We get back on our feet and do a few more laps.
“Watch this,” she says.
She skates to the center of the rink and stands there for a moment before the tension leaves her shoulders. Kendall builds speed with long, powerful strokes, then launches into a jump that takes my breath away. She rotates once, twice, three times in the air before landing on a single blade, her free leg extended behind her.
A triple axel.
I’ve seen her do this before. That day at the facility, when she didn’t know I was watching, when I stood in the dark and let her skate alone to Coldplay. But this is different. She’s not escaping into the ice to get away from something. She’s inviting me in.
She flows into a spin that starts slow and accelerates until she’s a blur of cream sweater and dark hair. Then she’s skating backward, carving intricate patterns into the ice.
I don’t move. I barely breathe. All I can do is watch, completely mesmerized by her.
She finishes with a simple glide, coming to a stop a few feet from me. Her chest rises and falls from the exertion, and there’s something vulnerable in her expression, like she showed me something she doesn’t share with anyone.
“I was told to stop doing that,” she says. “When my ankle shattered, I thought I’d never be on the ice again. Every time I lace my skates up, I get one in to prove I still can.”
I close the distance between us and cup her face in my hands. Her skin is cold, but her eyes are warm.
“You’re incredible. Also stubborn as fuck,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks flush darker, and it’s not from the cold. “Can say the same about you.”
“Zero lies detected.” I tilt her chin up so she has to look at me. “I’m proud of you for not letting it stop you. When Jamie got injured … well, he hasn’t been on the ice since. Many athletes give it up completely.”
I see a flash of grief in her eyes for the Olympic life she almost had.
She backs up and starts skating, reaching for me, but the conversation continues as I follow her around.
“Sometimes, I used to think if I’d landed differently or taken the day off, what would’ve happened? That day, I felt invincible. For years after, I was full of regret and stayed mad at myself. But had the injury not happened, I don’t think I’d be painting professionally, which means none of this would’ve happened.”
“True.”
She smiles. “Yeah, so maybenotbeing an Olympian wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to me. Maybe it was the thing that led me straight to you.”
I kiss her forehead, then her nose, then the corner of her mouth. She makes a frustrated sound and grabs my jacket, pulling me in for a real kiss. Her lips are cold, but her mouth is warm, and she tastes like toothpaste.
“Thank you for this,” she says when we break apart. “For bringing me here. For getting my skates. For …” She gestures at the empty rink, the string lights, the trees dark against the sky. “For skating with me. It means a lot.”
“This is the beginning,” I tell her.
She laughs. “That a promise?”
“Fuck yeah, it is. I’m not letting you go, Kendall.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Her eyes soften. “You’d better not,” she says.
After we skate for a few hours, we drive back to the city, holding hands. She falls asleep somewhere on the highway, her head on my shoulder, her warm breath against my neck. I take it all in and think about how different this is.
I’m enjoying myself, but also waiting for everything to crash and burn—because that’s my luck, because nothing is ever easy. But I don’t care. I’d risk it all for her. My career, my team, even the respect of her father, my sister, and every other person we’ve lied to since this started. I’d say goodbye to it all if I got to keep her.
I’ve spent my entire life chasing championships and records, wanting to create a legacy people will remember. But as we head back to the city, Kendall asleep beside me, I understand.
Thisis what I want. Her. And whatever comes next.
27
KENDALL
