Page 129 of Rinkmates

“Where are you?” I demand.

“At the rink, training. I told you, I have to be ready for the finals.”

I nearly crush the phone in my grip. “You’re out of your fucking mind, woman! You can barely walk! Your finger is still swollen, and you need to come home and rest, for fuck’s sake.”

She sighs.

She dares to fucking sigh.

I’m losing my mind.

“I can’t, Riley. I have to push through. It’s just two more performances. I can rest later.”

“Push through? Lia, you could permanently damage your feet! No competition is worth that!”

“You don’t understand.” Her voice wavers. “I have to do this. I don’t care if I don’t ever skate again after this. I need to win. I’m sorry but I’ll be home later, okay? I need to hang up. Sorry, Riley. I’m sorry, okay?”

The line goes dead.

My hands tremble as I glare at the phone.

The sheer audacity of her decision leaves medumbfounded—how could she willingly subject herself to such torment? Why would anyone do that? For what? For money? What threat is she lying under that she shits on her health? Her life? She could get an infection, nerves could have gotten damaged, she—

A vivid memory invades my mind, replaying the image of Liora’s slender figure, marked by a thin and silvery scar stretching across her lower abdomen. I always assumed it was from an old skating accident, but now a darker suspicion creeps in.

What if…

With a pounding heart, I open Google.

Two excruciating hours later,her key turns in the lock.

Sitting on the couch, I watch as she limps inside and drops her bag heavily on the floor, exhaustion etched on her face, pain evident as she reaches for the painkillers on the kitchen counter with shaking hands.

“Hey,” she says softly when she finally notices me.

“Hey.” My voice is strained. My emotions barely contained, making her look at me with eyes wide like saucers.

“Ri, what’s—”

“I’m not beating around the bush anymore, Lia. I know why you’re pushing yourself so hard out there.”

The water glass freezes midway to her lips.

“That scar on your belly,” I press on gently, “it’s…it’s from a c-section…right? You had a baby.”

The glass slips from her fingers, shattering on impact with the kitchen counter.

I don’t care about the glass, but I soften my tone and walk up to her. “If you’re afraid, I’ll run because you had a kid, I want to make one thing clear: I won’t ever run.” The closer I get, the more she backs up, until I’m only a foot away from her and she crashes into the fridge behind her.

“Have,” she whispers, the words slipping out of her like the creak of a carefully opened door. “I have a kid.”

Forty

LIORA

Istare at Riley and my heart jumps in my throat.

The words hang in the air between us.

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