Chapter 28 #2
I unlock my apartment and step inside. Darkness.
Stillness. The familiar ache moves through my chest the second the door clicks shut behind me.
Because this is the part Calder would have loved hearing about, the disastrous sponsor speech, the pairs skater who nearly knocked over an entire champagne tower, the ridiculous glitter mocktail.
I can already hear the low rough laugh he would have made at half the stories from tonight.
My hand reaches automatically toward my phone before I fully think about it.
Instinct.
The movement stops halfway.
The silence afterward feels strangely gentle instead of brutal.
I stand there for a second in the dark apartment holding my heels loosely in one hand while the understanding settles slowly through me.
I still want him first. That part hasn't changed.
Every meaningful thing still creates the same instinctive emotional pull toward Calder, tell him, show him, share this with him.
The habit lives too deep now to disappear quickly.
But the ache no longer feels like bleeding.
More like scar tissue.
Permanent. Sensitive. Part of me.
I set my heels beside the couch and move through the apartment turning on soft lamps instead of overhead lights.
The familiar routines return automatically, wash makeup off, change clothes, fill water bottle for tomorrow's training.
Normal life continuing steadily around grief instead of collapsing beneath it.
I pause while brushing my teeth when my phone lights briefly against the bathroom counter with a notification from one of the skaters tonight. A photo from dinner. I open it automatically. The image shows half the table mid-laughter. Me included. My smile looks real. Relaxed.
The sight hits unexpectedly hard.
Somewhere in the middle of heartbreak and Worlds and rebuilding myself afterward, I stopped looking like somebody barely surviving all the time.
It feels comforting. Sad too. Because Calder would have noticed immediately. He always noticed everything.
I crawl into bed a little after midnight with damp hair and tired muscles while rain starts against the windows outside.
The apartment stays quiet around me. Not lonely exactly.
Just singular. And lying there beneath dim light with my phone resting silent beside me, grief changed shape while I wasn't paying attention.
I still miss Calder, constantly, some nights so hard the absence steals breath from my lungs for a second, but the feeling exists alongside other things too. Laughter. Routine. Work. Future.
The love stayed.
Life did too.
The rink is almost empty by the time I finish my final run-through.
Only one set of overhead lights remains on above centre ice now, casting pale reflections across the surface while the rest of the arena sits dim and quiet around me.
My legs ache. My lungs burn lightly with exhaustion.
Still, I stay on the ice a little longer anyway.
Not because Coach asked me to. Because sometimes skating after everyone leaves feels like listening to my own thoughts without interruption.
I glide slowly toward centre ice and let momentum carry me in a wide lazy circle beneath the lights. The silence feels gentle tonight. Not lonely. Just still.
I won Worlds two weeks ago.
The thought changes shape every time I think about it.
Not impossible anymore.
Real.
And somewhere inside all of it, Calder still exists beneath everything.
I still love him. Probably always will in some shape.
Certain people change the architecture of you too deeply for the feeling to disappear cleanly afterward.
Calder lives inside my routines, my breathing, my skating, my nervous system.
Sometimes I still wake up reaching for him before consciousness catches up.
Sometimes I still hear his voice correcting my posture during programs. Sometimes after difficult practices, the absence of his hand against the back of my neck hurts so suddenly it physically steals air from my lungs.
The grief never fully left.
It just stopped owning every part of me.
I slow near the boards and rest my forearms against the barrier while cold air brushes damp strands of hair back from my face.
The rink smells faintly like sharpened blades and fresh ice.
Comforting. Familiar. I spent weeks after the breakup thinking survival meant eventually hurting less.
Instead it became something stranger than that.
I learned how to hurt and continue anyway.
Because despite everything, I still train. I laugh. I sleep eventually. I keep building a future. Life kept unfolding around the heartbreak instead of ending with it.
I stopped waiting.
Not intentionally. Not dramatically. Somewhere between Worlds preparation and sponsor meetings and quiet nights rebuilding myself alone, I stopped emotionally holding my breath for him to come back before allowing myself to fully live again.
Something inside me aches. Because some part of me still wants him. Still would choose him if things were different. But my future cannot depend on somebody else overcoming their fear enough to stand beside me openly.
I deserve a life that continues either way.
The thought lands with surprising steadiness. Not anger. Not bitterness. Just truth.
I push away from the boards and skate one final slow lap around the rink before heading toward the exit.
My reflection follows faintly across the darkened glass beside the ice.
Tired. Stronger somehow. Still healing. And walking alone through the quiet arena with skate guards clicking against concrete, I understand something that feels both heartbreaking and freeing at the same time.
Loving Calder changed me permanently.
But heartbreak did not take my future with it.