Chapter 29 Iris #3
“Because I didn’t have anything worth fighting for!
” The words burst from him. He inhales sharply and lowers his voice when he realizes people are craning their necks to see us.
The space between his eyebrows creases and I want to smooth it.
“But I do now. Everything they were asking me to give up meant nothing. That life meant nothing... but you? Jamie? That means something to me.” His voice drops, softens.
“This is worth fighting for, Iris. You are worth fighting for.” I can’t see past the blur in my vision, hot tears filling my eyes and spilling over my cheeks until he comes into focus.
Before I can respond, he continues, the words flowing as though a dam has broken inside him.
“Because I want to bring you coffee in that chipped mug you love. Because I want to teach Jamie how to skate, and I love that he colors me and Ace into his family pictures.” His hands tremble against my skin, vulnerable in ways that make my heart contract painfully in my chest. “Because I want to know what you’re thinking, always.
Because I want to talk to you every hour of every day, and I want you to talk to me.
.. and when you don’t talk to me, well, that day’s just no good.
” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort.
“Because I love you, Iris! And I know you don’t need me.
Hell, you don’t need anyone... but it’s okay to want someone, and I want you.
You and Jamie.” The rawness in his voice strips away my defenses layer by layer.
“I want this family.” His voice drops to a whisper.
“I want it so bad that I went to Marcus and PR and told them to shove it. Told them that I’m not leaving you.
Ever. Not until you tell me you don’t want me.
” He grasps my hands, drawing them to his chest, placing them over his heart.
I feel the frantic drumming beneath my palms, the tangible evidence of emotions too large to be contained within the confines of his body.
My bottom lip trembles. “Tell me...” His voice breaks on the words.
“Tell me you don’t want this.” The world narrows to this moment, this choice.
“I...” My voice fails me. “I can’t... I—” I shake my head, eyes searching his.
Hurt flickers across his face, darkening his eyes to something closer to umber than amber.
His body tenses, muscles coiling as he tries to pull away, misunderstanding my meaning.
My small hands tangle in his shirt, refusing to let him retreat.
The fabric bunches between my fingers as I pull him closer rather than releasing him.
The words rush out, unstoppable now. “I can’t tell you that because my heart is so full of you I can hardly call it my own anymore, and that’s fucking terrifying.
..” My voice catches, then strengthens with certainty.
“But it’s yours.” The silence between us expands as he stares down at me, eyes tracking over my face.
“It’s yours,” I repeat, voice cracking. A small nod, as though confirming the truth to myself as much as to him.
“I love you, Collin.” His eyes snap back to mine.
“Say that again,” he whispers, the words barely audible.
“I love yo—” He cuts me off with a kiss.
It’s different than the one on the ice. No audience, no performance, just the honest press of his mouth against mine.
It reminds me of Christmas Eve, of New Years, of those moments when we were just Iris and Collin and nothing else really mattered.
His hands find their way to my face, warm palms cupping my jaw, the pad of his thumb wiping the tears from my cheeks.
As we break apart, just enough to breathe, his forehead rests against mine, the way he holds me more devastating than any kiss could be.
The moment is shattered by a harried PA with a clipboard rushing toward us, headset askew.
“King and Clark! There you are!” She looks exasperated, glancing at her watch.
“All contestants back to center ice now, please. We’re rolling again in two minutes for the final results.
” Collin reluctantly drops his hands from my face, his fingertips trailing along my jaw before pulling away.
His eyes never leave mine as he steps back, and the sudden absence of his touch makes me shiver.
“Ready to finish this?” he asks, voice low enough that only I can hear. I swallow hard, nodding.
“Let’s go win this thing.” His answering smile is soft and private, just for me.
He takes my hand, lacing our fingers together as we make our way back to the rink.
The roar of the crowd swells as we step onto the ice, the temperature dropping noticeably, sending goosebumps racing along my exposed arms. The glare of the spotlights is disorienting after the dim corridor, and I blink rapidly, tightening my grip on Collin’s hand.
Three thousand people watching, millions more on television.
Logan and Sophia are already positioned to our left, their matching blue costumes shimmering under the lights.
To our right, Sasha and Derek stand ramrod straight, faces set in professional smiles.
The tension radiating from both couples is palpable, a stark contrast to the strange calm that’s settled over me.
We take our place center ice, a makeup artists fusses around us for touch ups as the cameras move back into position.
My heart pounds against my ribs, but it’s no longer from fear.
There’s a certainty humming through my veins, a rightness that transcends whatever the judges might say.
“Ten seconds!” someone calls out. The arena lights dim slightly, leaving only the white-hot spotlight focused on the ice. Music swells, dramatic and building, as Kelly walks out in a glittering gown that catches and scatters light across the ice like diamond dust.
“Welcome back to the spectacular finale of Ice Breakers!” Her voice echoes across the arena, immediately quieting the crowd.
“Three amazing couples, three breathtaking performances, but only one winning pair.” My pulse quickens, thundering in my ears.
I focus on the cool air filling my lungs, the slight fatigue in my muscles from our performance, the warmth of Collin’s hand in mine.
Time stretches and compresses simultaneously.
“In third place...” Kelly draws out the words, the spotlight sweeping dramatically across all three couples before settling on Logan and Sophia.
“Logan Peterson and Sophia Chen!” There’s a smattering of applause as they skate forward, gracious smiles firmly in place despite the obvious disappointment.
