Chapter 22
She Trains Nearby Sometimes
The call comes while I'm halfway through stretching. At first I almost ignore it. Unknown number. Probably federation paperwork, scheduling, somebody asking for another interview. My music still plays softly through one earbud while I balance against the barre in the corner of the studio.
Then I notice the area code. And suddenly my stomach drops hard. I fumble the phone badly enough that I almost drop it entirely before answering.
"Hello?"
My voice sounds wrong. Too tight. Too hopeful. The silence on the other end only lasts about two seconds. Still long enough for my pulse to start pounding everywhere at once. Then:
"Arabella, we'd like to officially welcome you to the Worlds team."
Everything inside me stops. Actually stops. The studio disappears. The music disappears. Even my breathing cuts out for half a second. I just stand there gripping the phone while the words echo uselessly around inside my head.
Worlds.
My knees go weak so suddenly I have to grab the barre harder to steady myself.
The woman on the phone keeps talking. Travel schedules.
Media prep. Training expectations. I barely hear any of it.
Because suddenly I'm twelve years old again.
Fourteen. Seventeen. Every freezing morning walking into empty rinks before sunrise.
Every blister. Every fall hard enough to leave bruises blooming down my legs.
Every competition where I smiled afterward no matter what the scores looked like.
Every brutal lonely year collapsing inward into one impossible moment.
I made it.
"Oh my God," I whisper before I can stop myself. The woman on the phone laughs softly. Warm. Knowing.
"We're very excited to have you representing the team."
Team.
The word nearly destroys me. I thank her somehow. Answer questions automatically. Write down information with shaking hands that barely function properly. Then eventually the call ends. And the second it does, I just stand there alone in the empty studio staring at the floor.
My chest feels too tight. My vision burns suddenly.
I laugh once accidentally. Half hysterical.
Half breathless. Then I start crying. Not gracefully either.
Actual overwhelmed tears sliding down my face while I press both hands over my mouth trying unsuccessfully to hold myself together. Because this mattered.
God, this mattered.
I spent so many years pretending I didn't care this much.
Protecting myself from wanting it too openly in case it never happened.
In case I worked this hard and still fell short anyway.
And now suddenly I have it. The emotional weight of that almost knocks me flat.
My hands shake while I wipe roughly at my face.
And instinctively, without thinking, I reach for my phone again.
Not my coach. Not my mother. Not the federation group chat already exploding with notifications across my screen.
Calder.
Like he's home.
Like he's safety.
Like joy doesn't fully settle inside me until he sees it too.
I call him three times before remembering he said he had a team dinner tonight. Casual and lowkey, he'd called it earlier while distractedly dragging a hoodie over his head after practice. Something with sponsors and management and a few teammates.
I stare at his contact on my screen while adrenaline still ricochets wildly through my chest. Then I start laughing softly at myself again because suddenly waiting feels impossible. Texting feels impossible too. This is too big. I need to see his face. Not dramatic. Just true.
I grab my keys before I can overthink it.
The entire drive across the city feels surreal. I keep smiling involuntarily at red lights like an actual idiot. Every few seconds the words replay inside my head again. Worlds team. Worlds. And every single time something tightens through my chest all over again.
I turn the music up too loud. Turn it down almost immediately because I can't focus long enough to actually hear any of it properly. My fingers tap constantly against the steering wheel while excitement buzzes so hard beneath my skin it almost hurts.
I rehearse telling him three separate times during the drive. I made the team. I'm going to Worlds. You were right.
That last one nearly makes me emotional all over again.
Because Calder believed I could do this long before I fully let myself believe it again.
The memories surface one after another, sharp and warm.
Him retaping my wrist carefully after bad practices.
Dragging me out of spirals before competitions.
Showing up over and over again every time I tried pushing him away emotionally because I was scared of needing somebody that much.
Support so steady I eventually stopped noticing how much of my life leaned against it until right now.
