30. Delaney
30
Delaney
The ice beneath my blades is unforgiving, just like my thoughts. I push off, building speed, my movements a blur of precision and barely contained fury. The familiar burn in my muscles is a welcome distraction from the endless ache in my chest.
One, two, three rotations. I land the triple axel with a satisfying crack of my blade against the ice. Not good enough. I need more. I need to be better.
Lachlan's eyes follow me as I glide alongside him, concern etched on his freckled face. I pretend not to notice, focusing instead on the next jump combination.
I focus on the routine, the music, the bite of the cold air in my lungs, anything, anything to drown out thoughts of him .
His stupid, perfect smile. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The gentle brush of his fingers against my cheek...
No. I shake my head, anger fueling my movements as I launch into a toe loop. The landing is hard, jarring, but I welcome the pain. It's better than feeling nothing at all.
"Jesus, Laney," Lachlan calls out, his voice tinged with worry. "Maybe take it down a notch?"
I ignore him, pushing myself harder. My lungs burn, my legs scream in protest, but I can't stop. If I stop, I'll have to think. And thinking leads to remembering. Remembering leads to—
"Delaney." Natalie's firm voice cuts through my spiral. She beckons me over, her expression a mix of concern and something else. Disappointment? Great. Another person I've let down.
I skate to the edge of the rink, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "What?"
Natalie's eyes narrow as she takes in my flushed face and trembling limbs. "I think you know what. Your training has been... intense lately. Unusually aggressive."
I force a smile, but it feels more like a grimace. "Just trying to stay on top of my game. Isn't that what you're always preaching?"
"There's pushing yourself, and then there's this," Natalie gestures at me. "You're going to burn out or injure yourself at this rate. And then where will you be?"
Where will I be? Probably exactly where I am now—alone, heartbroken, and desperately trying to prove that I'm just fine without Breck by my side.
But I can't say that. Instead, I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. "I'm fine, Natalie. Really. Just... extra motivated lately."
She doesn't look convinced, but before she can press further, I push off from the barrier. "I promise I'll be careful. Now, can I get back to our routine?"
Natalie's eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think she's going to push back. But then she sighs, her shoulders dropping slightly. "You're not going to win anything if you're too broken to compete."
The words hit me like a slap across the face. I want to yell after her, to defend myself, but my throat closes up. Because deep down, I know she's right. I'm pushing myself to the brink, and for what? To prove I can survive without Breck? To show the world I'm unbreakable?
But I am broken. So fucking broken.
I stand there, chest heaving, as the silence of the empty rink engulfs me. The weight of everything—the breakup, the pressure, the loneliness—crashes down on me all at once. My legs tremble, threatening to give out beneath me.
I clench my fists, feeling my nails dig into my palms. The pain is grounding, helping me fight back the tears that are threatening to spill over. I won't cry. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
I’m done crying over men who weren’t worthy.
But for just a moment, I allow myself to feel it all—the sadness, the anger, the fear. It washes over me in waves, threatening to pull me under. I close my eyes, inhaling the crisp, familiar scent of the ice rink. It smells like home, like dreams, like everything I've ever wanted.
And everything I might lose if I can't get my shit together.
As I glide away, I catch a glimpse of Lachlan's worried face. For a moment, I consider confiding in him, letting some of this weight off my chest. But the thought of admitting how much Breck's absence has affected me is too much to bear.
So I do what I do best—I skate. Because out here on the ice, with the wind in my hair and my heart pounding in my chest, I can almost forget the hole Breck left behind. Almost.
I change quickly once practice is over, avoiding eye contact. The walk back home is a blur, my feet carrying me on autopilot while my mind races.
Once inside, I lean against the closed door, finally alone. The silence is deafening.