Chapter 31
ZEV
The arena’s lights have already begun to dim by the time Fowler and I push through the final set of glass doors. Summer’s stickiness trails in behind us before the shock of industrial air hits our skin.
It’s the very last performance of Reverie Ice Show for this year.
Rows upon rows of eager faces—parents, kids, groups of shrieking college students, and even the odd local celebrity—are already settling into the blue plastic seats.
The air hums with anticipation that only comes with a final performance.
We’re early, but the front row is already packed with families of the figure skaters.
They clutch signs, some so determined to be seen that they’ve lined up foam fingers along the entire barrier as if this is a hockey game and not a performance on ice.
I spot a bevy of media in the press row, too, with camera flashes already strobing with every new arrival.
There’s even the sharp-suited PR manager from the local affiliate, and a few more out-of-towners—scouts, maybe, or minor sponsors—hovering at the edge of the action.
Fowler sits beside me and sips his beer. “I can’t believe summer’s already over.”
“You’re telling me.” I already miss my high schoolers I coached these last few months. A few of them are undoubtedly here amongst the crowd.
Before long, the house lights flicker, causing an undertow of murmurs and expectant squeals. The spotlights over the ink ignite with a whine and light up the ice like a stage built for gods.
The opening notes pulse through the arena—strings, dramatic and frigid—and the curtain drops on the far side of the rink. The cast explodes onto the ice in a riot of sparkling costumes. They whirl in formation, their blades biting white dust from the fresh surface.
Connor is easy to pick out, even from a distance. He commands the ice from the first second. Fowler and I watch in near-silence as Connor launches into the first jump sequence, a clean quad lutz that’s so technically perfect it looks fake.
“Holy shit,” Fowler says, and I can’t disagree. From NHL to figure skating. Who would’ve thought it.
Grace is next. She enters from stage left, spun out in a cloud of ice-blue tulle. The moment she hits her mark, the entire arena hushes, like the crowd is afraid they’ll jinx her if they so much as breathe.
I’ve seen her skate before, obviously, but never like this.
There’s nothing small about the way she moves on this final night of Reverie.
She devours the space, every turn snapping so fast the sequins on her costume blur.
She’s always been technically flawless, but now there’s something else—something savage and bright, like she’s finally let herself step into the center of the story.
The choreography is a war between them. Grace and Connor circle and chase, their arms colliding in sudden, sparking lifts.
The crowd loses its mind for every near-collision, every impossible save.
They don’t hold back. If Grace slips, Connor’s there in an instant, not as a crutch, but as a rival who won’t let her fall.
The performance is so electric that I almost forget how it’s supposed to end.
The story’s climax: the prince and princess locked in an impossible jump, a double-rotation twist that only a few pairs in the world could land.
The crowd knows it, too—there’s a long pause as Grace and Connor wind up, skating backward in parallel until they’re almost at the boards.
I lean in, my heart hammering as if I haven’t watched this year’s Reverie show and their jump a dozen times.
Grace launches herself into the air and lands flawlessly. The crowd erupts in cheer.
The rest of the show passes in a blur. Encore comes quick.
The crowd’s not letting them off easy on their final night.
The cast returns for a frantic, laughing bow.
When Grace and Connor are announced, the ovation is so intense it rattles the glass.
They both beam. Connor offers his arm, and they bow together.
After the show, the audience bottlenecks toward the exit, but families and friends are funneled toward the cast area at the side of the rink that’s cordoned off by a makeshift velvet rope and a pair of security guards. Fowler and I hang back, letting the chaos ebb before we slip in.
The cast emerges in bursts. Some are still half-in costume.
A cluster of parents fights their way to the front, swaddling their tiny skater in flowers and praise.
I spot the show director mid-argument with a local news anchor then, then see a woman Grace’s age charging forward with a bouquet the size of her torso.
Wait. I recognize that woman from photos in Grace’s apartment. That’s Briar, her college friend. Briar slams into her with a hug so powerful it nearly knocks her over. Grace laughs and holds Briar close.
I almost don’t recognize the Grace I knew at the start of summer.
The one who looked at her skates like they were a punishment, the one who flinched every time one of us brushed too close.
This is someone else—someone ferocious, alive, and so in love with herself that it’s impossible not to love her, too.
Fowler sees it at the same time I do. “Damn. She’s happy.”
“She is.”
Grace spots us. She hesitates for only a second before disentangling herself from Briar and beelining straight for us. Connor trails behind her.
Grace wraps Fowler and I in hugs before pulling Connor in, too. “You made it. I hope you enjoyed our last show!”
“Of course we did!” I say. As if we’d miss this.
“Wasn’t going to miss it,” Fowler adds.
But all Grace does is grin. “You made it,” she says, breathless, voice pitched high from adrenaline.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, and it’s true. Fowler nods, speechless for once.
A flash goes off. I turn to find Briar with a grin on her face and a phone in her hands.
Grace’s grin widens. “Yes! Thank you, Briar.” But then concern grows on her face. “Wait.” She looks around and then spots Charlotte. “Charlotte!”
Charlotte meets her gaze and then comes running over. Grace introduces Briar and Charlotte, and together they leave the three of us in the dust. They head down the hallway laughing and giggling, and honestly, Grace looks so happy that I’m not even disappointed that we don’t have more time with her.
Because those friendships are important. And we have a whole life ahead of us.
Happiness looks good on Reverie Pack.
I can’t wait to see the future we create with it.