Chapter 6 Iris
IRIS
Inever thought I’d be back here. Four years ago, Owen painted such a clear picture of our future—me, him, Jamie, the perfect little family.
No more early morning practices or chasing medals.
He made the choice sound inevitable, like skating was something I needed to outgrow.
But standing here now, the ice stretching out before me, I realize how much I’ve missed this.
How much of myself I packed away with those skates.
My right hand rests in Collin’s beside me, his palm dwarfing mine.
It’s still jarring sometimes, how he makes me feel so small—the way I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, how easily his hands span my waist during lifts.
My free hand smooths over my skirt, fingers catching on the sequins before picking at my thumb cuticle.
I catch myself and shake it out, forcing my eyes forward.
“And now, making her return to competitive skating after four years...” The host’s voice rings through the arena, and my heart kicks against my ribs.
“Two-time national pairs champion, Iris Clark, alongside NHL star Collin King!” The spotlight finds us as we glide onto the dark ice, my breath clouding in front of my face.
Four years. The weight of that time hits me like a truck.
Four years since I walked away from all of this.
Four years of watching competitions from my couch while Jamie napped on my chest. Owen’s voice slithers through my mind: You can’t split your attention like this, Iris.
A good mother is there for every moment.
You think you can train all day and still be what Jamie needs?
It’s time to grow up. Be realistic. Think about what’s best for our family.
I grit my teeth and shove his voice away.
Jamie’s proud smile flashes through my mind instead.
My sweet boy who told his entire pre-k class that his mom was going to be on TV.
We take our position at center ice, goosebumps crawling up my arms despite the heat of the lights.
His hands settle steady against my waist, and if he’s nervous, I can’t tell.
The crowd falls silent. My pulse thunders in my ears as I wait for the music, and I remember this part now—the electricity of it, the way the whole world narrows down to a single breath.
The first notes of “You Don’t Own Me” by SAYGRACE cut through the silence, and then we’re moving.
Music pulses through the ice and into my bones as we move.
Step sequence first, the one Collin mastered just three days ago.
Ice shavings spray with each sharp turn, the familiar scrape of blades against frost. His rhythm matches mine perfectly now, and when his hand finds the small of my back, I’m struck by how warm it feels against the chill of the rink.
The first jump-lift combo comes faster than I expect.
Double axel. My heart leaps into my throat as I launch into it, and as my right blade lands back on the ice, Collin’s hands are there.
He catches me, lifts me high above his head, turning a perfect landing into a seamless transition that has the crowd gasping.
His grip is different tonight, more confident.
Like he knows exactly how our bodies should fit together now.
Each spin brings us closer, his touch lingering longer than necessary.
It should make me nervous, being watched so intently, but instead it sends warmth coursing through me.
I lose myself in the performance, in the way he anticipates my movements now.
His palms press against mine in perfect synchronization, and I can’t tell if the electricity I feel is from the crowd or from the way his fingers interlock with mine, squeezing slightly before pivoting away.
It’s getting harder to remember this is just a show, that the heat in his eyes when he looks at me is just part of the performance.
That the way my heart races every time he touches me is just adrenaline.
That I shouldn’t try to remember the warmth of his hands even after he’s let me go.
The finale approaches too quickly. His hands find my waist again, strong and sure as he lifts me above his head.
The spotlight catches the sequins on my costume, sending sparkles across the ice.
Time slows as he brings me down, my body sliding along his until we’re face to face, my feet still dangling above the ice.
He sets me down slowly, and I find myself pressed against his chest, his heart thundering against mine.
I lift my lashes and get caught in warm brown eyes.
His gaze drops to my lips for just a heartbeat.
Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to kiss me? No. Yes. Shit.
I swallow hard, watching a muscle tick in his jaw.
The music fades, and I’m suddenly aware of every point where our bodies connect, of his breath warm against my skin, of his arm tightening almost imperceptibly around my waist. He releases me and we turn to acknowledge the roaring crowd.
Our host, Kelly O’Reilly glides over, her silver dress catching the spotlight as she fans herself dramatically.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she draws out each word, building the moment, “did you feel that chemistry?” She turns to the camera with an exaggerated wink.
“I’m going to need someone to check on this ice because these two are absolutely scorching!
” Collin’s arm drops from my waist slowly, reluctantly, but his hand finds mine before I can retreat into my nervous habit.
His fingers curl around mine, stopping the telltale picking at my cuticles before it can start.
“Collin King!” She beams at him, her voice pitched to carry.
“Your very first pairs performance ever—and would you look at this crowd?” She sweeps her arm toward the stands where clusters of teal and white NHL jerseys dot the audience.
“I think half the arena is wearing your number tonight!” He laughs, that dimple appearing in his left cheek, and I catch myself staring at the way it creases his skin.
“Well,” he says, ducking his head slightly in a gesture that seems almost shy, “I hope they enjoyed watching something a little different from hockey.” His eyes find mine, warm and intent.
“I had a great partner to learn from.” The sincerity in his voice makes my cheeks warm as the host turns to me.
“And Iris Clark! Four years is such a long time to be away from competitive skating. How does it feel to be back on the ice?”
“Like coming home,” I say, surprising myself with how true it feels.
“Though I couldn’t have done it without—” I gesture at Collin with our joined hands, then realize what I’m doing and quickly lower them.
His thumb brushes across my knuckles, so light I almost think I imagined it.
The arena falls quiet as the judges’ scores appear one by one on the massive display above:
Judge 1: 9.8 Judge 2: 9.9 Judge 3: 9.7 The host squeals, clapping her hands together as the crowd erupts.
“Absolutely incredible scores for your debut performance! A combined twenty-nine point four out of thirty. That’s going to be hard to beat tonight!
” I peek up from under my lashes, watching Collin’s reaction instead of the scoreboard—the way his grin splits wide, that crooked smile lifting higher on the left making that dimple indent his cheek.
There’s a touch of pink at the tip of his nose that makes him look boyish despite his size, like an excited kid who just won a prize.
When he turns that smile on me, my heart does a traitorous little flip.
No. Stop it. I force the flutter in my chest down.
I’m not doing this—not relationships, not dating, and definitely not him.
Even if he does have unreasonably beautiful eyes and hands that I can’t stop staring at.
That path only leads to complicated feelings and inevitable heartbreak, and I’ve had enough of both to last a lifetime.
Jamie needs stability, and he’s the opposite of that.
“Don’t forget to vote for your favorites, America!
” The host’s voice cuts through my spiral, bright and infectious.
“Something tells me we’ll be seeing these two heating up the ice again next week!
” Collin’s hand squeezes mine gently, and I pretend my pulse doesn’t jump at the contact.
It’s just the adrenaline, I tell myself firmly.
The lights, the crowd, the performance high.
It has to be just the adrenaline. But when he looks down at me with his soft smile, I’m not sure I’m fully convinced that’s true.