“Representing Velkarya—Luka Davorin and Mila Kadanek.”
The crowd erupted.
Luka pushed away from the boards beside Mila and skated into the light.
I leaned forward in my seat, elbows braced against my knees, my entire focus narrowed to Luka and Mila as they reached the center of the ice. They didn’t look at each other before they took their opening position beneath the lights, calm and centered in a way that felt almost unreal after everything Luka had told me in the middle of the night.
None of that showed now.
The music began, a piece I’d heard so many times when I’d watched them practice. Ludovico Einaudi’sExperienceopened with a quiet piano that was a perfect fit to emphasize Luka’s precision and stillness. They moved together, measured, disciplined, before the swelling orchestration changed everything. It was like watching emotional pressure building beneath the surface, only to be released as they neared the climax.
“He makes throwing her around look so easy,” Ethan murmured next to me.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
The breath caught in my throat as they executed perfectly timed side-by-side triple Salchows, their landings pristine.
“That is textbook,” Mark commented next to me.
Mila moved with him instead of around him, the connection between them seamless and unforced, as if they had both steppedinto the same current and stopped fighting it.
A week ago I would have known where to look for the cracks.
Tonight I couldn’t see any.
Luka had looked happy out there.
And for the first time since I’d met him, I thought maybe he knew it too.
They performed the final lift, Luka catching Mila overhead with impossible steadiness before bringing her down cleanly, their exit edge flowing effortlessly across the ice.
Then came the final pose.
Silence hit first, the entire arena holding one collective breath before the sound crashed down around them. Applause rolled through the building in a wave, loud and immediate, rising fast as people surged to their feet.
I sat back, exhaling for what felt like the first time in almost three minutes.
Luka had looked happy out there.
Ethan let out a low whistle. “Jesus,” he muttered. “They came to play.”
He was right, but I couldn’t get the words out.
Watching him skate, I couldn’t stop thinking about the version of Luka who existed when nobody was looking.
The one who’d fallen asleep with his hand resting against my ribs.
Luka
I could still feelthe roar of the crowd vibrating through my chest as Mila and I skated toward the exit, slowing only once wereached the boards. My lungs burned, my heartbeat hard but steady, my entire body humming with adrenaline.
We had done it.
Mila grabbed my forearm the second we reached the gate, her face flushed with exertion and excitement. “Luka?—”
Then she laughed, bright and breathless and completely genuine, and the sound of it hit me almost as hard as the applause still echoing through the arena.
“We did that,” she said.