As they move off the ice, the spotlight narrows to just Sasha and Derek standing to our right, and Collin and me.
The air between us vibrates with tension.
Sasha’s knuckles are white where she grips Derek’s hand.
Beside me, Collin is preternaturally still.
“Our runner-up...” Kelly pauses, the silence stretching taut as a wire.
I can hear the scratch of someone’s blade against the ice, the collective inhale of the audience.
My heart hammers so hard I wonder if the microphones can pick it up as the lights roll over us before they come to a complete stop.
“Sasha Petrov and Derek Williams!” Relief and disbelief flood through me in equal measure.
Collin’s hand tightens around mine almost painfully.
We watch as Sasha and Derek skate forward and bow accepting two shiny silver medals.
Kelly steps closer to us, her smile radiant as she addresses the audience.
“America, you’ve voted for months, and the judges clearly agreed tonight that our favorite sweethearts, Collin King and Iris Clark, are your season one Ice Breakers champions!
” The explosion of sound hits me like a physical force.
The roar of the crowd washes over us in waves, the blinding flash of cameras capturing the moment from every angle.
A cascade of silver and gold confetti rains down from the ceiling, sparkling in the spotlight.
I turn to Collin, finding his face transformed by pure joy—his brilliant smile revealing that dimple in his left cheek that I adore.
Before I can speak, he grabs me by the waist, lifting me off my feet and spinning us in a dizzying circle on the ice.
The world blurs into streaks of color and light as I laugh against his shoulder, the scent of his cologne mingling with the clean smell of ice.
“We did it,” he murmurs against my hair, his breath warm against my ear.
“We did,” I agree, my voice thick with emotion.
We both know we’re talking about something far more important than the competition.
When he sets me down, my legs are unsteady.
Whether from the spins or the overwhelming emotion, I’m not sure.
Kelly glides toward us, trophy held high—a gleaming silver cup adorned with crystalline ice skate blades that refract light in prismatic patterns.
The weight of it surprises me when she places it in our hands, solid and cool to the touch.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our champions!” Kelly announces, stepping back as a shower of silver streamers explodes from cannons positioned around the rink.
The sensation is surreal—standing center ice with thousands of people on their feet, the judges beaming, music pulsing through the arena.
The next fifteen minutes pass in a blur of congratulations and camera flashes.
We pose with the trophy, with Kelly, with the other contestants.
Through it all, Collin stays close, his hand at the small of my back or clasped firmly in mine.
When we make it backstage, the real chaos begins.
The press has been waiting, microphones thrust forward like weapons, questions flying at us from all directions, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of demands.
“Collin! Are the rumors true about your relationship?”
“Iris! How long have you been seeing King? Is it serious?”
“What about your hockey career, King?”
“Ms. Clark, how do you think this relationship will affect your son?”
I feel myself tensing, the victory high giving way to the familiar anxiety that’s shadowed me since becoming a single mother. I shouldn’t be surprised that details of my private life have already come to light. Collin steps forward, his arm around my waist steady and sure.
“Yes, Iris and I are together,” he says, voice calm but leaving no room for doubt.
The low rumble of his words vibrates through my side where we’re pressed together.
“And yes, it’s serious. The rest is private.
” A particularly persistent reporter with razor-sharp eyebrows and an expensive-looking blazer pushes forward.
The name badge on her lanyard reads Entertainment Weekly in bold letters.
“Collin, sources close to the Ice Hawks say management isn’t happy about—”
“Management has been informed of my priorities,” Collin cuts in, his tone hardening slightly.
I can feel the tension in his body, the slight flex of muscles beneath his shirt.
“Now if you’ll excuse us, we’d like to celebrate our win.
” He guides me through the throng, a protective barrier between me and the flashing cameras.
His body heat shields me from their invasive questions as effectively as his words.
The moment we’re clear of the press area, behind a partition that offers momentary privacy, I exhale shakily, realizing I’ve been holding my breath.
“You okay?” he asks, brows drawing together in concern, one hand coming up to brush a stray curl from my face. The gentle touch against my flushed skin sends shivers down my spine. I smile, feeling the truth of it bloom from somewhere deep.
“Better than okay.” Diane appears around the corner, nearly colliding with us in her excitement. Her face is flushed, eyes bright, hands clasped together like she’s barely containing herself from hugging us.
“You two! Absolutely brilliant!” she exclaims, voice pitched higher than normal. “That kiss—my god, the ratings must be through the roof!” She fans herself dramatically, bracelets jangling. Collin laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out.
“Glad we could help the network.” She waves a dismissive hand, nails flashing under the fluorescent backstage lights.
“Oh please, as if that wasn’t completely selfish.
” Her eyes soften as she looks between us, a genuine smile replacing her theatrical one.
“I’m so happy for you both.” After a whirlwind of costume changes and congratulations, we finally escape the arena.
The night air is crisp against my flushed skin as we step outside, the stars bright pinpricks in the velvet sky.
“So...” Collin tugs me to a stop beside his car.
“Where to now, champion?” I study his face in the soft glow of the parking lot lights—the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the slight stubble darkening his jaw, the curve of his mouth that I now know the taste of.
The realization that I can reach for him whenever I want hits me like a physical force.
“Home,” I say simply. “I want to go home.” His smile turns questioning.
“Your place?” I shrug, stepping closer until I can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“Or yours. Wherever you are—that feels like home.”