“It’s time,” Spencer says.
I scan the crowd until my eyes land on Wes sitting beside Thea and Brooks. Challenger events are smaller in size, and this venue has less seating than most, so it’s easy to spot them. Brooks told me that he arranged for the three of them to fly together. I’m dying to know what that experience was like, but Wes and Brooks have gone radio silent to allow me to focus.
“Please welcome, representing the United States, the pair of Isla Covington and Spencer Davidson,” the announcer booms through the speaker system.
I give a wave to our cheering section as Spencer and I skate toward center ice holding hands. We slip into our starting poses—our backs to each other, peering over our shoulders. Spencer smiles widely at me, while I purse my lips in an unimpressed expression. Our short program music starts, and I skate away from Spencer as he chases after me.
Wes
I hold my breath as Spencer and Isla perform a series of twists, flips, and leaps that both dazzle and terrify me.
I’ve seen them practice these elements a hundred times at my rink, honing them to perfection. As far as I can tell, they’re perfect today. The crowd whoops as Spencer spins Isla in a circle around him. She’sradiant as she stretches her body to its full length and arches her back. Isla glimmers as she moves, her one-shouldered black skating costume with silver slashes of color catching the lights from above.
The routine is winding down, the music reaching a crescendo as they approach their final element. They skate backwards toward the center of the ice, Spencer behind Isla. Their left hands clasp over her head, while their right hands link down at their sides. Spencer squats, then lifts Isla crossbody, spinning mid-air until she’s positioned behind his head, legs out wide, her free hand straight out to her side.
And then everything goes to hell.
One moment, Spencer holds Isla in place with one hand clasped with hers, and the next, he’s unsteady on his feet, swaying from side to side like he’s losing his balance.
“I think it’s his skate blade,” the woman beside me murmurs.
A collective gasp rips from the audience as we watch Spencer and Isla crumble to the ground in a tangle of limbs. I’ve seen them fall together countless times, but never like this. Blood gushes onto the ice, but it happened so fast that I can’t tell who’s hurt or how they became injured.
“What happened?” Brooks jumps to his feet, one hand over hismouth.
Thea grips my arm. “Are they okay?”
We watch as medical staff rush onto the ice and tend to them. I wait until they start guiding them off the ice, and then I’m on my feet, sprinting toward the exit.
“We’re right behind you,” Brooks calls as we maneuver our way through the crowd and break through the rink doors into the hallway.
“Where are they?” I bark at the first person I see in a neon vest that reads “Event Staff.” He rears back, taking a step away from us. “The skaters who got hurt. Spencer Davidson. Isla Covington. Where will they take them?”
“We’re family,” Brooks clarifies, smoothing over my roughness with his charming smile. It’s strained at the edges, but he’s better than me at trying to pretend he isn’t losing his mind with worry.
“Follow me,” the man says.
My heart pounds as we follow him down the hallway. We’re forced to wait outside the room for a few agonizing minutes until the man leads us inside the medical room, where Spencer sits on a table as a medical professional threads a stitch through the skin of Spencer’s forehead while he stares at his phone.
“Uncle Spencer!” Thea calls, rushing to his side.
“Damn, that looked nasty. Stupid skate blade,” Spencer says, cheerful as ever, waving his phone at us. Video of their fall has already made it onto social media. Isla’s going to hate this.
I glance around the room, searching for her, but she’s nowhere in sight.
“She took off once she knew I was okay,” Spencer says, reading my mind.
“What do you mean she took off?” I ask through gritted teeth.
Spencer turns toward me, forgetting the stitching in progress on his forehead. The doctor grips his chin, keeping him in place. “Islaisn’t hurt. She’s got some bruising and a few scrapes. They checked us both for concussions, and we’re fine.”
I let out a relieved breath that she’s not hurt until the rest of his words register. “You let herleave?”
Brooks snorts. “You don’tletIsla do anything. I figured you’d know that.”
“She could barely look me in the eyes,” Spencer explains. “She blames herself for what happened.”
“Did she say where she was going?” Brooks asks.
