“There’s a showcase. Three weeks from now. International scouts, SHL teams - Djurgårdens will be there, Frölunda, all of them.” She’s talking fast, like she’s been rehearsing this on the walk over and is saying it before she loses her nerve. “It’s not Belfast. It’s not certain and I know it’s not what Calloway recommended. It’s bigger than that-”
“Elida. I’m not good enough for the SHL "
“You’re good enough,” she says. “You’ve always been good enough. The skating work, the way you play - I’ve watched youall season and you belong on that ice. The only thing standing between you and the SHL is your own certainty that you don’t. And you’re wrong about that. You’ve been wrong about that.”
I can’t tear my eyes from her.
“Come to Stockholm,” she says again, quieter now. “Not for me. For you. Because you’ve earned it and because maybe Belfast is the safe choice but you’ve never once in your life taken the safe choice on the ice so don’t start now.” She swallows. “But also-” She stops.
“Also?”
“Also, for me,” she says. “A little.”
“I’ll think about it.”
She gives me a look.
“Ok, I’ve thought about it,” I say, smiling.
Then I reach out, take the lapel of her coat and pull her gently through the door.
22
Chapter 22
Epilogue
18 Months Later
The dress is Iris’s idea.
I would have worn something sensible - something professional that saysserious athlete,until Iris came to my apartment three hours before the ceremony. She took one look at the sensible dress and went to my wardrobe. She dug through and found the green one that I bought in a moment of optimism six months ago and have never worn.
“It’s too much.”
“No, it’s perfect.”
I’m wearing the green dress.
The Idrottsgalan, Sweden’s premier sports awards ceremony, is not somewhere I expected to be eighteen months ago.
But a lot has happened since then.
The first six months back were hard.
Pretending it was a triumphant return would be a lie.
Brita was extraordinary. The training was good and being back on the ice, daily, with proper structure and someone pushing me - that part was right. It felt like coming home after a long time away. But the body takes time. The competition nerves, which I thought I’d managed early in my career, came back with a vengeance. Maybe something to do with the anxiety in performing again when I’d been publicly humiliated before.
The first qualifier I entered, I came fourth.
I sat in the dressing room afterward. Brita came in and sat beside me. “That’s one done,” she said, simply.
The second qualifier, I came second.
The third - six months ago, in Gothenburg, my home city, Iris in the stands - I won.
Not a major title. But a real competition, a legitimate result. It meant my name was on a ranking again, and standing on that podium in Gothenburg with Iris screaming at me from the sidelines - everything felt worth it.
