Chapter 29
“I can’t do this.”
I’m standing in the back bathroom at the Covey Crushers Arena, staring at my reflection. I don’t look like myself. My hands won’t stop shaking, and I’ve reapplied my lipstick three times because I keep chewing it off.
“Yes, you can,” Lyss says from behind me, leaning against the sink with her arms crossed.
“No, I really can’t.” I grip the edge of the counter. “There are five thousand people out there. Five thousand. I can’t do it. Tell Scotty and Coach McKibbon I died.”
“You’re being so dramatic,” Reign says, appearing behind me. “Almost as dramatic as Aiden when he saw Lyss talking to Sam the other day.”
I meet her eyes. “I’m not being dramatic. I’m being realistic.” I turn to face them both. “How am I supposed to walk on that ice and sing without reliving the trauma of falling on my ass in front of everyone?”
Lyss shakes her head. “Oh, come on. You walk on a little red carpet and sing into the microphone. I bet if you ask nicely, Scotty will even walk you to it.”
I roll my eyes, but inwardly I swoon at the thought, then frown, remembering I haven’t seen Scotty since the audition, and knowing he’s only a few feet away in his own locker room makes my stomach flip a little.
“Exactly,” Reign adds, dipping some chips into her hummus. “No skates. No judges. Just you and a microphone while you sing your heart out.”
“What was I thinking? Why did I say yes to Scotty? This is insane. I should be in the stands eating nachos, not about to sing the national anthem in front of thousands of people who just want to watch hockey and probably don't even care if someone sings or if it's just the recording—”
“Breathe,” Lyss interrupts, grabbing my shoulders. “You're spiraling.”
“I'm not spiraling, I'm being realistic about my imminent public humiliation.”
“You're spiraling,” Reign confirms.
I pull away from Lyss and pace the small bathroom. “What if I forget the words? What if my voice cracks? What if I trip walking onto the ice and everyone films it and it goes viral and I become a meme?”
“You're not going to trip,” Reign says.
“You don't know that. I fell during my audition. In skates. What if I fall in regular shoes? What if that's just my thing now? Laura Conners, professional faller?”
Lyss exchanges a look with Reign.
“Okay,” Lyss says slowly. “I'm going to need you to stop talking and listen to me.”
I stop pacing.
“You,” she says, pointing at me, “are an incredible singer. I've heard you sing in the shower, in the car, doing dishes, and that one time you were drunk and serenaded Nana Lou's porch swing. Every single time, you sound amazing.”
“The porch swing doesn't count—”
“Laura.” Her voice sharpens. “You're about to perform in front of thousands of people, and instead of being excited, you're finding every possible reason to panic. Why?”
“Because—” I stop. Swallow hard. “Because what if I'm not good enough?”
There it is. The truth I've been avoiding all week.
The audition broke something in me. Not just my confidence, but the fragile belief that maybe, just maybe, I could be more than Noelle's less impressive twin.
That my voice could matter and now Scotty's given me this huge, terrifying, very public chance, and all I can think about is how badly I could fail.
Again.
Lyss moves closer. “Look, you didn’t get the part.
That doesn't mean you're not talented. It means that specific opportunity wasn't right. But this?” She gestures toward the door, toward the arena beyond.
“This is different. You're not skating. You're not learning a routine in four weeks.
You're just singing. The thing you've always been able to do.”
My eyes burn with the threat of tears. “What if I mess it up?”
“Then you mess it up,” Reign says simply. “And life goes on. But Laura, what if you don't? What if you go out there and remind yourself—and everyone else—exactly how incredible you are?”
I look between them. Lyss with her fierce protectiveness, Reign with her steady calm.
“Scotty believes in you,” Lyss adds quietly. “He set this whole thing up because he wanted to give you a chance to shine. Don't let your fear steal that from you.”
I take a shaky breath. Then another.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” I nod, more firmly this time. “I'm doing this.”
Lyss grins. “Damn right you are.”
