20. Delaney
20
Delaney
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, my fingers trembling as I adjust the sequins on my costume. The dressing room bustles with nervous energy, but I feel oddly detached, like I'm watching myself from outside my body.
"You've got this, Del," I whisper, trying to summon the fierce determination that usually courses through my veins. But after a week of grueling competition and emotional turmoil, I feel wrung out, my usual fire reduced to embers.
The door bursts open, and Rafe swaggers in, his cocky grin setting my teeth on edge. "Ready to choke again, Quinn?" he sneers.
I clench my jaw, willing myself not to rise to his bait. "Shouldn't you be warming up, Rafe? Or are you too busy coming up with new ways to be an asshole?"
He laughs, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves. "Just wanted to wish you luck. You'll need it."
As he saunters out, I fight the urge to throw my skate at his retreating back. Instead, I close my eyes, taking deep breaths to center myself. I can't let him get in my head. Not now, not ever.
But doubt creeps in, insidious and persistent. What if he's right? What if I do choke? The pressure feels overwhelming, a weight crushing my chest.
"No," I mutter, shaking my head. "I've come too far to let that jerk derail me. Again."
I open my eyes, meeting my own gaze in the mirror. The green of my irises seems more intense than usual, flecked with determination. I might be exhausted, I might be doubting myself, but I'm not giving up. Not when I can almost taste my dreams.
I glance at my phone for the hundredth time, hoping to see a message from Breck. Nothing. My heart sinks a little lower, the ache of disappointment mingling with the nervous energy buzzing through my veins.
"He's probably just focused on his game," I mutter to myself, tucking the phone away. But the justification feels hollow, even to my own ears.
Despite the steady stream of texts and late-night video calls, the distance between us feels more palpable today. Breck had one game during the competition—today—and though I knew he had practice and class throughout the week, some small, irrational part of me had hoped he’d find a way to be here, to see me perform.
"Earth to Del!" Lachlan's voice cuts through my brooding. He's standing in front of me, auburn hair slightly mussed, a teasing glint in his eyes. "You planning on joining us on the ice, or are you too busy daydreaming about your hockey hunk?"
I feel my cheeks flush. "I wasn't—"
"Sure, sure," he interrupts with a grin. "And my fiancée—the most beautiful coach in figure skating history—isn’t engaged to the best pairs skater in the history of ice sports."
Despite myself, I crack a smile. "Your fiancée might have something to say about that inflated ego of yours."
Lachlan clutches his chest in mock offense. "You wound me, Quinn! Speaking of inflated egos, did you see Rafe earlier? I swear his head's so big I'm surprised he can still fit through doorways."
I roll my eyes, but can't quite suppress a snort. "God, he's been insufferable all week."
"Yeah, well, his attitude's about as charming as his triple Salchow. Which is to say, not at all." Lachlan waggles his eyebrows. "Want me to accidentally trip him during warm-ups?"
"Lach!" I exclaim, torn between amusement and exasperation. "We can't—"
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he says, holding up his hands in surrender. "Mostly."
I force a laugh, grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. But as we make our way towards the rink, I can't quite shake the lingering frustration. Rafe's attitude, Breck's absence, the weight of expectations —it all swirls together in a dizzying cocktail of anxiety.
"You've got this, Del," Lachlan says softly, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We've got this."
I nod, taking a deep breath. One step at a time. That's all I can do now.
The sharp click of skate guards on rubber cuts through my racing thoughts as Natalie approaches, her keen eyes scanning us both. She's a vision of calm determination in her sleek black tracksuit, a stark contrast to the butterflies doing backflips in my stomach.
"Del, Lach," she says, her voice low and steady. "You're ready. You've done everything you need to do to get here."
I nod, trying to absorb her confidence. My fingers fidget with the sequins on my costume, a nervous habit I've never quite kicked.
"Now," Natalie continues, her gaze locking onto mine, "all that matters is what you bring to the ice. Remember your program, your emotion—don't let anyone, especially Rafe, mess with your head."
At the mention of Rafe's name, I feel a flicker of irritation.
"Hey." Natalie's firm tone snaps me back to attention. "Rafe's not on that ice with you. It's just you and Lachlan out there. Focus on that."
I take a deep breath, the faint scent of ice and anticipation filling my lungs. "Right. Just us."
As Natalie gives Lachlan some last-minute pointers, I close my eyes, trying to find that quiet place inside myself. The place where doubt can't reach, where the crowd fades away, and there's nothing but the cold kiss of the ice beneath my blades.
I've worked so hard to get here. Countless early mornings, bruised knees, and sacrificed social lives. The ache in my muscles is a familiar friend, a reminder of every hour spent perfecting each element.
"Two minutes," a coordinator calls out.
