Chapter 5 – Center Ic
Breakaway Pla y
October
Amelia
I look around at my quiet, lonely house. It's no longer a home, and my heart aches. It hasn't been one for some time. Even before Jaxson asked for an open marriage, I could sense the distance growing between us for months.
I'd rather not think about that. I want to savor the happiness Bash brings.
Last night with him was easy and effortless; the kind of night that made me feel alive in a way I haven't in years.
I'm not sure if it's because I've been emotionally starved or if Bash makes me feel seen and cared for in a way Jaxson hasn’t in a long time, maybe ever.
It could be both.
Gah! Don't do this, Amelia! No guilt! Don't overthink it. Don't push away something good just because you're scared.
Not looking for anything beyond friendship, I rationalize. No physical relationship, just fun with those who make me smile. Happiness is in short supply right now, and I need allies to help me through this until Jaxson gets it out of his system and his head on straight.
Should I have to wait for him to remember what loyalty is, though?
Maybe it's coloring outside the lines, but blast it, Jaxson set the rules. This is what he wants, and he's enjoying his freedom.
I keep pretending things aren't as bad as they are. I can usually tune out the gossip, far removed from it here in my house. Until reality hits, and it gets harder to ignore.
When grocery shopping, people stare, gossip behind their hands, or give me the side-eye when I fill my gas tank .
Do they really think I can't see them?
Maybe it's time to switch to online orders and deliveries for all my essentials. It stings because I know I'm not at fault.
The worst part is, it's not even because of anything Jaxson's actually been caught doing.
It's the rumors. The things people say they've seen or heard, or even been part of.
Everyone knows Jaxson loves attention, the way he flirts with his female fans, and the parties he goes to.
I'm no fool. I know what goes on at those parties.
Men boast, players gossip, and the women he's been sleeping with love to flaunt it.
Word travels fast, bouncing from locker rooms to pillow talk with girlfriends and wives, circling back until everyone knows and whispers about it.
And I end up bearing the brunt of the embarrassment.
It even follows me to the figure skating competitions I quietly participated in over the past few months.
I try to keep a low profile, but gossip has a way of finding me.
Now that the ISU Challenger Series has kicked off, staying under the radar is harder than ever.
Hockey players are well-known, and being Jaxson's wife makes me an interesting topic, no matter where I am.
I compete under my maiden name, Amelia Smith, mostly because it's the name I've used since the start of my career. Plus, it has the added benefit of not being Jaxson's more recognizable last name, Kingston.
That's why I really love the private practice rink Jaxson built behind our house when we married.
After it was finished, I could practice here without anyone staring.
Of course, the scrutiny has only gotten worse since this summer, just before Jaxson opened the marriage, adding to my misery.
I'm not sure how he thinks a hockey player can live like this and still keep it under wraps.
With my skates draped over my shoulder, I head to the rink.
Tucked behind frosted glass doors at the edge of the estate, it stretches out before me.
It isn't huge—maybe half the size of an official arena—but it's enough.
Jaxson can run one-on-one scrimmages, and I can easily rehearse jumps, spins, and complex footwork sequences.
The walls are bare, except for a full-length mirror at the back.
The ice itself gleams smooth and white under LED lights built into the vaulted ceiling.
It casts a soft glow that can be adjusted to mimic competition settings.
There's nothing flashy here. No banners, no framed jerseys, no trophies. Just ice, mirrors, and absolute heart-breaking silence .
The space wasn't built for me. It was one of Jaxson's first big splurges after he became famous.
He wanted a quiet place to train and stay sharp during the off-season.
I thought he meant it for both of us. But after we got married, he made it clear that he didn't want me to skate professionally anymore.
He wanted a housewife. A mother. We talked about kids, but as his fame grew, so did the distance between us.
I reacted by turning inward and pushing myself even harder.
Thinking back, I remember being sixteen and on the verge of Olympic gold.
That was before they raised the minimum age.
People called me a prodigy, years ahead of my peers.
My scores were solid, and I made it to the final round.
I came so close to everything I'd worked for when I twisted my ankle during the performance and had to withdraw.
Although the injury might have been minor for anyone else, it was devastating for an Olympic-class skater.
It took months of therapy and conditioning to recover.
After that, Jaxson insisted I step away from competition.
But as he became consumed by his hockey career, I continued to train in the background.
Without his knowledge, I entered smaller international competitions to regain what I'd lost. He was so absorbed in his own world that he never noticed.
By then, I think I had just become another one of his possessions .
Because figure skating is in my blood, I couldn't just walk away from it.
The truth is, I didn't. I quietly kept training and improving with all the tools here at my disposal.
The private rink behind our house, along with my home gym, helps me stay toned and ready, honing my body so that if I ever get another chance, there won't be a single thing holding me back.
I've grown stronger and more flexible, rebuilding everything I lost after the injury.
With the help of a therapist, I'm also working to regain my confidence and manage my depression. Missing my shot at the Olympics crushed me. But figure skating, the one constant that never failed me, helped me heal, even though I had to do it behind Jaxson's back.
I hate the secrecy, knowing it only adds to the distance between us, but when I once suggested counseling together, he just scoffed.
I started counseling over a year ago, but never found the courage to confide in Jaxson. I couldn't bear to hear him mock something that's helped me so much. Virtual sessions make it easier to care for my mental health, whether I'm home or traveling for competitions.
