Page 22 of Love on the Edge
I let out a humorless laugh, but there’s no amusement in it. “Yeah. Hell of a first conversation, right?”
Drew exhales slowly, shaking his head. “Alright, so she went for the jugular.”
I nod. “She didn’t miss, either.”
Drew leans back against the workbench, arms crossed, watching me. “And?”
“And what?”
“What are you gonna do about it?”
I stare at the ground for a beat, jaw tight. “Nothing. She made it clear what she thinks of me. Not much else to say.”
Drew hums, but doesn’t push. He just tosses the grease rag over his shoulder and goes back to the Camaro, like he’s giving me space to sit with it.
And I do. But it doesn’t feel any better.
Instead of thinking aboutthat night, I bury myself in training.
I lose count of the days that pass. I just do whatever it takes to avoid Ethan Crosse.
He infuriates me. Not just because of what he said, not just because it hurt. But because I know I went too far. I know I shouldn’t have dragged his marriage into it.
I feel awful about that. I know I need to apologize, but I’m not ready to face him.
So, I do what I always do. I push myself until there’s nothing left to feel. Until exhaustion drowns out everything else. I wrap my ankles, tape them, and lace my skates so tight my feet tingle. Whatever it takes to stay upright. Whatever it takes to stay in control.
"Okay, girly! Lunch time," Nina sing-songs, stepping into the room with her little lunch box, looking far too cheerful for how drained I feel.
Part of training at the rink means being involved—helping out in the box office, doing chores around the rink, really whateverthey need. So, on Saturdays I practically live here. It’s really not that bad.
Thankfully, I don’t have to do anything with the skating school, that’s all Nina. I can only imagine the chaos that’s waiting for her out there.
"You gonna eat?" Nina asks, already unzipping her lunch bag.
"Yeah," I say automatically. "I’m just gonna wash my hands and face. You go ahead. You have to be on the ice soon."
She nods, already digging into her food, and I slip away to the bathroom.
The cold water feels sharp against my skin as I splash it over my face. When I straighten, I catch my reflection in the mirror.
My landings today were sloppy. Too much impact. Too much drag. I’m skating seven days a week now that Nationals are closing in.
I have to stay focused. I have to be lighter. Faster. More efficient.
Lunch isn’t going to help with that.
So I skip it.
I’m sorting through papersin the box office when Nina bursts in, out of breath.
"Joanne, there are two beginner classes, but I’m the only coach assigned," she says frantically.
Joanne looks up from her desk, frowning. "Oh shoot. I forgot the city added a class. How many kids?"
"Sixteen." Nina exhales hard. "Too many for me to give them individual attention. And the parents are already getting impatient."
Joanne sighs, rubbing her temples. "Okay, let me try to call another coach in. I can see if anyone’s available—"