I pull into the restaurant parking lot warm and hopeful and terrifyingly certain.
I catch my reflection briefly in the rearview mirror before climbing out of the car.
Flushed cheeks. Bright eyes. Still visibly emotional.
Happy in a way that feels almost too big for one body to contain properly.
And smiling helplessly to myself while I head toward the restaurant entrance, I know with quiet certainty that I didn't come here just because I wanted to tell Calder first. I came because somewhere along the way, he stopped being somebody I share my life with.
He became the person I instinctively want standing inside my biggest moments.
The first warning sign is the valet stand.
I slow slightly near the entrance. Because this does not look casual. Warm gold lighting spills across polished glass windows. People in tailored suits move through the lobby holding champagne. A team logo glows softly across one wall near the entrance beside sponsor branding.
My stomach dips lightly. Not panic. Just confusion. Maybe I misunderstood what Calder meant by lowkey. I smooth my hands once against my jeans before stepping inside anyway.
The hostess smiles politely. "Team event?"
"Oh. Um. Yes."
The words feel strange coming out of my mouth suddenly. Like I'm not fully sure I belong attached to them. She gestures toward a private dining section near the back of the restaurant. And with every step, the discomfort grows heavier.
Tables stretch across the room filled with players, management, sponsors, coaches, and people dressed too expensively for anything I would ever describe as casual. Laughter rises softly beneath clinking glasses and low music. Waitstaff move constantly between tables.
My pulse starts climbing quietly. Because suddenly I realize this isn't a relaxed team dinner. This is important. Public. Connected in the exact way Calder has been trying to protect us from ever becoming.
And standing near the centre of it all is Calder. Even across the room my body recognizes him. Dark suit. Broad shoulders. Tie loosened slightly beneath the collar like formalwear irritates him on principle. One hand curled around a drink while somebody in management talks beside him.
He looks composed. Controlled. Perfectly comfortable inside this world. Then his eyes lift. Find me. And everything about him changes.
My breath catches. Not from attraction this time. From the look on his face when he sees me. Blindsided. The reaction flashes across him so quickly most people probably wouldn't notice it.
I do.
Because I know Calder now. I know exactly what he looks like when instinct collides headfirst with fear.
For one brief second, instinct wins. His body shifts toward me automatically.
Eyes locking onto mine. Something warm and relieved surfacing across his face like seeing me settled something in him before he even had time to think about it.
Then the rest of the room registers. And panic crashes over everything else. Calder straightens almost too quickly. Awareness floods visibly through him. People nearby. Teammates watching. Sponsors. Management. Me standing in the middle of all of it unexpectedly.
The excitement carrying me through the entire drive falters for the first time. Still, I smile. Because maybe I'm overthinking this already.
Calder reaches me quickly, close enough that I can feel tension radiating off him. Not rejection. Panic. That distinction matters enough to hurt.
"Hey," I say softly. The happiness still spills uncontrollably through me anyway. "I tried calling but I forgot you said you were here and I just..."
My words stumble awkwardly to a stop. Because Calder still hasn't touched me.
Not even slightly. No instinctive hand at my waist. No automatic closeness.
Nothing. The absence lands quietly beneath my ribs.
Calder glances briefly over his shoulder toward the tables behind him before looking back at me again.
"You came here?" he asks.
He sounds stressed. Not happy. Not excited. Stressed.
"I wanted to tell you in person," I say carefully. Something warm dims inside me another small degree.
Calder exhales sharply through his nose, attention flicking automatically around the room again. Monitoring. Calculating. Fear moving visibly beneath his skin now that I'm close enough to really see it. A couple walks past us toward another table.
One of Calder's teammates with his girlfriend.
Another with his wife leaning comfortably against his side while they laugh about something.
People belonging here openly. Nobody here knows who I am. Not really.
A man in a suit near one of the sponsor tables glances toward me politely.
"Calder," he says. "You going to introduce us?"