Dean carried pressure differently than I did. He absorbed it, transformed it into momentum instead of restraint.
The step sequence drove the audience into applause halfwaythrough, Dean moving with absolute command of the music, edges sharp and powerful, his expression a mask of open joy.
The flying spin accelerated before centering perfectly, transitions so clean they almost looked unreal from rink side. The choreography stopped looking performed and started looking lived.
The entire arena felt caught inside it, and still he kept building, adding another quad, cleanly executed.
Mila choked out a laugh. “This is ridiculous.”
Dean’s final spin combination blurred with speed before slowing into his closing position, one knee bent as the music crashed to its finish.
Then stillness.
For one suspended heartbeat, the entire arena froze with him.
And then the building exploded, the sound hitting like physicalforce.
People were already on their feet before Dean had even straightened, applause crashing through the arena while he stood at center ice breathing hard, chest rising sharply beneath the lights.
My own breathing was uneven, and I knew before I saw the scores, before I heard the commentators or watched the replay, that I’d just witnessed the best performance of his life.
Dean
The applause hit like a wall.
For a second after the music ended, I stood there in the center of the rink, trying to breathe while at least six thousand people lost their minds around me. The sound crashed through the arena in waves, loud enough that I felt it vibrating through my chest, my legs, the ice itself beneath my blades.
Somewhere deep down, before the scores even appeared, I already knew I’d done it. The program had felt different from the first movement, not perfect but more alive than anything I’d ever performed.
And now the entire building was on its feet.
I pushed a shaking hand through my hair as I skated toward the boards, adrenaline surging violently through me. Flags blurred together in the stands, cameras flashing from every direction while volunteers scrambled to clear the exit path.
Mark caught me at the entrance to the Kiss and Cry with an expression of pure pride. “You listened,” he said, his voice gruff.
I laughed shakily. “Yeah?”
“You stopped carrying everything.” His hand tightened on my shoulder. “And you finally skated like you trusted yourself.”
Victor sat in the Leader’s chair, and as I passed him, he gave me a salute.
Then suddenly my team was there.
Noah tackled me first, grabbing me around the shoulders. “WHAT WAS THAT?”
Nathan rolled his eyes. “You couldn’t leave the rest of us a little dignity?”
Brooke pointed at me accusingly. “Fourquads? In this economy?”
Ethan shoved through next and grabbed the back of my neck. “Dude.” That was all he managed before pulling me into a fierce hug.
Everything blurred after that, hands slapping my shoulders, voices overlapping. Ethan handed me my jacket, then tugged me into the empty chair, where I was instantly surrounded by my team, all crowding closer, hands touching my shoulders, my head, my back.
The arena announcer’s voice rolled through the building again, and the giant screen flickered overhead.
200.01
For one stunned heartbeat, I genuinely forgot how numbers worked.
