Chapter 29 Iris #2
I stand next to Collin, painfully aware of his presence, of the heat radiating from his body just inches from mine.
The audience erupts in applause as Logan and Sophia glide onto the ice, their dramatic program filled with difficult lifts and synchronized spins.
I watch them, but my mind is elsewhere, replaying Collin’s words, fighting the hope threatening to bloom in my chest. The second pair, Sasha and Derek, follow with their lyrical free skate.
The judges praise their edge work, their synchronicity, their emotional connection.
I’m barely listening, my focus narrowing to the feel of Collin’s shoulder occasionally brushing mine as we wait, to the rhythm of his breathing, steady and calm while mine feels erratic.
“King and Clark, you’re up next,” the ice director announces, motioning us forward as Sasha and Derek exit to enthusiastic applause.
I don’t think I can breathe properly right now, even if I wasn’t in a costume that feels entirely too tight.
Collin holds out his hand to me, a simple gesture that feels weighted with meaning.
After a moment, I place my palm against his, feeling the familiar calluses, the warmth I’ve been missing.
It’s just for the program, I tell myself.
Just for the finale. But as his fingers close around mine, I know I’m lying to myself.
The host, Kelly, introduces us with dramatic flair, highlighting our journey from contentious partners to fan favorites.
Beyond the rink entrance, the audience cheers—they’ve been rooting for us all season, captivated by a chemistry we’d never been able to hide, even when I was still trying my hardest to dislike him.
She mentions the craze we’ve recently caused in the media and the crowd applauds as if they’re particularly thrilled about the recent events. Beside me, Collin squeezes my hand.
“Trust me,” he whispers, just before we step onto the gleaming ice.
The trouble is, I do trust him. That’s what scares me most. The spotlight finds us as we glide to center ice, my hand still clasped in Collin’s.
When the first haunting notes of “Stay” float through the arena, a physical ache blooms in my chest. The song that had once made me smile during countless rehearsals now cuts deep.
For the past two days, I’d avoided our playlist, knowing this track would destroy me—the lyrics too on point.
I move by muscle memory, my body knowing the choreography even as my mind spirals.
Collin’s hands find my waist, sure and steady as they have been from the moment we started training together.
As he lifts me into the air, I arch my back, extending my arms like wings, and for a suspended moment, I feel weightless—free from the gravity of decisions and consequences.
When he sets me down, our eyes lock, and I see it there—the hurt, the confusion, but something else too.
Something that looks a lot like longing.
We break apart, skating backward in perfect symmetry before meeting again for a synchronized spin.
The audience fades away until it’s just us, just the ice beneath our blades and the music wrapping around us.
Why am I doing this? The question pulses through me as we execute a complicated step sequence.
Why push away the one person who sees me?
I’d told myself it was to protect him—from career complications, from the tabloid frenzy, from my mess of a life.
But as his hand finds the small of my back, guiding me through a transition so seamless it feels like breathing, I know the truth.
I was only protecting myself. From hoping.
From believing that someone like Collin King could want someone like me—permanently, completely.
Not just for now, not just until the competition ends or until the novelty wears off.
We launch into a side-by-side triple jump, landing in perfect unison.
The crowd gasps, but I barely hear them.
None of it makes sense anymore. The excuses, the walls, the fear—they all seem paper-thin now, ready to tear at the slightest touch.
What am I saving him from? A woman who loves him too much?
A relationship that might actually work?
As we flow into the final sequence, his arms encircle me from behind, our bodies moving as one across the ice.
His warmth seeps through the thin fabric of my costume, and I lean into it instinctively.
Our last spin winds down, leaving us face to face, chest to chest, breathing hard, my hands on his shoulders, his at my waist. The final note hangs in the air. Then Collin does something we never rehearsed.
He kisses me.
It’s raw, desperate, claiming. His lips crush against mine with an urgency that steals what little breath I have left.
One hand slides up to cradle my head, fingers tangling in my curls, holding me to him as if afraid I might pull away.
I don’t. Instead, I melt into him, my arms winding around his neck, kissing him back with every ounce of feeling I’ve been trying to deny.
The taste of him—mint and something uniquely Collin—makes me dizzy.
Or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen. Either way, I don’t care.
The music has stopped. The lights are still on us.
Millions of people are watching, but in this moment, it’s just us—just this connection I’ve been fighting for all the wrong reasons.
When we break apart, the arena is deadly quiet for a heartbeat.
Then it erupts.
The roar is deafening. People are on their feet, screaming, some clutching each other, others outright sobbing.
Signs wave frantically: KING & CLARK FOREVER and TEAM COLLIRIS bouncing above the crowd.
I spare a glance sideways, Diane is standing, hands pressed to her chest, grinning so widely I can see all her teeth.
The other judges are clapping wildly, one fanning herself dramatically while mouthing Oh my god to the camera.
Kelly, the host, has lost all professional composure.
She’s jumping up and down at the sidelines, pointing at us and shouting something I can’t make out over the thunderous applause.
But none of it matters—not the scores, not the competition, not even the fact that we’ve just kissed during a broadcast to the entire country.
All that matters is Collin, his forehead now pressed against mine, his hands still holding me close.
“I told you to trust me,” he whispers, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re insane,” I say breathless.
“Certifiable,” he agrees. There are no post-performance interviews.
We exit the ice as they try to calm the crowd while the judges deliberate.
My vision tunnels as I step onto the rubber mats, people surrounding me, buzzing and excited until Collin follows after, scattering the crowd as he invades my space, holding me by my elbows so I can’t run away from him.
I can’t believe he just did that. A scandal like that would surely cost him everything no matter what he says about having “fixed things.” You can’t fix something like that.
That’s something PR can’t spin. That kiss wasn’t something anyone could deny.
My pulse races wildly beneath my skin, panic rising like floodwater.
I shake my head, pulling against his grip even as my body betrays me by wanting to lean in.
“What were you thinking?” I hiss, glancing around at the curious eyes watching us.
“Do you have any idea what you just did?” Collin guides me toward a narrow service corridor, away from the cameras and prying eyes.
His thumb moves in small, soothing circles against the inside of my elbow.
Each gentle stroke sends contradictory waves of calm and electricity through my overwrought nerves.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of my thoughts. “Just breathe.” But I can’t. The air feels too thin, insufficient.
“Why would you do that?” My voice cracks on the question, raw with emotion. “Your career, Collin. Everything you’ve worked for—”
“Is meaningless without you.” The quiet certainty in his voice stops me cold. Warm brown eyes lock on mine, unwavering. I shake my head, rejection rising instinctively.
“You don’t understand what you’re saying. What you’re giving up.” I’d always missed skating, always hated Owen for asking me to walk away from it. His voice in the back of my head still tells me I’m not enough, not for him or anyone.
“I’m not giving anything up.” He shakes his head at me, breathless, cheeks pink. I can’t listen to this, can’t hear past the thoughts piling up in my head with no way to shut them out.
“I love being a mom,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
“Jamie is my world, but I’m a parent because I have to be.
.. I chose this.” My voice softens, fractures.
“Collin, it doesn’t take a genius to know that there are things you will miss out on if you choose me, if you choose Jamie.
” His fingers tighten imperceptibly on my arms, as though afraid I might dissolve if he loosens his grip.
“How could you do something so insane when your career, when your life as you know it is on the line?” A muscle in his jaw works, emotion rippling beneath the surface of his controlled expression.