw locked. “Not happening.”

Ryan doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just crosses his arms, his expression unreadable. But when he speaks, his voice is low and sure. “She won’t win.” His gaze flicks to CC, softening for only a second. “A judge won’t grant her full custody.”

CC sniffs hard, trying to stay brave, but her grip on me tightens. “I don’t wanna go with her,” she whispers. “Please don’t make me.”

Mom reaches out, stroking CC’s hair, her touch as light as her voice. “Baby, no one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.” Her words are calm, but there’s a quiet storm behind them, her free hand gripping Dad’s so tight her knuckles are white.

My father finally speaks, his voice carrying the kind of weight that makes everyone in the room listen. “She left,” he says simply, his words deliberate, unwavering. “A parent doesn’t do that. A real parent doesn’t come back just to take something that was never theirs to begin with.” His jaw tightens, and when he speaks again, his voice is final. “She is never getting her back.”

A sharp gasp cuts through the silence.

I swallow hard and press a kiss to the top of CC’s head, my voice steady even though my pulse is hammering in my chest. “Never, sweetie. I will never let her take you.”

CC trembles against me, but she nods, just barely, like she believes me.

And I swear, I will do whatever it takes to make damn sure I don’t break that promise.