“We’ve got this.” Matilda squeezed my hand as Noah and Sophia waved to the audience and skated toward us backstage. Their broad smiles and bright eyes gave away their excitement—they knew they’d smashed their performance.
When he spotted us, Noah’s smile morphed into a smirk, his head tilting ever so slightly, as if he was savoring the moment.
“Good luck, guys,” Sophia offered in a smug lilt.
“Let’s smash this, Stevens.” I nudged my shoulder against hers. Her face tilted up, a beautiful smile gracing it. Any hint of unease had washed away and been replaced with assured confidence.
They might have been good, but we were better.
“And next on to the ice, we have Luca Vasvault with his partner, Matilda Stevens.”
We skated into position, center rink. It looked as if I was asking for her hand in marriage as I went down on one knee and Matilda remained standing.
The fast but whimsical notes began, and Matilda set off, slicing the ice and circling me a few times. My gaze followed her movements as if I couldn’t take my eyes off the prettiest fairy in the woods.
As she rounded in front of me, she transitioned seamlessly into a backward glide, her hand extending in a playful “follow me” gesture. I pushed off with a powerful stroke, matching her quickening tempo as we traced the outside of the rink.
With a quick three-turn, I shifted from forward to backward skating, aligning perfectly with her rhythm. Together, we began a synchronized footwork sequence, our blades carving sharp ridges into the ice, each movement perfectly in time.
We split into a figure-eight around the ice, Matilda skating one curve while I traced the other. Our blades skimmed past each other as we crossed at the center. We repeated the sweeping patterns, our paths wide and balanced, but this time, as we approached the middle again, I prepared for the lift, shifting my weight and steadying myself for the perfect timing.
Milliseconds before I lifted Matilda, I noticed I was a beat behind.
Desperate to recover, I pushed harder, hoping to give myself enough momentum to lifther.
And Idid.
I pushed her into a press lift and held her steady.
But my muscle memory hadn’t adjusted to the timing. I was still behind.
Matilda prepared to lower herself from the lift before I wasready to safely deposither.
My grip faltered and she slipped from my fingers, straight onto theice.
Matilda hissed asthe medic tightened the bandage around her wrist. After I’d dropped her, she had quickly bounced back up, smile never faltering until we made it backstage, where she grimaced in pain. I yanked off my skates in record time and swept her into my arms before she could protest. Sure, she could have walked without her skates on, but it was quicker to pick her up than waste time taking both of our skates off, especially with her hand out of action.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can’t believe I droppedher.
We’d obviously had a few falls during practice, but Matilda could anticipate those because we were still learning. Tonight’s mistake should never have happened.
“As it’s a sprain, you need to rest, brace, and ice your wrist as much as possible,” the medic explained to Matilda, who was nodding. I watched over the woman’s shoulder as she fastened the bandage, just in case I needed to help Matilda re-dress it this week. “Hopefully the pain meds will kick in soon, too, so you’ll be able to sleep tonight.”
Matilda glanced up and offered me a warm, reassuring smile I didn’t deserve.
The door swung open, and her mother hurried to her side.
“Are you OK?” she rushed out, worry etched across her features.
Matilda’s brows shot up in surprise. “Ummm…yeah, I’m fine.It’s only a small sprain—”
“I mean, are you OK to perform next week? Continue on the show?”
Realization seeped into Matilda’s features. Her mother wasn’t worried about her well-being; she was worried about her place on the show. “I’ll be fine to continue on the show, Mum.”
“Thank god, because you really have some catching up to do. Two average weeks and then a fall in the third. It’s embarrassing, Matilda.”
Matilda’s cheeks flushed a bright red. I tried to catch her eye, to see if she wanted me to intervene, but she wouldn’t look at me. Almost as if shewereembarrassed. Tension seeped into my neck and down my spine. She had nothing to feel embarrassed about—it had beenmyfault. Meanwhile, the medic was doing a great job of looking busy rearranging herkit.
