I couldn’t be that version of myself anymore. That version ended up in a hospital or rehab or dead.
I yanked the laces tighter. It was a wonder they didn’t snap.
They were stronger than I was under pressure. Or maybe—maybe they weren’t. Maybe I was still learning what I was made of.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
Coach Miller nodded and stood, draining the last of his coffee. “That’s all I’m asking.” He paused at the boards. “For what it’s worth, Beaubien—you’ve put in the work. Your bodyknows what to do. It’s just waiting for the rest of you to catch up.”
He walked off before I could respond. Probably for the best. I didn’t have words, just a tangle of fear and something else. Something that felt dangerously close to want.
I stepped onto the ice.
The first hour was technical work. Edges, turns, the foundational stuff that required just enough focus to keep my brain from spiralling. I ran through footwork sequences until my thighs burned, until the rhythm of blade against ice became a meditation.
Then I started circling. Building speed.
I hadn’t attempted a quad in competition ready conditions since Worlds. In practice, I’d landed a few, but always when the rink was quiet and the stakes felt imaginary. This was different. Coach Miller was watching from the boards, pretending to check his phone. The morning light slanted through the high windows the way it would at an actual event.
My heart kicked up. The old static crackled at the edges of my vision.
You’ll fall. You’ll fall and he’ll see, and he’ll know you’re not ready, and you never will be—
I thought about Derek’s voice in my ear, steady and calm, talking me through the worst of it on his bathroom floor.You answered my call instead of using them. That means part of you doesn’t want to.
Part of me didn’t want to fall either. Part of me wanted to fly.
I pushed harder. Crossovers eating up the ice, wind stinging my face.
The setup was automatic. Years of muscle memory taking over while my conscious mind screamed at me to abort, to step out, to play it safe.
I jumped.
For a moment, there was nothing but air and rotation. My body tucked tight, spinning, the world a blur of white and light. One revolution. Two. Three. Four.
Then my blade caught the ice.
I landed. Clean. Solid. My free leg extended behind me, arms out, gliding on a perfect edge.
I landed.
The shaky breath that left me was half laugh, half sob. I pressed my palm to my chest, feeling my heart pound—but it was a different kind of pounding now. Not panic. Adrenaline.Life.
Coach Miller didn’t whoop or clap. He just looked up from his phone, gave me a single nod, and went back to his fake scrolling.
That was enough.
I skated another lap, letting my pulse settle, letting the reality sink in. Months of therapy and rest and relearning how to exist in my own skin, and here was the proof that it wasn’t wasted. That I wasn’t wasted.
The quad didn’t fix me. One jump couldn’t undo years of starving myself for perfection, couldn’t silence the voice that still whispered about control and emptiness and beinglessso I could bemore.
But it was a step. A choice to keep going. The same choice Nico was making every day in that treatment centre, the same choice I’d made when I’d answered Derek’s call instead of breaking apart those razors.
We were all just choosing, over and over again. To stay. To try. To believe it might get better.
And when I got off the ice that morning, I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Sabrina before I could talk myself out of it.
Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in…
