Page 40 of Love on the Edge
Better yet—maybe I should give myself a chance to be happy. I haven’t had anything outside of the ice, I wouldn’t even be friends with Nina if I didn’t see her here.
I exhale, pulse kicking up, because I already know what I want to say. And that terrifies me. I wet my lips, my throat tight, forcing myself to look at him.Say it. Say it before you talk yourself out of it.
"I want to try this."
Ethan’s brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t look shocked. He looks like he was waiting for me to say it.
“With me?” His voice is steady, but there’s a quiet kind of hope underneath.
I swallow hard. Saying it makes it real. "Yeah."
A long beat of silence follows my reluctant confession. My chest tightens and my hands curl into my lap, pressing against my thighs like I need something to hold onto.
Then, slowly, Ethan nods. "Okay."
That’s it. No questions. No hesitation. He’s choosing this, too.
I exhale, the tension in my chest loosening just a little, but something else settles there, something heavier, something real.
I don’t know what comes next. I don’t have all the answers.
But I want to figure it out.
Nationals are two weeksaway. My program should feel perfect by now. Every jump should be second nature, every movement locked into my body like instinct. But something is wrong.
Technically, I have everything. I’m landing all my jumps, my spins don’t travel, my footwork is sharp. But when I watch it back, it still feels… empty.
I’ve been seeing a dietitian to get the results I want the right way. I haven’t told anyone. Not even Ethan.
It’s not a secret. But I’m keeping it like one. I don’t know why.
Maybe because if I say it out loud, he’ll look at me like I’m fragile. Like I need saving. That's probably the worst thing he could do.
The rink is empty except for me. It has been for hours.
"What are you still doing here, Valeria? You've been here since this morning." I turn at the sound of Nikolai’s voice. He stands by the boards, arms crossed, watching me like he already knows the answer.
“I just want to try something with my program, if that's okay.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, just exhales through his nose and gestures toward the ice. A silent go-ahead.
He’s going to watch and tell me if this sucks.
I step back onto the ice, find my starting position and press my fingers into my sides.
The music starts, and I begin like I always do—controlled, precise, every step exactly where it should be. But this time, I let myself move.
My hands extend, fingers tracing shapes in the air, my body shifting in time with the melody. Not just steps and transitions. There’s real emotion behind it.
I arch through my opening sequence, letting my head tip back, letting the music pull something out of me instead of just calculating the rhythm.
Stepping into my first turn, I soften my arms instead of holding them rigid. My fingertips brush over my collarbone before reaching upward, the movement smooth, like I am reaching for something just out of my grasp.
More breath. More space. Less force.
I step into my next jump, but instead of focusing only on height, I extend my free leg just a fraction longer, let my arms sweep out wider as I land. It’s a small detail, something I would have dismissed before. But now, it feels right.
I move through the next section, not just skating but performing.
