“EL!” Mel yelled. “You ready to suffer?”
“Emotionally or physically?” I called back.
“Yes.”
The rest of the team was scattered around the rink, stretching, taping wrists, chatting. Some faces I recognized, some new ones. All of them looked like they knew what they were doing. All of them looked so sure of their bodies, their skates, their right to take up space.
I swallowed.
Alex squeezed my hand one more time. “I’ll be right there.” He nodded toward the benches. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know,” I said, even though the part of me that had been abandoned once didn’t believe it.
I pulled on my gear with hands that wouldn’t quite stop shaking. Pads. Helmet. Mouthguard. Mel’s voice echoed in my head.
Knees soft. Chin up. Trust your edges. Don’t apologize for taking space.
Belle’s voice layered over it, warm and fierce.
You deserve to be here. You deserve to be seen.
I rolled out onto the floor with the other women, falling into a loose circle as we started warming up. Skating laps. Crossovers. Little bursts of speed. I watched everyone out of the corner of my eye. I noticed how smooth they were, how confident.
Alex was there, elbows on his knees, watching me like I was the only thing happening in the room. When our eyes met, he smiled, soft, proud, like he already believed in me more than I did myself.
Something inside me steadied. Okay. I rolled my shoulders back, bent my knees, and pushed off harder into my next lap.
I was here.
I was ready.
37
ALEX
Watching Eleanor skate felt like watching someone you loved walk into a storm.
You didn’t get to do anything but stand there and hope she knew how strong she was.
Belle skated to the center of the rink, clipboard in hand. “Okay, listen up!” she called. “We’re going to put our newbies in for a small bout so we can see how you do in real play.”
Eleanor’s head snapped up. For a heartbeat, she just stared. Then her whole face lit up, bright and disbelieving and beautiful. I watched her go, heart in my throat, knowing I was never going to stop cheering for her.
The bout started fast and loud.
I leaned forward on the bench, elbows on my knees, eyes glued to Eleanor as she took her place on the track. The whistle blew, and suddenly everything was motion, bodies colliding, skates carving the floor, the sharp crack of pads hitting pads.
Belle came at her hard.
Too hard.
I hated it.
Eleanor went down under the hit, skidding to the floor, and my heart slammed into my ribs. Mel skated right past her, focused and ruthless, the way good captains were. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to stand up and yell like some unhinged hockey dad.
Then Eleanor pushed herself up. No hesitation. No looking around for permission. She got up and kept going.
A smile broke across my face, pride blooming hot and fierce in my chest. She wasn’t fragile. She was resilient. She fell, and she rose, and she didn’t stop.
