I snorted. “No, but right now you’re skating on pretty thin ice. Pun intended.” I glanced at Mom. “Try not to let him bug you too much. I’d like a full set of parents to watch me step onto that podium.”
“And youwillbe up there.” Mom’s face glowed.
“That’s right. Talk it into existence.” Dad’s voice shook a little.
I left them still arguing about airline coffee and emotional baggage claim.
The contrast with Luka’s family was impossible to ignore.
I’ll be his cheerleader.
And if I knew my mom, once she met him, she’d be right there with me.
I emergedfrom the tunnel and onto the ice, skating toward the center, accompanied by the roar of the crowd. I didn’t look foranyone. I forgot about Canada being in first place, and concentrated on my breathing.
This time, Dean. This isyourtime.
The first note of the music settled through the arena like a pulse beneath skin.
I pushed into motion, blades whispering across the ice while the low strings built around me, dark and restrained and full of gathering momentum.
Everything narrowed into focus.
The crowd disappeared first, then the judges, and finally the pressure that had sat on my shoulders since Milan began.
One thought lingered, that somewhere above the judges’ side, Luka was watching me.
I nearly smiled before the first setup even began.
I let the opening edge sequence breathe, knees bending deeply into each curve while the program gathered force beneath me.
The opening quad Lutz…
Mark and I had argued over adding it back into the layout because it was risky as hell as an opener. Big outside edge, huge rotational demand, way too easy to overthink.
Tonight I didn’t think.
I shortened the setup deliberately, cutting out the long preparation I’d used earlier in the week. The takeoff snapped beneath me, and for one suspended moment, the arena disappeared.
Then the landing hit clean, and the audience exploded.
I barely heard them, because I was already moving again, no pause, straight into transitions and footwork, upper body still controlled while the music widened around me.
That was the difference tonight. I wasn’t skating jump-to-jump anymore, but one complete thought.
The quad toe loop landed clean next, faster across the ice than it had in practice, and adrenaline surged hotter through my bloodstream with the impact.
Good.Damn good.
I still wanted more.
The triple Axel came midway down the rink, huge and sharp and effortless in the air before I checked the landing cleanly into the next phrase of choreography. Applause crashed through the arena again, and still I kept moving, pushing aside cautious pacing and focusing on momentum.
The quieter middle section arrived, the dangerous part of the music where programs could suddenly flatten emotionally if the skater lost connection for even a second. In the team event, I’d played it safely here.
Tonight I changed it.
I drove harder into the turns, blades carving deep controlled arcs into the ice as the music thinned near the judges’ side.