The trust fund my dad gifted me when I came of age has been my lifeline.
Without it, I'd be completely under Jaxson's control.
He handles the household bills through his accountant and sets aside funds for daily expenses, but I know he'd question the trips I take for competitions if they came from his accounts.
That and the inheritance from my grandmother have given me the freedom to quietly pursue my dreams, without Jaxson ever knowing.
Approaching the rink, I sit on the sidelines and swap my shoes for skates.
After lacing them up, I step onto the ice and am immediately transported to another world.
The snick of my blades against the surface, the cool air rushing into my lungs, and my hair whipping as I cut a wide arc across the floor pull me deeper into my head.
It's all second nature. I come alive with each move, slipping into the rhythm of my routine.
As the chill seeps into my skin, I pull my full head covering up and across my face.
I suffer from a mild form of Raynaud's, a circulatory condition that causes my extremities to feel numb or sting when exposed to the cold for too long.
To manage it, I wear a full-body thermal core undergarment beneath my clothing or skate costume.
The thin, high-tech fabric traps body heat like a second layer of skin.
It keeps my temperature steady and eases my discomfort when the cold settles in too deeply .
The rhythm of my movements is a release as my body and mind coalesce, and I feel as though I'm soaring.
It's nearly a transcendental, almost spiritual experience.
Every glide, jump, and spin carries me further away from the noise of my life.
The ice is my freedom. Here, I'm not Jaxson's wife, not a placeholder or an afterthought.
I'm alive, my body strong, capable of things no one even realizes.
Just for this brief moment in time, I'm in control of my life, and I don't have to apologize for who I am or what I want.
I know this rink intimately, having spent hundreds of hours here.
I lean into a flip and lunge into a flying camel spin that flows into a smooth spiral where my body stretches to its limits.
The arc I carve makes me feel fluid, seamless, a part of the glistening expanse beneath my blades.
A thrill washes over me as I slow into a glide, leaving silver trails behind me.
Eyes closed, relying only on muscle memory, I imagine myself back in Nice, France, at the Invitational des étoiles de Glace , or the Stars of Ice Invitational.
It was the first competition of the ISU Challenger Series, which began in August. If I want to go to the Olympics in February, I have to keep proving myself, and this is part of my final push.
[Flashback ]
The rink is silent, as if the crowd is holding its collective breath.
Even though I never stopped competing, this is the first time since the Olympics that people have really started to notice me again.
I'm not nervous.
I'm confident.
I close my eyes.
Not to escape.
To hold this moment for me.
This isn't a comeback,
I've been coming back every day, every grueling practice, every early morning, every taped ankle, and every under-the-radar event.
No cameras, no fans, no paparazzi or newspapers.
Just hard work.
Sweat.
And a long, punishing road.
“Now… on ze ice, eez Mademoiselle Amelia Smeeth, representing Canada,” the announcer begins, his smooth French accent curling around each word.
His partner joins in, her voice lilting and bubbly, “Ah, oui… she was… ow do you say… ze golden prodigy, non? Z e Olympic dream at sixteen years old, and zen… trah-jeh-dee, no? She was injured!”
“But now, she returns! Quietly, but becoming louder,” he says, chuckling.
The woman purrs, “And zat dress, mon Dieu! Blazing red, over a full thermal suit. Très Canadienne. But she has Raynaud's and needs eet to keep warm. C'est la vie.”
“So mystique! She looks like fire,” the man adds. “Ze Phoenix from ze ashes.”
“Oui! Oui! Maybe eet ez still to be,” she replies, breathlessly.
“Ze Rising Phoenix!” he declares.
I giggle.
And then I let go.
I surrender myself to the music…
…to the ice,
…to the serenity.
Like an adrenaline junkie, I'm blissfully lost in this sliver of time.
[End of Flashback]
As the memory recedes and I finish my practice routine, I open my eyes and slow to a soft glide. The blades scrape hypnotically across the gleaming surface, the sound echoing in the silence once again .
The music has faded…
…no applause,
…no announcers,
…just me again, alone. Back in my own private arena.
My chest rises and falls from the exertion of my workout as I bat tears from my eyes.
Looking up at the far wall. It's blank, empty, stark. Waiting for something.
Maybe it's time I stop pretending to matter to someone and focus on mattering to myself. I'm proud of my accomplishments.
In August, I placed fourth at the Invitational des étoiles de Glace in Nice, France, and in September, I took fourth at the Ice Fall Open in Christchurch, New Zealand.
Neither was a podium finish, but it was close and a significant achievement considering what I've been through.
Those competitions attract the most talented women in the world of figure skating.
So, yes. It's time to build a showcase on that wall for the ribbons, medals, and trophies I put away when Jaxson told me to stop competing. I packed these pieces of myself into boxes in the attic, as if they never counted. As if I were never good enough .
Jaxson doesn't seem to remember that I exist anymore, and I wonder if he ever really cared. Does he even recognize who I was before I became part of us?
He may not.
But I do.
And I'm done hiding her.
This is my place.
My passion.
My life.
And it all deserves to be seen.
I deserve to be seen.
And, who knows, maybe right there in the middle of that showcase, I'll display an Olympic medal. And if I'm tough enough, it'll be gold.