Page 278 of Well Played

“8 p.m., right?” I ask, my eyes widening at the thought of him meaning eight in the freaking morning.

He gives me a flat look.

“8 a.m.?”

“We can’t all be laid-back layabouts, lazing around on our surfboards all day long.”

“One, that was way too much alliteration for my sleep-deprived brain to handle. And two, I can’t surf for shit. Can’t balance.”

Jace stares pointedly at my skates and raises a brow in amusement, so I add, “Can’t balance on liquid water.”

“As opposed to?” He snickers.

My gaze hardens. “The frozen kind. You know, ice?”

Rhys groans. “All right, you two. Enough.” He turns to Jace. “You were serious about the two from the Raiders?”

“I think they’ve got Cavalier potential. No harm in giving your boy some competition, right?” Jace chuckles as he picks up his kitbag and adjusts it on his shoulder. “Let’s catch up tomorrow, Rhys. And I’ll see you Tuesday, rookie.”

Rhys grimaces as Jace exits the rink, the doors clanging shut and echoing through the empty arena. “Well, that went about as well as expected.”

A shiver runs through me, the adrenaline wearing off as my body starts to realise I’ve been awake for over thirty hours. This sucks. I shouldn’t need to try out again. Even though he’d been on a holiday, Rhys put me through every drill he could think of. I’m ready for the Cavaliers. The question should be iftheyare ready forme.

“I’m sorry for the mixup.” Rhys claps me on the shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. “I can help you book some practice slots before your tryout if you like. Otherwise, you’ve still got time for a quick session if you have the energy to hop on the ice. The Raiders guys are good, but I know you’re better if you get your head in the game.”

Grinning at the sight of the rink empty for me, I take a seat and shove my foot into my skate, quickly tying up the laces. “I’ve always got the energy for this, Coach.”

2

Vesper

There’ssomething so therapeutic about the sound of skates on the ice. It’s more than the gentle swish and the dull scrape of my blades gliding and dragging. My favourite noise is the creaking, like an aged leather boot on bare wooden floorboards. When I first started skating and heard that noise, I remember being so terrified that the ice was cracking and I was going to fall through.

Stupid now, I know. But when I was three and skating for the first time on baby blades and a penguin skate aid, the fear was real.

Now, I live for those sounds.

It’s absolutely worth getting up at four in the morning every single day to be the first one on the ice when the university rink opens at five. By the time most students are waking up—or in some cases, just rolling home from the night before—I’ve already put in a full day’s work on and off the ice, and that’s before I even go to class.

No one is more hardworking and driven than me.

Completing my thirty laps warm up, I stretch out my aching calves and prepare to run through my basic warm up routine. I always put in a good two-hour session before my coach meets me at seven, and today is no exception. Classes might not officially start for a few more weeks yet, but I cut my holiday short to come back to campus to begin my training for this season.

I’m serious about making it to the world championships this year. There’s no way I’m letting my old ankle injury hold me back. I already had to give up my dreams once before, because of circumstances outside of my control. I’m not about to let it happen again.

I’m twenty-one, almost twenty-two. It’s not quite ancient, even for figure skaters, but I’m firmly in the upper age bracket. That’s what I get for taking a year off to heal. If I’m going to make a name for myself, this has to be the year. It’s my last chance. I can’t let anything stand in my way.

My phone’s already linked to the PA system, so I press play and quickly skate to the centre of the rink to wait for my music to come in. “Love Goes On and On” by Lindsey Stirling begins to play, and muscle memory kicks in. I switch off, stop thinking, and let the music wash over me. Moving, skating, dancing becomes intrinsic.

I let go.

By the time the doors to the rink open, announcing the arrival of my coach, I’m sweating and breathing hard. My muscles ache in the most amazing way, and I feel a real sense of achievement for nailing my final routine. I couldn’t land that final jump before we broke up for summer, and now I can.

I feel like anything is possible.

This ismyyear.

“Nice work, Vesper!” Coach calls across the ice.

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