My skate slips again, but this time my brain doesn’t go blank. I don’t flail. I don’t panic. I make a small, frustrated noise and tilt sideways like a tree that’s been politely informed it’s time.
Except I don’t hit the ice.
His hand tightens at my elbow. His other arm comes up instinctively, not grabbing, not clutching, just there. A barrier. A guide rail.
I wobble. Teeter. Then stop.
Standing.
Again.
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “I’m vertical.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh. “There you go.”
My heart is pounding now, but it’s different from before. Less terror. More… awareness. Of the way his hand still lightly holds my arm. Of how close he is, angled toward me like his attention has narrowed to this exact square of ice.
“You’re adjusting,” he says. “That’s good.”
“I would like credit for that,” I reply. “Emotionally, if not physically.”
“You’re earning it.”
I glance at him. “Do you say encouraging things to everyone who eats it on the ice?”
“No,” he says easily. “Only the brave ones.”
My mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
The crowd cheers again, reacting to… something. I don’t know what. I’m too busy feeling the heat in my cheeks and the strange, buoyant sensation in my chest that has nothing to do with balance.
“Ok,” I say, clearing my throat. “I think I’ve proven my point.”
“Which was?”
“That I am very courageous,” I say solemnly. “And extremely done.”
He smiles more softly this time. Less teasing.
“Fair.”
He lifts his chin slightly toward the boards. “Want help getting back?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “Please. Before I get cocky and attempt a spin.”
“That would be tragic.”
“For everyone,” I agree.
He stays close as we make our way toward the gate, moving at my pace, never rushing me, never drawing attention. It feels strangely private, given that it’s happening in front of hundreds of people.
I become aware, suddenly, that he hasn’t told me his name. I try to find it on his jersey, but there’s nothing there.
We reach the boards, and he steadies me as I step through the gate, one skate at a time. My legs feel rubbery now that the adrenaline is fading.
The volunteer claps. The announcer thanks me enthusiastically, calling me “a great sport” and “a crowd favorite,” which I choose to interpret generously.