Reign checks her phone. “You've got five minutes. We should get you down there.”
My stomach drops again, but I force myself to nod. “Right. Five minutes. I can do this.”
“You've got this,” Reign says, squeezing my hand.
We leave the locker room and head toward the tunnel that leads to the ice. The sounds of the arena grow louder with music, announcements, and the low roar of thousands of conversations all happening at once.
When we reach the entrance, a staff member with a headset spots me. “Laura Conners?”
“That's me.”
“Great. Coach McKibbon wants you to wait here until they call you. You'll walk out to center ice, they'll hand you the mic, and you'll sing. Easy.”
Easy? Right.
The staff member walks away, speaking into his headset, and I'm left standing at the mouth of the tunnel with Lyss and Reign flanking me.
The staff member walks away, speaking into his headset, and I'm left standing at the mouth of the tunnel with Lyss and Reign flanking me like bodyguards.
“So,” Lyss says, reaching up to adjust a strand of my hair. “This is happening.”
“This is happening,” I repeat numbly.
Lyss grabs my hand and squeezes. “I know you're scared.
But Laura, I've lived with you for two years, and I've watched you hide your voice like it's something to be ashamed of.
It's not. It's the best thing about you, and tonight, you're going to let everyone else hear what we already know. That you're fucking incredible.”
My eyes sting with tears I refuse to let fall. “What if I mess up?”
“Then we'll still be sitting in section 102, cheering for you anyway,” Reign says. “But you won't mess up. You've got this.”
Lyss pulls me into a fierce hug. “Go out there and show them what you've got, Conners,” she murmurs into my ear. “And if you see that hot boyfriend of yours, remember he's watching because he's obsessed with you.”
“He’s not obsessed,” I mumble into her shoulder.
“Sure he's not.” She pulls back, grinning. “Now go sing your heart out so we can brag that we knew you before you were famous.”
Reign hugs me next, quick but solid. “We'll be cheering so loud, you'll hear us over everyone else.”
“I'm counting on it,” I say, my voice shaking.
They start to walk away, and Lyss turns back one more time. “Oh, and Laura?”
“Yeah?”
“Break a leg, babe.”
Then they're gone, disappearing into the crowd, and I'm alone in the tunnel with my racing heart and trembling hands.
Through the opening, I can see the teams taking the ice for warmups. The Covey Crushers in their purple and white jerseys, and the opposing team—Brighton U, I think—in red.
Then I spot him.
Number 97. Hendricks on the back.
Scotty glides across the ice, making it look so easy. He takes a few warmup shots, and even from here, tucked halfway behind the assistant, I can see the focus on his face, and the way everyone is shouting his name. The ice has always been his domain, not mine.
As if sensing my gaze, he looks toward the tunnel.
He finds me.
He grins that stupidly devastating dimpled smile, and before I can brace myself, he lifts his gloved fingers to his mouth and blows me a kiss.
Despite my nerves, I smile.
I can do this. For him. For me.
The staff member speaks into his headset, then looks at me. “Sixty seconds.”
Oh God.
I close my eyes and try to remember what Scotty told me during our late-night skating sessions. Your voice is incredible. All you have to do is let people hear it.
The warmup ends and both teams clear the ice. The lights dim slightly as the announcer's voice booms through the speakers.
“Please rise for the national anthem. Performing tonight is sophomore student, Laura Conners.”
I blow out a breath.
This is it.
The second my heel hits the red carpet on the ice, my stomach lurches. My heels wobble, and my breath catches.
I don’t think I can do this.
“Easy, Princess,” Scotty says, already by my side and steadying me. “This isn’t the Cliff of Insanity. No falling allowed.”
A shaky laugh slips out of me, but he smiles, more excited than me.
He guides me out to center ice, moving slowly, matching my shaky steps with practiced ease until we reach the microphone.
A shaky laugh slips out of me, more breath than sound, but he smiles, more excited than me.
