Chapter 13 #2
Adam: Hey, sorry. I’m on my way to the airport. They issued a severe storm warning for Detroit. I didn’t want to get stuck. If I didn’t leave now, I might be stuck for three or four days. There wasn’t enough time to text you.
I stared at the message, the words blurring for a second.
There was time. Even a one-line text would’ve done the job.
Especially if he was already in a car, supposedly heading to the airport.
He just didn’t bother. I wished he’d said what we both knew was true—he forgot about me. Or worse, changed his mind.
Chloe: No harm done. Have a safe flight.
I hit Send, but my fingers felt numb. I should’ve known better. I always did this—started to believe that someone might actually want to show up for me.
A group of male skaters walked by laughing in formal wear, and suddenly, I felt like a spectator in someone else’s evening. I slipped out quietly through the revolving doors before anyone I knew could spot me, stepping into the cold night and pretending I wasn’t disappointed.
I never heard from him again. The only upside to the whole night was the early warning about the storm. I managed to catch a flight out before it hit.
That trip home was quiet. I spent most of the flight staring out the window, replaying every second of that night like it was somehow my fault.
I kept wondering if I expected too much from people.
If maybe I was the kind of person who was easy to forget.
It really got me thinking about the type of skater I was.
Three weeks passed, and I couldn’t shake the fog. It wasn’t just about Adam. It was about my nonexistent coach too. I was tired of being overlooked. To Coach Jon, I was a skater past her prime.
I’d probably never do better than fourth place.
The solid alternate for the World and Olympic teams. His attention always went to his fifteen- and sixteen-year-old jumping beans, who were working on multiple triple-triples and even a triple Axel.
I needed a fresh start. So I took my destiny into my own hands and decided to make a call, despite feeling some nerves.
“Hello?” The man had answered right away, his voice warm and marked with a soft Spanish accent.
“Hi, Mr. Alvarez? This is Chloe Reynolds. I don’t know if you remember me—we met during practice at Nationals. My coach had to leave early, and you helped me with my triple loop.”
“Hola, Chloe. Please, call me Fernando. And sí, I remember you.” He chuckled. “How can I help you?”
Just hearing his voice put me at ease. Everything inside me said I was doing the right thing. “I was wondering if you’re accepting new students. I’ve decided to part ways with my coach, Jon Harper.”
“Sí. Especially someone with as much natural talent as you. There’s one catch though . . .”
“Okay,” I said cautiously.
“You wouldn’t just be getting me as a coach. You’d be getting Charlie Welch and Frankie Tomlinson too. We work as a team.”
I let out a laugh. “That actually sounds amazing.”
Charlie Welch and Frankie Tomlinson? That was too good to be true! They were the Olympic champions in pairs. I couldn’t believe I’d get to be on the same ice as them, let alone be coached by them.
“I’m glad to hear it. Would you be willing to come to Sequoia Valley for a trial period?”
“Yes, please.”
“When would you like to start?”
“As soon as I can.”
I started training with Charlie, Frankie, and Fernando.
We clicked right away. They’re not just coaches.
They’re my friends too. Charlie knows exactly how to push me without breaking me.
Fernando and Frankie have this way of reminding me that skating should still be joyful, even when it’s hard.
And because of them, I fell in love with the sport again.
And more than that—they’ve helped me start believing in myself again too.
By the time I make it to the rink an hour later, the sun’s peeking through the clouds, casting a faint golden glow over the snow-dusted trees. I lace up my skates and tug my gloves on tighter. The air is sharp and cold, stinging my cheeks the moment I step onto the ice.
The resort staff has just resurfaced it, and the surface gleams like crystal. It’s untouched and perfect. I take a breath and push off, my blades whispering across the glassy surface. The weight in my chest starts to lift. This is my happy place.
I circle the rink once, warming up with crossovers and power pulls. Then I head to the center of the ice and fall into the opening choreography of my short program.
There’s no music playing over the speakers, but I don’t need it.
I hear every note in my head. Every beat.
Each movement is stitched into my muscle memory.
I launch into my triple flip-triple toe, land it cleanly, and glide into an Ina Bauer.
The movements aren’t just routine right now—they’re a release.
When I finally come to the ending pose, I’m breathless. My pulse drums in my ears, but my head feels clearer than it has since I arrived.
I sink down onto the ice for a moment. My muscles are still trembling from all the energy I pushed out. I’ve spent so long being quiet about what I wanted. But that’s about to end. I’m tired of staying silent. I want Drew. It’s time to tell him the truth about how I’ve always felt about him.