“But if you don’t want this, we’ll figure something else out,” he said quickly. “I promise.”
I pulled my knees up to my chest.
Did I want this?
Was I even allowed to want this?
Would they want me?
Was this actually real?
I held my temples. “I’ve been coaching, but I haven’t skated for real in a year. I don’t know if I’m still good enough.”
His eyes flashed to mine. “You sure you’re feelin’ alright?”
“Yeah, why?” I asked hesitantly.
He smirked. “Because that doesn’t sound like the Ali I knew.”
I knew it was a joke, but his words made me want to cry.
“My Aliknewshe was good enough,” he said firmly. “A year is nothing. Now, if you told me five years, I’d pause. But a year?” He shook his head. His eyes briefly shifted to mine, and he must’ve detected my insecurity. “You’re a great skater. Besides, you won’t be competing. Professional skating is different. And you’ll just be hanging out with Mer for the remainder of this tour. Tryouts aren’t for another month or so. But doyouwant this? It’s up to you. Don’t factor anyone else into this.”
Not even you?It was a ridiculous question, but it popped into my brain anyway. And I had to shove it way, way down. JP was my best friend, and as much as I wished I could go back into the past and change things, I couldn’t. I had to look to the future. A future I actually had thanks to him.
Deep down, I was scared to want this, but that didn’t change the fact that I did.
I wanted it badly.
I’d be free.
And it was fitting that he was the one to help me.
“Yeah, I do. I really do.” Tears blurred my vision. “Thank you, JP. Thank you so much,” I whispered.
40. JP - I'M READY
The next night, Ali was having dinner at her parents’ house when I walked into Centre Ice.
My phone lit up with a message from her:Be careful. And please do not interact with Mark. Please wait until he’s on the ice.
I quickly responded:I will. Don’t worry. No punches will be thrown.
I purposely walked in about ten minutes after practice started. I stood in the lobby, looking at pictures on tackboards, trying to bide my time.
About five minutes later, Baker’s mother walked into the lobby and got in line at the concession stand. She wore a baseball hat pulled down over her dark auburn hair, wide-leg jeans, and a hoodie. She was definitely younger than us, probably still in her twenties.
I walked up to stand in line behind her.
She looked over her shoulder and as soon as her blue eyes met mine, her whole body tensed. She immediately snapped her neck forward. She was on guard, and I hated that my presence scared her.
“Not going to hurt you, just want to talk,” I said softly.
She looked at me over her shoulder again. “Why would you hurt me?” she whispered, like it was a ridiculous notion. But I saw her eyes scanning around us, identifying escape routes.
“I promise I'm not.”
Rolling her eyes, she sidestepped me. I let her go. I wasn’t aboutto force her to listen to me.
