My cheeks burn.“Your grip—”
“My grip is perfect.”
I bite my tongue.
He skates closer, fingers gripping my chin so hard it pinches.“You keep letting your head drift.I tell you what to fix, and you ignore me.”His voice sharpens.“It’s disrespectful.”
“I’m trying,” I whisper.
He lifts an eyebrow.“Try harder.”
He lets go, irritation crackling off him in waves.He circles me once like a predator deciding where to bite.
“Wren,” he says, softer now, coaxing, the shift so sudden it makes my stomach twist, “we’re better than this.You and me?We’re the future.Champions.Icons.We just need to get through this season.Together.”
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
Anyone watching would think he’s being tender.
But I feel the threat under it.
“You’re not thinking about quitting, are you?”he asks.
My chest goes tight.
He sees it.
He always sees too much.
“No,” I lie.“I just—needed space.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Space?”he repeats like he’s tasting the word, deciding if he likes it.He skates behind me, his hands landing on my shoulders, thumbs pressing into the muscles hard enough to hurt.
“You don’t get space,” he murmurs into my ear.“Not when we’re this close to everything we’ve worked for.”
I stiffen.
His lips brush the shell of my ear.“You’re nothing without this.Without me.”
The words hit harder than any fall ever could.
A tremble runs up my spine.He notices.
“Hey,” he says suddenly, stepping in front of me again with his bright, charming smile—the one he uses for cameras.“Don’t look like that.I’m just pushing you because I love you.You know that.”
I nod slowly.
He cups my cheek.“You love me too.”
It isn’t a question.
And I know—if I don’t answer exactly how he wants, exactly how he expects—tomorrow’s practice will be even worse.
So I say it.
“I love you.”
