Chapter 4 Iris #2
“Maybe I just like the view when I’m catching up to you.”
“Don’t.”
“No?” He’s closer now, the soft scratch of his blades syncing perfectly with mine despite his commentary.
Our arms nearly brush with each crossover, sending little sparks of awareness dancing across my skin.
“Seems fitting to me. Especially when you blush like that.” I nearly miss my next crossover, heat crawling up my neck.
“Focus on your edges.”
“Oh, I am,” he says, voice dropping so only I can hear.
“I’m focusing on lots of things.” The weight of his gaze prickles against my skin.
A camera crew slips quietly through the side doors, setting up near the boards with practiced efficiency.
I watch Collin’s posture shift, shoulders squaring, that dimpled smile cranking up a few watts as he catches sight of them.
Even his voice takes on a different quality, projecting just enough to be picked up by their equipment as he waves hello.
I roll my eyes as I push harder into my next stroke, trying to put more space between us.
This is exactly what Owen used to do, turn every interaction into an opportunity to get under my skin, to push my boundaries just a little further.
This was everything I’d carefully tried to avoid for the past year.
The scrape of my blade echoes harshly against the boards as I cut the corner too sharply, trying to escape the way Collin’s presence seems to fill every inch of the rink.
But when I glance over, he’s backed off, giving me the space I wanted while maintaining perfect synchronization with my movements.
The gesture is so unexpected, so contrary to what I’d been bracing for, that I almost stumble.
“Crossovers are good,” Diane’s voice echoes across the ice.
“Come back in. For the first major element in your program,” Diane begins, her eyes sparkling, “we’re doing a lift out of an axel.
Collin, you’ll catch her leg as she comes down from the jump and use the momentum to power the lift. ” Collin goes still beside me.
“I’m sorry. Catch her while she’s spinning in the air?”
“Not as she’s spinning, just immediately after.
One hand will support her extended leg, the other at hip level,” Diane moves onto the ice to demonstrate the hold positions.
“Iris will take off from her back outside edge, using her toe pick. As she comes out of the rotation, she’ll extend her left leg.
You’ll catch it here”—she gestures to the inside of her thigh—“and here.” She taps her opposite hip.
“She’ll land for only a moment before you press up into the lift all while continuing the movement.
” My stomach clenches. The first lift requires perfect timing and trust. One mistimed grab could end in disaster.
The fact Diane wants to try it for his first performance is ballsy, I’ll give her that.
“Then for your big finale,” she continues, flipping through her notes, “we’ll end with a Group 2 lift.
Both hands on her waist, full extension.
Less scary.” She smiles sweetly in Collin’s direction.
“Let’s break it down,” Diane says. “Iris, show him the entry, just marking it.” I push off, tracing the familiar arc into the jump setup.
Behind me, I can hear Diane explaining to Collin.
“Watch her edges. See how she sets up the back outside edge? That’s your cue.
You’ll need to match her speed perfectly.
” I demonstrate the entry again, this time extending my leg as I would during the actual lift.
The movement feels strange without a partner there to catch it.
“Good.” Diane nods. “Collin, your position now. Left hand ready to catch her extended leg, right hand prepared to support at the hip. This needs to be instant while keeping the movement going.” He moves behind me, and I can feel his presence like a physical weight.
His hands hover near their positions, not quite touching.
“This is where that strength comes into play,” Diane explains.
“You need to be solid. If you hesitate—”
“She falls,” he finishes, and something in his tone makes me glance back. His earlier playfulness is gone, replaced by intense concentration. “What if I mess up the timing?”
“That’s why we’re starting with the basics.
We’ll isolate each component before putting it together.
” Diane demonstrates the hand positions again.
“Right now, I just want you to focus on finding the right entry position. We won’t attempt the actual lift until you’re both completely comfortable.
For now, just work on getting your hands into position and keeping your feet moving.
” I nod, pushing off again into the setup.
This is familiar territory. The curve of the edge, the dig of the toe pick, the gathering of momentum.
What isn’t familiar is the way my skin prickles with awareness as Collin moves into position behind me.
“Now,” Diane calls, and I extend my leg as I come around.
Collin’s timing is off. Way off. His hand fumbles for my hip, missing entirely, while the other grabs my thigh too late and too low. The awkward positioning throws us both off balance, sending him stumbling sideways while I quickly put my free leg down to stay upright.
“Sorry,” he mutters, the tips of his ears turning red. “Let me try again.”
“You need to be moving with her,” Diane says.
“Right now you’re watching, waiting, then reacting.
By then it’s too late. Think about where she’s going to be, not where she is.
” I set up the entrance again, trying to ignore the way his previous fumble left phantom touches burning along my leg.
This time he moves earlier, but his stride pattern is wrong.
