Chapter 7
My new routine has been pretty much the same for the rest of the week. I haven”t told anyone what happened to ZBE, and I”ve avoided Kelly too. That night has shaken me to the core. Seeing Rock so upset and the rage while punching Drew was something I hadn”t seen coming. Even though I haven”t picked up his calls, Rock keeps calling every day. The more I try to push him out of my head, the more my heart tightens, gripping onto his memory and the way I”ve felt in his arms. I”m not scared of Rock, but I was just the next on his list and he wants to make sure I won”t report him. I don”t have to. It”s none of my business even though it was me who created the mess.
Since the competition is around the corner, I”m a hundred percent focused on it. I”ve doubled my hours at Icylight and the intensive sessions are helping me to fix the minor errors I was making at the beginning and the new choreography is simply superb.
“Okay, Ash, let”s call it a night.” Raven whistles and the music stops. “Are you up for a cup of tea?”
I cringe at the idea of feeling that awful taste. “What about a hot chocolate?”
“Deal,” she giggles as we walk toward the locker room.
After stripping off my outfit and wearing my comfy leggings and maxi t-shirt with my sneakers, I reach her at our cafeteria.
Raven and I take our seats. “How are we feeling for the weekend?”
Peering at the marshmallows melting in my hot chocolate, I smile. “I”m so ready, but still it freaks me out knowing these results are the ones I”ve expected in all these years.”
Raven squeezes my hand across the table. “You”ve got this. In the last weeks you”ve pushed yourself to your limits, but I confess your performance has a high standard and these points will send you right to the Olympics.”
Seeing a bike passing by I peer outside the window before shaking my head with a sigh. “I hope so.”
“Ash, positive mind, powerful spirit. Never doubt your gut. Follow your instinct and I”m always here if you need me.”
I nod at her. She”s absolutely right, my personal messy life can”t ruin my future. I”ll take care of Rock after the competition. I can”t do both and the Olympics are my goal. “Thank you, Raven. I couldn”t be where I am without your support and help.”
She finishes her cup. “You”re way much better than me, Ash. Your talent took you here and I can’t wait to see you wear the Olympic gold medal too.”
Rolling the cup, I follow the chocolate movements. “That”s the main goal, and no one will take it away from me.”
“That”s the spirit.” She gets up. “I”m off home, do you need a lift?”
“Nope.” I get up too. “but thank you for the offer.” After a hug I watch her leave and I go back to exercise a little more before heading home and pack the bag.
The hum of the wheels is a soothing counterpoint to the tumult of my thoughts as I drive the familiar yet foreign expanse of highway leading to Minneapolis. With each mile, the anticipation builds—a fusion of excitement and apprehension that grips me with an intensity I’ve never known. I glance in the rearview mirror, the reflection of a determined figure staring back at me. With a deep, steadying breath, I bolster my resolve. “Ashley, you’ve got this,” I whisper to myself, the words a personal mantra. “You’ve practiced for months, every spin, every jump, every lift. Tomorrow is your day; you give it your all. No holding back.”
The Minneapolis skyline looms ahead, its city lights a dazzling array that pierces the darkness. It’s such a stark contrast to Newtok’s quiet, unassuming streets where I honed my craft, where every neighbor is family and every victory shared. I’m the small-town girl standing on the precipice of something monumental, and as the city’s embrace draws near, the little voice of self-encouragement amplifies in my heart. “This is your moment, Ash. Shine.”
Morning dawns, and the ice calls to me, gleaming under the arena’s bright lights—a vast, icy canvas awaiting the imprint of my blades. My heart pounds in rhythm with the music that fills the air, each note a familiar companion to the routine I’ve etched into my very being. With grace and power, I execute each movement. The ice sings beneath my skates as I leap, spin, glide—every motion an extension of my soul. And when the final, breathtaking spin concludes my performance, the crowd’s roar is a tidal wave of affirmation. Flawless.
The aftermath is a whirlwind—flashing cameras, a sea of faces, and the rush of euphoria. I smile, still riding the high of performance as I’m ushered into the limelight. “Amazing performance, Ashley!” an enthusiastic voice calls out from the crowd. Gratitude warms me, and I offer my thanks, cheeks flushed with the intensity of the moment.
“Can we have a moment for an interview?” A reporter from national television approaches, microphone in hand. I agree, my voice steadier than I feel as I share the journey that brought me here—the sacrifices, the triumphs, the support of my hometown.
Exhaustion sets in later at the hotel, yet it’s rivaled by a restless energy that courses through me—a call to motion that I can’t ignore. Acting on impulse, I grab my car keys; the familiar roads of Newtok beckon me home.
At the gas station, I pause for a coffee, its bitter warmth a necessary anchor. Back on the road, the sight of a black car in the rearview mirror interrupts my thoughts. “You’re being silly, Ash,” I giggle at first, dismissing the notion of being followed as paranoia.
