He just laughed—no panic, no regret. “Surprise,” he said. “Your mom helped me plan it.”
I turned to stare at her. She was smiling, looking far too pleased with herself.
“Mom!”
“What? He called and asked if he could surprise you. Was I supposed to say no?” She shrugged, utterly unrepentant. “He’s very charming, your Derek. And he clearly adores you. A mother notices these things.”
“I—you—” I looked between them, completely at a loss. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Derek’s arm slid around my waist, pulling me against his side. “You could say you’re happy to see me.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
He flew three hours to watch me skate for four and a half minutes. He was going to turn around and fly back tonight so he could play a hockey game tomorrow—a game that mattered, during his comeback season, while he was still healing from surgery. He’d coordinated with my mom. He’d kissed me in public without hesitating.
All because he couldn’t missthis.
My whole life, I’d learned to expect disappointment. People meant well and still didn’t show up. They had schedules, obligations, reasons that sounded reasonable until you were the one standing there alone. I’d stopped taking promises seriously a long time ago—stopped letting myself want things that depended on other people.
But Derek was here.
Something cracked open in my chest—something I’d been holding together with sarcasm and deflection for so long I’d forgotten it was even there. My eyes burned. My throat went tight. I pressed my face into his shoulder so no one would see.
“I’m happy,” I mumbled into his parka. “I’m so happy. You absolute lunatic.”
“Probably.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “But I’m your lunatic.”
My mother made a soft sound that might have been a coo. Coach Miller was suddenly very interested in his clipboard.
And I stood there in the kiss and cry where I’d fallen apart a year ago, surrounded by people who loved me, feeling something I almost didn’t recognize.
Will the spring come again?
I’d stopped believing it would.
But yes.
It was about to bloom.
48. Epilogue
They say your life can change in an instant. That’s only the part you see—the moment the ice finally gives way. No one talks about the hairline cracks underneath, spreading quietly long before anyone hears the break.
Mine changed like a thaw—slow at first, so gradual I barely noticed. One small moment of warmth, then another, until a steady drip carved new paths through everything I thought I knew about myself. Tiny fractures in the ice I’d built around my heart, letting light seep through until I couldn’t remember why I’d been so afraid of it.
When it finally settled, I was standing in the wreckage of who I used to be. And for the first time, that didn’t feel like a tragedy.
Some scars you can see. Others you carry where no one else can find them. And sometimes the right person learns to trace them like a map—love letters written in a language only the two of you speak.
The months after the Maple Leaf Classic blurred together in a rush of ice and sweat and early mornings. Samantha’s dad was doing better—well enough that she’d started watching Aspen again—which meant Derek and I could travel without the guilt spiral.
I competed at the Ice Challenge Montréal—my first Grand Prix assignment—and finished third. The bronze felt surreal, like borrowed luck. Two weeks later, I flew to Osaka for theJapan Open and placed second. Two podiums. Enough points to qualify for the Grand Prix Final.
November brought full run-throughs without my heart trying to escape through my throat. December brought the Grand Prix Final in France—a fourth place finish that would have destroyed me two years ago but now felt like proof of something. Proof that I could stand on the same ice as the best in the world and not shatter.
January was Canadian Nationals. The Olympic trials. Everything I’d been building toward.
Sabrina flew in for every competition she could manage, her homemade Team Théo shirts becoming increasingly elaborate. She brought my mom to the Grand Prix Final, their matching shirts a fluorescent pink that could probably be seen from space.