He ends up too close, nearly clipping my blades with his own.
“Better timing,” Diane calls out. “But watch your spacing. Again.”
Three more attempts, three more stumbles. Each time he gets a little closer to the right position, but something is always off. His hands too tentative, his feet too close, his timing just slightly wrong. I can feel his frustration building in the increasing tension of his movements.
“Maybe if I—” he starts, then cuts himself off as he misses the timing completely, his hand grabbing empty air where my hip was a second before.
“Stop thinking so much,” Diane advises. “You’re a hockey player, you know how to read movement, how to anticipate where someone’s going to be. This isn’t that different.”
“Right,” he says, but I can hear the doubt in his voice. “Except usually I’m trying to stop them, not catch them.”
“One more time,” Diane says. “Iris, same entrance. Collin, stop watching her feet and start feeling the rhythm of the movement.” I push off again.
This time as I come around, his hands find their marks—not perfectly, but better.
One at my hip, a little too high but firm, the other catching my thigh with more confidence than before.
“Better.” Diane nods. “Hold it there. This is the position you’ll need.
Iris, you’ll need to trust his grip. Collin, you’ll need to—” She breaks off, glancing between us with a slight frown.
“Iris, you’re too tense. He can’t lift you properly if you’re this rigid. ”
Because being told to relax always helps someone relax.
“She’s right,” Collin says softly, close enough that I can feel his breath stir the loose strands of hair by my ear. Despite his earlier fumbling, his grip is steady now. Sure. “I’ve got you.” That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
“Alright.” Diane’s voice cuts through the tension.
“Let’s try the actual jump. Collin, just focus on the catch.
Don’t worry about the lift yet.” My heart jumps into my throat.
This is the part where trust stops being theoretical.
The first attempt is a disaster. I barely get any height on the jump, too hesitant about what was coming after.
Collin’s hands were there, but the timing was off, making me stumble on the landing.
“Again,” Diane calls out. “Iris, commit to the jump. Collin will be there.”
The second try, I rotate fully but Collin’s grip is too gentle. I slip right through his hands like some kind of uncoordinated fish. The third time, his hands are firm but the positioning is wrong. I yelp as his grip on my thigh slips dangerously high.
“Sorry!” He jerks back like he’s been burned. “God, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I manage, though my heart is still racing. “Let’s just try again.” By the sixth attempt, I was starting to think Diane had lost her mind. This was never going to work. We were going to make fools of ourselves on national television and—
“Once more,” Diane insists. “Iris, trust him. Collin, trust yourself.” I take a deep breath, setting up the entrance.
The familiar edge, the gathering speed. This time when I take off, I actually commit to the height.
The ice falls away, the world spins, and then his hands are there.
Perfect positioning, perfect timing. The catch is so smooth I barely register the landing before he is pressing up, using my momentum to lift me higher.
For a suspended moment, everything clicks.
When my blades touch the ice again, Collin lets out a whoop that echoes off the rafters.
His face splits into a grin. Something real and bright that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Did you see that?” He grabs my shoulders, practically bouncing on his blades. “That was incredible! You’re incredible! We’re incredible!” The pure joy radiating off him is almost infectious. Almost.
“Beautiful!” someone from the camera crew calls out.
“Can we get that again?” I somehow forgot they were there.
We run through the lift once more, and of course it’s seamless.
Which inflates Collin’s already considerable ego as he flashes that triumphant grin at the departing crew members packing up their equipment.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me now, Pretty Girl,” he says, eyes glinting. “Can’t back out after a catch like that.”
“We got lucky.” I shrug off his hands, skating toward the boards.
“Lucky?” He follows me to the barrier as I sit down on the bench, unlacing my skates.
“That was all skill. Well, mostly my skill, but I’ll let you take some credit.
” I focus intently on my laces, trying to ignore how he folds his arms on top of the boards, leaning over them to look down at me.
A drop of water falls from his hair onto my hand.
Perfect. Even his sweat is invading my personal space.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, warmth threading through his words.
“I promise to keep my hands in all the proper places. Mostly.”
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, but my traitorous cheeks flush anyway.
“Impossibly charming, you mean!” The smugness in his voice makes me roll my eyes as I stand, skates tucked carefully into my bag.
“Goodbye, Collin.” I sling my bag over my shoulder, turning toward the main doors.
“Sweet dreams, Pretty Girl,” he calls after me, voice rich with amusement.
“Try not to miss me too much!” His laughter echoes through the rink as I push through the heavy glass doors.
I let them swing shut behind me, cutting off whatever other remarks he might have added.
My leg still tingles where his hands had been, and I wasn’t sure what was more annoying, the sensation itself, or the fact that part of me didn’t hate it.