Page 132 of Check & Chase
I change quickly while he waits outside. When I step onto the ice, the new blades attached to my boots, something clicks into place. The familiar balance point, my body recognizing the tools it once mastered.
“How do they feel?” Chase asks, staying close as I take experimental strokes.
“Heavy,” I admit. The skates that used to feel like extensions of my feet now feel clunky, foreign. “Like I’m wearing someone else’s shoes.”
We move slowly around the rink. My ankles wobble with each push, muscles that once held me steady now uncertain and weak. I grip the boards twice in the first lap, embarrassed but grateful Chase doesn’t comment.
“Take your time,” he says when I pause to catch my breath. “There’s no rush.”
After what feels like forever, I manage a few strokes without touching the wall. My form is terrible—arms flailing slightly for balance, shoulders too tense—but I’m moving.
“You want to try gliding?” Chase suggests. “Just push off and let yourself coast.”
The thought terrifies me. Gliding means giving up control, trusting my body to stay upright without constant correction. But I nod anyway.
I push off gently and immediately panic as my speed picks up. My chest tightens, breath coming short. I reach for the wall, but Chase’s voice cuts through the fear.
“You’ve got it. Just breathe.”
I manage maybe ten feet before I grab the boards, heart hammering. “Sorry, I—”
“Hey.” His voice is gentle. “That was good. Really good.”
We spend more time just working on basic stroking, but gradually something familiar starts to stir. The skates begin to feel less foreign, my movements finding tiny glimpses of their old rhythm.
“I want to try something,” I say suddenly, surprising myself.
“What?”
“Just… a waltz jump. The most basic one.” My heart pounds just thinking about it. “Something I could do in my sleep years ago.”
Chase reads my hesitation. “You sure?”
“It’s just a waltz jump,” I mutter, more to convince myself than him.
I set up for it, forward outside edge, building just enough speed. My legs feel shaky beneath me, but I commit. I lift my free leg, swing through and jump.
The takeoff is awkward, my timing off. I barely get the half rotation, and when I come down, I’m completely off balance. My arms windmill wildly as I fight to stay upright, wobbling so badly I’m sure I’ll go down. My ankle rolls dangerously, and panic flashes through me—not again, please not again.
But somehow, miraculously, I manage to stay on my feet. Just barely.
“You did it!” Chase shouts, skating toward me. “Emma, you fucking did it!”
I’m laughing, shaking, equal parts terrified and exhilarated. “I can’t believe I actually did it.”
He lifts me right off the ice, spinning us both in celebration. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
For a moment we’re both breathless, caught up in the rush of what just happened. My legs are still trembling from adrenaline, and I can’t stop the giddy laughter bubbling up from my chest. I did it. I actually did it.
When he sets me down, his expression turns serious. “I’m so proud of you, Emma.”
I look into his eyes, and something inside me shifts. All the worry about work, about what other people think—it seems trivial compared to this moment, this man who believes in me more than I believe in myself.
“I love you,” I say, the words tumbling out naturally.
“I love you too.”
I pull him down for a kiss right there on the ice, the surface that once took everything from me now the foundation for something new, something wonderful.