But as I weave through random turns and the black car steadfastly trails me, my laughter evaporates. It’s unnervingly close now. Panic nips at the edges of my calm. I press the accelerator, the engine’s growl intermingling with the pounding of my heart.
Frantic, I dial my dad, his voice a welcome sound. “Cupcake! You were amazing,” he says, pride evident even through the phone.
“Dad.” My voice shakes as I glance at the mirror.
“Ash, you okay? Where are you?”
“Dad, I’m about fifty miles from Newtok, and there’s someone following me,” I confess, my voice quivering as my grip tightens on the wheel. I’m pleading silently for the black car to take the next exit, to just disappear.
“What? Ashley, stay calm and focused on the road,” Dad says, his voice a blend of concern and authority.
“I’m trying, Dad.”
“We’re on the way, okay?”
“I—I thought it was just my imagination, but they’re still there,” I report, my eyes darting back to the mirror; the black car is now an ominous presence in the night.
“Keep me on the line,” he insists with firmness.
I nod, a futile gesture he can’t see. “Fuck no, no, no,” I mutter under my breath. I push the car faster, the white lines on the road merging into a blur as I desperately try to distance myself from this unknown pursuer. Fear tightens its grip, a silent scream at the edge of bursting forth.
“Ashley, do not fucking speed! Talk to me,” Dad commands, his voice steady.
“It’s getting closer,” I whisper, my breath caught in my throat as I watch it attempt to overtake me. I brake, but the car mimics my actions, as if anticipating my every move.
The clubhouse buzzes with the electric energy of camaraderie and excitement, the sound of Ashley’s performance on the ice reverberating from the television one more time. Denise, Brick, and Blue sit engrossed, echoing my pride with their cheers and claps, their faces lit up by the brilliance of Ashley’s artistry. Her presence on the screen is like watching a masterwork unfold—a ballet on ice, each pirouette and elegant leap a testament to her dedication and talent.
But the tranquility is shattered as my phone vibrates incessantly against the wooden table, flashing Harrison’s name across the screen. A foreboding chill slithers down my spine as I answer.
“Rock, I need you,” his voice crackles through the line, raw and fraught with fear. “My daughter’s in danger.”
In an instant, I’m on my feet, the room falling silent as I engage the speakerphone. “What’s happening?”
“She called me, said someone was following her. Then, her cell phone just… went dead,” Harrison’s tone wavers with barely contained panic.
I relay the distressing information to the others, their faces reflecting my own mixture of shock. Harrison continues. “I know your neighborhood’s closer to the border that I am. She said she was fifty miles from Newtok, but she was speeding, I’m sure about that, and I need a favor.”
Without hesitation, Denise and the guys are already racing out of the door. I sprint to the office, grab my vest and gun—familiar weights that provide an odd sense of reassurance. Emerging outside, I’m met with the sight of off-duty Black Panthers mounting their bikes, ready for action.
The ride to the Wisconsin border becomes a blur, the collective roar of our engines a constant thunder as we push the limits of speed. Each mile stretches into an eternity, tension coiling tighter within me with every passing moment.
In the distance, I spot her car pursued by another vehicle—what’s their aim? Blue, Denise, Mac, and several others peel off, forming a protective ring of bikes around her. The pursuer takes another exit and the rest continue the chase, intent on capturing him.
I kill the engine and leap off my bike, landing firmly on the pavement. Ashley’s car door swings open, and she stumbles out, illuminated by the headlights. The instant she notices me, she rushes forward, collapsing into my embrace, her body wracked with trembling sobs.
“Shh, Princess. I’m here. You’re safe. It’s alright,” I whisper soothingly, enfolding her in my arms. She clings to me fiercely, her desperation palpable, and in that moment, I find a profound sense of peace just being there for her. I’m here, Princess.I’ve missed you so much. I press a tender kiss to her head, drinking in her floral scent.
As police sirens pierce the night, Ashley backs off slightly, tears streaking her face as she gazes into my eyes. Recognition dawns on her features, and a pang of cold fear grips me—the fear of losing her, of her pulling away due to the life I lead. I pushed her away before, but now it feels like my heart is bleeding, and a realization strikes me like a bolt: I don’t want to lose her.
“Cupcake,” Harrison’s voice breaks the moment, rushing over with a mix of relief and concern. “You’re alright?” he asks her, his gaze flickering between us.
“Prez,” Brick’s voice cuts through the tension.
Harrison turns to me, gratitude filling his eyes. “Thank you, Rock. I owe you one,” he extends his hand.
“We’re good,” I reply firmly, shaking his hand before stepping back, giving them space. I join my brothers, who are ready to address the situation and support the others. “Di, take Royal, Sean and David and escort Harrison.”
She nods while I mount my bike once more, the weight of the night settles around me. Yet, the memory of Ashley’s gaze, the way she held onto me, lingers—an enduring reminder that amidst the road and brotherhood, there’s something more: her—my Princess. Whatever comes next, this moment will stay etched in my memory forever.