Chapter 12 #2
"Take off your shirt," he said professionally. "Keep the sports bra on."
I hesitated, then pulled my sweat-soaked t-shirt off.
Rory knelt behind me on the couch.
"Your traps are rocks," he muttered, his thumbs digging into my shoulders. "And your lats are tight. No wonder you can't rotate. You're fighting your own tension."
He turned on the massage gun. The percussive thumping filled the room.
He worked on my back for twenty minutes. It hurt. It was glorious. He found every knot, every trigger point, and pulverized it with a mix of the machine and his own unrelenting strength.
"Breathe," he reminded me, his voice a low rumble in my ear. "Let it go, Zoe. You don't have to hold the world up right now."
I groaned, my head falling forward. "It hurts."
"Good pain. Healing pain."
He moved to my lower back, his large hands spanning my waist. He switched off the gun and used the oil. His hands were warm, slick, and incredibly skilled.
"You have bruises," he murmured, tracing the purple marks on my hip from the falls.
"The ice is hard."
"I hate the ice right now," he growled. "I hate that it hurts you."
"It makes me stronger."
"It makes you hard," he corrected. "I don't want you hard, Zoe. I want you… resilient. Like a willow. Bends, doesn't break."
He finished the massage. He wiped the oil off with a towel.
Then, he sat next to me on the couch. He pulled me into his lap.
I didn't protest. I collapsed against him, burying my face in his neck. I inhaled his scent—the only thing that truly calmed my racing heart.
"Better?" he asked, stroking my hair.
"Yes," I mumbled. "Much."
"You need to sleep," he said. "Real sleep. Not four hours of tossing and turning."
"I have to go back to the dorms. The RA checks at midnight."
"Text her," Rory said. "Tell her you're studying late at the library and crashing with Mia. I already texted Mia. She’s covering for you."
I looked up at him. "You plotted this?"
"I strategized," he smirked. "I’m a defenseman. I anticipate the play."
"I can't stay, Rory. If my dad calls…"
"Turn off the phone," he said. "Just for tonight. Let the world burn for eight hours. It’ll still be ashes in the morning."
I looked at my phone. The source of my anxiety. The tether to my father.
I turned it off.
I tossed it onto the coffee table.
"Okay," I whispered.
Rory carried me to the bed. He didn't undress me. He didn't try to initiate sex. He just stripped down to his boxers and climbed in next to me.
He pulled the duvet up. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, spooning me, his chin resting on top of my head.
"I’ve got you," he whispered into the dark. "I’m the anchor. You can drift, Zoe. I won't let you float away."
I closed my eyes.
For the first time in a week, the noise in my head stopped. The fear of Nationals faded. The pressure of law school vanished.
There was just the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the absolute certainty that I was safe.
I drifted.
I woke up screaming.
It was a nightmare. I was on the ice. I was jumping. But instead of landing, the ice opened up. I fell into black water. Cold, suffocating water. And as I sank, I saw my father standing on the surface, watching me drown.
"Zoe! Zoe, wake up!"
Rory was shaking me.
I gasped, shooting up in bed, my heart hammering like a machine gun. I was drenched in cold sweat.
"I fell," I choked out. "I fell through the ice."
"You're here," Rory said, grabbing my face. "You're in the cave. You're safe."
I clung to him, sobbing. The stress had found me even in sleep.
"I can't do it," I cried. "I can't win. I’m going to fail. I’m going to lose everything."
"Shh," Rory soothed, rocking me back and forth. "You aren't going to fail."
"You don't know that!"
"I do," he said fiercely. "Because you are the toughest person I know. You take hits that would shatter grown men and you get back up. You have bruises on your bruises, and you still skate."
He pulled back, forcing me to look at him in the pre-dawn light.
"You think you need to be perfect to be loved," he said, his voice raw. "That’s what your dad taught you. That’s what the ice taught you."
He took my hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart.
"But look at me, Zoe. I’m flawed. I’m scarred. I’m a mess. And you… you look at me like I’m a king."
"You are," I whispered.
"Then be my queen," he said. "Not the Ice Princess. The Queen. Queens don't need to be perfect. They just need to rule."
He kissed my forehead.
"Go out there today," he said. "And don't skate for your dad. Don't skate for the judges. Skate for the little girl who loved the edge. Skate for the feeling of flight."
"And for you?"
"Always for me," he smiled crookedly. "Because I’ll be watching. And if anyone gives you a bad score, I’ll eat them."
I laughed. A wet, shaky laugh.
"Okay," I said, wiping my eyes. "Okay."
I got out of bed. I felt… lighter. The fear was still there, but it wasn't crushing me. I had an anchor.
I got dressed. I turned my phone back on.
Twenty missed calls from my father.
Five texts from Sergei.
I ignored them all.
I kissed Rory goodbye.
"Thank you," I said.
"Go fly," he said.
I walked out of the duplex. I drove to the rink.
I walked in. Sergei was waiting, looking furious.
"You are late," he barked. "And you smell like him."
I dropped my bag on the bench. I looked Sergei in the eye.
"I’m ready," I said.
I stepped onto the ice.
I didn't think about the landing. I didn't think about the rotation.
I thought about the storm. I thought about Rory’s hands. I thought about being a Queen.
I skated.
I launched into the Triple Axel.
I pulled tight. I spun.
I landed.
Clean. Sharp. Perfect.
Sergei’s jaw dropped.
I stood there, breathing hard, feeling the cold air in my lungs.
I smiled.
I was going to win. And I was going to do it on my terms.