My eyes snap open, heart pounding. This is it. No more time for doubt or distractions. I run through the program in my mind one last time, visualizing each jump, each spin, each transition.
"Ready?" Lachlan asks, offering his hand.
I take it, squeezing tightly. "Ready."
As we step towards the rink entrance, I push everything else away. The disappointment of Breck's absence, the frustration with Rafe, even the burning desire for Olympic glory – it all fades into the background.
Right now, there's only the ice, the music, and us.
I adjust my costume, smoothing down the shimmering fabric that hugs my curves. The sequins catch the light, tiny stars against the deep blue that reminds me of twilight on a frozen lake. My fingers tremble slightly as I tuck a stray wisp of blonde hair back into my intricate updo.
"Deep breaths, Del," I mutter to myself, closing my eyes. The familiar pre-performance jitters cascade through me, but I force them down, channeling that energy into focus. I can do this. I will do this.
In my mind, I see the routine unfold. The opening pose, the first lift, the triple twist—
"Del! Look!" Lachlan's excited voice breaks through my concentration.
My eyes fly open, following his pointing finger towards the stands. For a moment, I can't process what I'm seeing. A row of shirtless men, their chests painted in bold, colorful letters that spell out my name. "DELANEY."
A burst of laughter escapes me, part disbelief, part overwhelming emotion. "Oh my god," I breathe, feeling the tension that's been coiled inside me start to melt away. They’re too far away to make out their faces, but I know.
Lachlan grins, his freckled face alight with mischief. "Now that's what I call support. Think they'll do that for me next time?"
I playfully elbow him, unable to tear my eyes away from the ridiculous, wonderful sight. "In your dreams, Lach."
As we step onto the ice, I feel lighter somehow. The pressure's still there, but it's different now. It feels more like excitement than dread. I take my starting position, meeting Lachlan's steady gaze.
"Ready to show them what we've got?" he asks, his auburn hair catching the arena lights.
I nod, a smile tugging at my lips. "Let's give them a show they won't forget."
As the music begins, I let the melody wash over me, my body moving with practiced precision. Each element flows seamlessly into the next, and for once, my mind isn't racing ahead, cataloging every potential mistake. I'm just... here. Present. Alive.
Midway through our routine, during a brief moment when Lachlan and I separate, my eyes flicker to the stands. That's when I see him. Breck. Front and center, his chest painted with a bright red 'A'. His warm brown eyes lock with mine, and suddenly, everything clicks into place.
He came. He's here. For me.
This isn’t just a crush, or a phase, or whatever other excuse I could use to deny it. This is me, falling—fast, hard, and hoping like hell he’ll catch me.
The realization hits me like blow to the chest, but instead of throwing me off balance, it propels me forward. My next jump is higher, my spin tighter. I can feel the energy radiating off the ice, off the crowd, off Lachlan.
"You're on fire, Del," Lachlan whispers as he lifts me for our final combination spin.
I grin down at him, exhilarated. "We both are."
As we strike our final pose, the arena erupts. The roar of the crowd washes over me, and I can barely catch my breath. Lachlan pulls me into a crushing hug, both of us trembling with adrenaline and joy.
"Holy shit," I laugh into his shoulder. "Did we just do that?"
"We absolutely did," he confirms, his voice thick with emotion.
As we make our way off the ice, my eyes search for Breck again. He's on his feet, cheering wildly, that crooked grin of his visible even from here. My heart does a little flutter that has nothing to do with exertion.
I can't believe he’s here.
My heart's still racing as I step out of the kiss and cry area, the crowd's cheers fading to a distant hum. Because he’s here, waiting for me. Breck's smile is wider than I've ever seen it, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of pride and something else I can't quite name.
"You were incredible, Del. I knew you'd kill it," he says, his voice warm and sincere.
I feel a rush of affection so strong it nearly knocks me off my feet. "You... you really came for me," I manage to say, still a little breathless from the performance. "I can't believe you made it."
My mind is reeling. How did he pull this off? Didn't he have a game today? I want to ask him a million questions, but my tongue feels tied in knots.
Breck doesn't hesitate. He pulls me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me, warm and comforting. I melt into his embrace, feeling the solid strength of his chest against mine. The scent of his cedarwood cologne mixed with a hint of that lemon candy he’s always sucking envelops me, and I find myself breathing it in deeply.
"I convinced coach to make a pit stop on the way home," he murmurs, his face buried in my neck. I feel a gentle nip against my skin, followed by a soft kiss that sends shivers down my spine. "Nothing was going to keep me from seeing you perform. I'm always going to show up for you."
His words hit me like a warm wave, washing away all the doubts and fears I've been harboring. I pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. "Breck, I—" I start, but the words catch in my throat. How do I tell him what this means to me? How do I explain that his presence here has changed everything?