“Oh God.”
“You’ll be fine,” she said, patting my arm. “And you’ve got Prince Charming here to catch you if you fall.”
Alex choked. I turned bright red.
“Mel,” he hissed, mortified.
She just grinned. “I call ’em like I see ’em.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, but before I could respond, Alex stepped a little closer, offering his hands.
“Ready?” he asked softly.
I nodded, my breath catching.
He steadied me as I pushed off, his palms warm around mine, his voice gentle in my ear.
“One step at a time. I’m right here.”
Once I got moving, something inside me, something old and buried and stubborn, snapped awake.
It wasn’t graceful, not at first.
I clung to Alex’s hands.
I wobbled.
I swore quietly under my breath when one skate tried to zoom ahead without the other.
But with every shaky glide, every steadying touch from Alex, every gentle “You’ve got it,” something shifted.
My body remembered this.
My legs remembered it.
Iremembered it.
“Try letting go,” Alex said after a few minutes, voice warm and encouraging.
I swallowed. “Letting go sounds like a trap. Letting go sounds like falling.”
He chuckled. “Not if you trust yourself.”
I took a breath and let go.
At first, it felt like jumping off a cliff.
My knees wobbled dangerously. My arms flailed. I did a little panic-wiggle that probably looked like interpretive dance.
But then, my wheels caught rhythm. My body found balance. And suddenly, I was gliding.
Actually gliding.
The breeze from my own movement lifted my hair, cool and soft against my neck. The lights from the rink shimmered on the floor as I rolled faster, around the curve, through the glowing tunnel of colored bulbs overhead.
I wasn’t just skating.
I was flying.
