“Feeling lighter though,” I say honestly.
That makes him pause. We glide to a stop near the boards. Lukas leans on his stick, studying me like he’s trying to decide how hard to push.
“So,” he says finally. “How did it go?”
I take a breath. Let the answer come out slowly, fully formed.
“I told her everything that mattered,” I say. “Not the crash again. Not the headlines. Just… me. The fear. The pressure. How trapped I felt. And how none of that excuses what I did.”
“And?”
“And she didn’t forgive me.”
I watch him carefully, but Lukas doesn’t react the way most people would. He just nods.
“But she didn’t shut the door either,” I add. “She said she’s not broken. She’s just not ready.”
A hint of approval flickers across his face. “That’s big.”
“It is,” I agree. “I feel like… I don’t know, like I’m not chasing an outcome. I just want to do this right. However long it takes.”
He smiles then, it’s small but genuine.
“You’re learning,” he says. “About damn time.”
I laugh gently, the sound echoing in the empty rink. “I want to make it work. With her. But I don’t want to pressure her into being okay before she actually is.”
“That’s the difference,” Lukas says. “Between wanting someone and deserving them.”
The words sit with me as we skate a few more laps together, the silence companionable now instead of heavy. When we finally head off the ice, my legs are burning in that satisfying, earned way. The kind that tells me I showed up, not that I punished myself.
My phone buzzes while I’m unlacing my skates.
Rose.
Just her name on the screen is enough to make my heart stutter.
Lunch?
There’s a café by the river. If you’re free.
I stare at it for a long second, then force myself not to overthink my reply.
I’m free. I’d like that.
The café is small and bright, all glass and pale wood, sunlight spilling in through wide windows that look out over the river. Boats drift past slowly, the water glinting silver under the afternoon sky. I get there early. Of course I do.
When Rose walks in, my chest tightens, not with panic, but with something warm and steady. She looks like herself again. Still guarded, still careful, but present. The dark circles have gone from beneath her eyes and there’s a spark there again.
She smiles when she sees me. “Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
We order, then sit at a table by the window. There’s a moment where neither of us speaks, and for once it doesn’t feel as if it’s a problem.
“This place is nice,” I say eventually.
“I come here when I need to think,” she replies. “It helps.”
