Chapter 8
Luna
“Again,” Coach yells from the side of the rink.
Nico glides in a slow circle before getting into position, but he doesn’t even look at me.
I bite back my own frustration as I meet him in the center, ignoring the pain in my ribs from that last lift. We go for the lift again, but I land off-balance, and Nico’s grip on my waist slips just enough to throw the whole thing off. We stumble apart.
“Stop.” Coach’s voice cuts through the rink like a blade. “This isn’t working.” She points between me and Nico. “You two have zero trust and zero chemistry.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. She’s not wrong.
Her eyes land on me.
“You’re talented, Luna. Both of you have potential. But if you don’t trust your partner, this ain’t going to work.”
Even though we’ve been training together for almost two weeks, it still feels like we’re strangers on the ice.
“You want to make it through qualifiers?” she barks. “Then start acting like a pair. Spend less time on the ice and more time getting to know each other. Talk. Get lunch. Bond with each other. Or we’ll have to find you both a new partner.”
There’s no guarantee I’ll find another partner this semester.
Qualifiers. She’s not talking about some friendly campus performance. She means the Continental Ice Pair Qualifier, the one that decides who competes at the European Winter Elite Circuit in December.
The one being hosted here, at Valcérre.
Where every scout, sponsor, and Olympic development rep in Europe will be watching from the stands. And if Nico and I can’t figure it out in time? We’ll be benched until we find new partners. I can’t let that happen.
I glance at Nico, but he’s already skating toward the edge of the rink.
“Hey.” I follow him to the benches that run along the glass. “Do you want to hang out later?”
“Not today,” he mutters, reaching for his bag.
“Okay, maybe tomorrow then—”
“I’ve got plans.” He cuts me off, sliding his guards over his blades, then walks away. He disappears through the locker room doors, towel slung over his shoulder, like none of this matters.
And maybe to him, it doesn’t.
Nico comes from a family of skaters, Olympians, sponsors, legacy ties. He doesn’t need to care. He doesn’t need this the way I do.
He’s here because his parents want him here. I’m here because I fought for this. This is all I’ve ever wanted.
My fingers grip the edge of the cold metal bench. I press my lips together, forcing the sting in my eyes to stay right where it is.
Not here.
Not where anyone can see.
I blink hard, pulling in a slow breath.
That’s when I feel it, the prickle on my skin. I hate that my body knows who it is before I even look up.
I lift my head toward the balcony, and there he is.
Zayden. Leaning on the upper balcony railing, hoodie blocking his face behind the glass, but his eyes are already on me.
As if the day couldn’t get any worse. Our eyes lock, and my body reacts before my brain can. A pressure builds behind my eyes.
No, no. I blink, trying to hold it back, but a single tear escapes.
I swipe it away angrily, hoping he didn’t notice.
I drop my eyes, switch my skates for my boots, and push to my feet.
Grabbing my bag, I storm toward the stairs, not looking back.
Instead of heading toward the athlete lounge, I take the back exit.
I always do on days like this when I don’t want anyone to see me.
Practice ran late, and the little daylight we had is already gone.
The sky in Valcérre never really turns blue, just shades of gray.
My boots crunch over thick patches of snow as I pull my coat tighter around myself and head toward Wolfswood Hall.
It’s colder at dusk. The campus is mostly quiet, just a few students wandering between dorms.
I run through today’s practice in my head.
You want to make it to qualifiers? Start acting like a pair.
The problem is, I’m the only one trying.
I inhale the cool air and release it through my nose before pushing open the heavy door to my dorm.
The lobby is empty. I climb up the stairs, and as I reach the last step to the second floor lounge, I smell cigars. Someone is always smoking.
A group of students sits near the fireplace, watching a black-and-white film on the projector, but everyone is listening through their headphones.
In the far corner, another group is having a silent party with their neon headphones, dancing to whatever music they’re listening to.
There’s a game of chess going by the window, now covered with blackout curtains. An empty bottle of whiskey sits on the floor next to them.
This is Valcérre; the students study hard but play harder.
I slip past them toward the hallway to my suite. I scan my card and push the door open. The smell hits me first, beef and seasonings. Kimbap. It’s like sushi, except the meat is cooked.
Annika and Sophie are curled up on the couch. Sophie’s chopsticks are halfway to her mouth. They both look up as the door closes softly behind me.
“Rough practice?” Sophie asks.
“You could say that.” I drop my bag by the door, hang my coat, and kick off my boots.
Annika nods toward the coffee table. “We got kimbap.” She smiles. She was so excited when she found out I love it as much as she does.
My chest tightens with a small, grateful ache.
I offer a tired smile. “Thanks. Let me shower first.” I disappear into my room before they can read me any further.
My back leans against the door as I close it behind me, eyes closed. I just need a second before heading into the shower. The cold wood presses through my hoodie, and just like that, I’m ten again.
My back pressed against the cold metal bench at the bus stop as I tried to stay warm despite the cold air cutting through my jacket. My stomach ached from being hungry; I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch.
I missed the bus by thirty seconds trying to nail a toe loop, and the next wouldn’t come for another hour. The bus stop was across from the center, and I saw it as I was coming out.
“Wait!” I waved at the driver as I ran across the street, but I was too late. The driver didn’t see me, and he pulled away, leaving me behind.
I was always the one who got left behind.
I stood there, knees already sore from practice, staring down at the empty street, praying the schedule was wrong, that maybe one would come early, just this once.
It was just after six p.m., and it was getting dark outside. The center was already closed, and everyone else had been picked up.
My flip phone vibrated in my bag as I sat on the bench. It was a text message from Rylee.
Rylee: Did you get on?
I hesitated, then lied.
Luna: Yes, I’m on.
If I told her the truth, she would ask me to call a taxi and that would cost way more. She was already working full-time and juggling school, barely sleeping.
Rylee: Okay. Good. Text me when you’re home, okay?
Luna: Okay, love you.
Rylee: Love you, too.
I tried calling our mom, but it went straight to voicemail. I didn’t know why I even bothered.
So I sat there and waited.
Telling myself that it was okay.
That everything was fine.
That I was fine.
I blink. The pressure creeps up my throat, but I swallow it down. I’ve learned to hold it in, to tuck it somewhere deep enough that I forget it exists.
Once I’m done taking a shower, I put on a hoodie with matching sweatpants and join Annika and Sophie in the living room.
I drop on the couch beside them, letting my body sink into the velvet cushions. My plate is waiting for me on the coffee table. They’re watching a K-drama with French subtitles.
Grabbing my sticks, I open my plate and bring one to my mouth. The flavor hits instantly—seaweed, steamy rice, with all the juicy stuff in the center.
The tension in my chest eases just a little.
My phone buzzes with a new notification. I reach for it, expecting a text from Rylee or a schedule alert from Coach. But it’s neither of those.
It’s a text message from an unknown number.
Unknown number: Want to prove you’re not just another ice princess? Come to this location at midnight alone.
I stare at the screen, my body going still. A little part of me knows who this person might be.
Knows it’s him.