Page 123 of Ice Dance

“For now, your priority must be recovery. Great athletes are often very poor guardians of their own bodies. Do not mistake pain for proof of commitment. You have already proven enough.”

He swallowed.

“Dame Celia Ashborne, Chair, The Winter Athlete’s Trust, Olympic Athlete Advisory Board.”

Ren folded the letter, tucked it neatly back into its torn envelope, and held it out for me to take.

I stayed leaning against him and hoped he didn’t mind.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

“I uh . . . need a minute,” I croaked.

He let me have my minute, and we sat, side by side, while the kids learned about skate edges and twizzles behind us.

She said I wasn’t in anyone’s shadow. She’d seen me. My dance. I wasn’t a YouTube one-hit wonder. I could fucking ice dance!

“What are you going to do?” Ren asked.

“Think about it.” My hip wasn’t anywhere near where it needed to be for me to touch the ice for at least a month, maybe two. “When is the Winter Olympics?”

“Eighteen months. The selection committee will be watching you at other competitions during that time. Final qualifying happens closer to the Olympics. All you have to do now is heal.”

Before any of that, I had to heal a lot of things, not just my hip. And what about . . . us? Him and me? If I was training with the Canadian team, I wouldn’t be in England, or anywhere near Ren. He had his own life. “Did you get one?”

“One what?”

“A fancy letter from a dame?”

He laughed. “No, but Dylan has heard a rumor Team GB will be asking.”

I nodded. “That’s good, that’s really good. You should totally be at the Olympics. They’re idiots for leaving you out of it for so long.”

“Yes, well . . . I think my father may have had something to do with that.”

“He had something to do with them not approaching you?”

“He could have vetoed enquiries, I’m certain. He has influence.”

His father was a dick. “I’m not going to say what I think of him, because he’s your father, but he can fuck all the way off.”

Ren’s smile twitched. “I think you just did.”

So, we were going in separate directions. I’d expected it, but I’d also hoped, stupidly, that we’d be able to see each other. I guess we would, at a distance. Ren and me? It was never going to be a lasting thing. We came from different worlds, different backgrounds, and we had different futures. But damn, I was going to miss this man’s long looks, and the way he’d held me, both on the ice and off it. I was going to miss his bad jokes and his tiny smiles, and that little curl he couldn’t control. Miss having him in my arms. I’d miss that the most.

“I want you to know that it’s been a pleasure working with you, Cam. And . . .” He bowed his head. “I will never forget our time together, and everything you taught me about who I am.”

I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say to that. Had I just met him, I’d think he was being cold and direct. Thanks for the fuck, I’m out. But that directness was him standing behind his barriers. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to love, it was that he didn’t know how. Maybe, in some distant future, we’d figure it out together.

I was going to miss him. A lot. In ways that if I told him now, would just make all of this so much harder for both of us.

“Thank you for teaching me that I’ve got more in me than faking it until I make it,” I said.

“You didn’t fake anything.” He turned his head, looking right at me.

We sat close now, gazes holding because our hands couldn’t.

“Then thank you for believing in me,” I added.