Page 14 of Love on the Edge
"I did," I say, forcing casual into my voice. "But I left probably earlier than most."
Nina’s eyes narrow just slightly. "What? With who?"
My stomach clenches.
I could lie. I could change the subject, make a joke, deflect. But lying to Nina never works.
"Just a guy who drove me home," I say quickly. Too quickly. Too light.
She doesn’t miss a beat. Her eyebrows lift, and I swear I can hear her suppressing a laugh. "A guy?"
I laugh too, but it’s forced, awkward. "It’s not that big of a deal."
It is. Or at least, it feels like it is.
Because I don’t do this. This isn’t me. And the fact that I’m even dodging Nina’s questions, the fact that I’m acting like this is something I need to downplay? That’s not me either.
But I don’t want to tell her.
I don’t want to tell her what I did with a stranger. How reckless it was. How out of character it was.
I don’t regret it. That’s not the problem.
The problem is that it should have been simple. A one-night thing. No complications. No second thoughts. No lingering weight pressing against my ribs, making me feel like I stepped into something I don’t fully understand yet.
I don’t want to explain that to Nina. I don’t even want to explain it to myself.
So I don’t. I let the silence sit between us for a second too long before I force out a response.
"I’ll share it with you one day… maybe."
Even as I say it, I know I won’t. Not anytime soon.
Nina just laughs, shakes her head. "Alright, keep your secrets."
She doesn’t press. She knows I’ll talk when I’m ready. If I’m ever ready.
"Come on, ladies! We don't have all day!" a voice calls from outside the locker room.
"Let’s go, Val. Time to practice," Nina says.
We get up and head for the door. The chill hits us immediately, but I’m used to it by now. Technical training day. The one day every skater dreads.
Our coach, Nikolai Petrov, is a drill master. He trains the top three skaters and helps run the skating school program. He doesn’t take it easy on anyone. We all know what we’re in for.
Nina and I step onto the ice, and I spot Zara Hart in the corner stretching. While Nina started skating later, Zara and I have been skating since we were kids. We grew up pushing each other, constantly fighting to be the best.
Zara is petite but powerful, built for precision and speed. Her jet-black hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail, her striking green eyes locked in quiet focus as she leans into a deep stretch, one foot pressed against the boards. Even now, just warming up, she looks composed, deliberate, like she’s already calculating every movement before stepping onto the ice.
She’s wearing a fitted black athletic jacket over a bold-patterned leotard—bright colors, sharp lines, a perfect match for the way she skates. Her leggings hug the lean muscle in her legs, strength carved from years of training. Zara doesn’t wasteenergy on unnecessary chatter, not when there’s work to be done.
She lifts her head slightly, noticing us, and gives a small nod before adjusting her position. That’s all. No words. Just acknowledgement.
I roll my shoulders and push off the boards hard, legs burning as I dig deep into my crossovers. My strides are long, deliberate, every push slicing into the ice with force. The wind rushes against my face as I gather speed, but it's not enough.
"Faster!" Nikolai’s voice cuts through the rink like a blade, sharp and commanding.
I don’t hesitate. I drive forward, crossovers crisp, each push more powerful than the last. My skates cut deep into the ice, carving it with precision. I don’t need to look to know that I’m ahead. I can hear Nina and Zara behind me, their blades slashing against the ice, pushing to keep up.