His gloved hand settles at the small of my back, guiding me forward as he skates beside me. The rink feels enormous, but his presence grounds me.
We reach the center ice and the microphone. My stomach tightens, knowing he’s about to leave me.
“Look at me,” he whispers.
I do.
“Good luck, Princess,” he breathes. “I love you.”
He smiles and skates back to the blue line to join his teammates.
My breath hitches. Everything inside me stops and then races all at once.
My eyes sting and my heart is pounding, but not from fear this time.
It’s from him.
The lights dim, and I step toward the microphone.
I take a deep breath.
Then another.
The opening notes play through the speakers, and I close my eyes, letting the music wash over me. When I open them again, I'm not looking at the crowd anymore.
I'm looking at Scotty.
And I sing.
My voice starts soft but builds with each line, filling the arena with a clarity and power I didn't know I had in me. Every note is perfect, every word clear and strong.
This is what I'm good at.
This is what I was made to do.
Not skating. Not trying to be something I'm not.
This.
I close my eyes for half a beat, let the music settle in my chest, and when I open them again, every ounce of doubt I walked in with leaves me.
I sing.
Really sing.
As I reach the final lines, something inside me breaks open in the best possible way.
My voice climbs higher, stronger, pulling all the messy pieces of me along with it.
Every ounce of disappointment from the audition, every shaky breath, every moment I spent convinced I wasn’t enough—it all pours out of me, stripped down and rebuilt into something that feels better than any high I’ve ever experienced.
My throat burns. My chest aches, but the notes keep rising.
The high ones lift out of me like a release, like letting go and finally understanding I was never as small as I feared. The emotion climbs with them, raw, bright, alive, and for the first time since last week, I feel like myself again.
The last note leaves my lips and hangs in the air, floating out over the ice.
And for one perfect, suspended moment…there’s nothing.
No noise.
No movement.
Just silence.
I look at Scotty and his teammates. They’re all staring at me with their mouths open.
Did I fuck it up?
But then the silence shatters into a tidal wave of sound.
People are cheering, clapping, and screaming my name.
It’s loud enough to vibrate through the ice, loud enough to rattle inside my ribs.
For a second, I just stand there, stunned, letting the noise crash over me. Letting myself believe it’s for me.
I blink against the bright lights, the blur of faces, the whirlwind of it all. My hands shake. My lungs feel too small for my body. It’s overwhelming and unreal and dizzying in a way that makes my knees threaten to give out.
Through the cheering, I find Scotty again. He's not clapping with his gloves on like the rest of his teammates. He's just standing there, watching me like I’m the only person in the arena worth looking at it. His eyes sparkle with pride. Pure, undiluted pride.
The production assistant appears to guide me off the ice, but I can barely feel my legs as I walk. The crowd is still cheering, and I hear someone shout, “That was incredible!”
Right before I head off the ice, Scotty meets me. His eyes are still lit with that fierce, unshakable pride. He pulls off one glove, reaches for my hand, and brings it to his lips.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear it. “You were unbelievable.”
Heat floods my cheeks. My heart trips.
He leans closer, forehead almost touching mine, the faint chill of the rink mixing with the warmth of his breath. “Now go sit in the stands,” he says, that crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And watch me win this game for you, Princess.”
I swear the arena could collapse around us and I wouldn’t notice.
I squeeze his hand, voice catching. “Scotty… thank you.”
“I’m always rooting for you.”
“I love you too,” I whisper. Not shaky. Not afraid. Just true. “I love you.”
For a moment, he freezes.
Not in shock, in awe.
His eyes soften in a way that makes my knees wobble harder than the heels ever could.
“Go,” he murmurs, barely holding it together. “Before I pull you back out here and kiss you stupid in front of the whole arena.”
A laugh slips out. It’s wet, breathless, overflowing.
I turn toward the tunnel, every inch of me humming.
Behind me, I hear the scrape of his blades as he skates back to his team, and I swear I can feel his smile following me all the way to my seat.