Page 7 of Waiting Game

She hitches a shoulder. “I sucked that day. My head wasn’t in my routine. I stopped competing shortly after.” Her tone’s wistful. “Made it to the state championship and that’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

Considering she lost her uncle and hasn’t had a major meltdown aside from that initial crying sesh, I think the distraction of chatting is working.

“Do you mind me asking why your head wasn’t in the routine?”

She doesn’t seem the type to not follow through with something because her life is falling down around her blades.

And yes, it’s a snap judgment, but I believe that first impressions count.

Her gaze locks on mine. “Only if you’re sure you want to know?”

CHAPTER 3

MIA

I knowmy words were like a bad punchline. Why would he have asked if he didn’t want to know? But there’s a reason I always make sure—it’s my version of a spoiler alert.

Cole, for whatever reason, appears to take me at my word.

He doesn’t downplay my question, doesn’t mock me, just frowns. “How bad?”

“Bad,” is my gruff answer.

He tugs on the chain around his neck. “I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

“My mom was murdered and my dad killed himself after he found out what happened to her.”

It’s a blunt answer, but the truthisblunt. There’s no sugarcoating it.

Hell, it’s not something I usually share with my ‘students,’ no matter their age, but nothing about this lesson is going according to plan and it actually feels good to get that off my chest.

What, with Uncle Chuck, the bar, the debts, the betrayal, it’s been a shitty couple years in a shitty life.

My jaw works at the thought—no fucking self-pity for you, Mia Charles. You’re not allowed. Not after what you did to Gracie.

“Your mom was murdered?” he blurts out, snow spraying as he skids to a halt.

“She’s a New York City statistic,” I concur bitterly.

“How old were you?”

“Nineteen, but I turned twenty shortly after.”

More bitterness assails me as I recall what happened on that very day all those years ago…

“I wish you were joking.”

“I do too.”

“Jesus Christ.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “So, you competed…?”

“I know it seems like a cold thing to do, but I needed to focus. I’ve always been able to compartmentalize and I figured competing would help. Ultimately, it didn’t work.”

“I get it. No one grieves the same and no one should ever shame another person for how they handle loss.

“When my grandma died, I decided I was going to take the summer off, but it made me wallow. Whereas when my grampspassed, I stuck with my schedule after I flew home for the funeral. It helped to get on with life. That’s the only thing we can do sometimes.”

“It is,” I agree, my tone bleak. “Uncle Chuck and figure skating were what got me through. But I didn’t have it in me to compete anymore.”

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