Page 121 of Game Misconduct
“Thank you for telling me.” She glances toward the portfolio again before looking back at me. “And thank you for sharing your drawings with me.”
I swallow, throat tight. “You still think I’m a risk?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Sure. But now I think I’m the one who should be protecting you.”
A laugh huffs out of me.
She doesn’t say anything at first. Just slides her fingers over mine—light, soft, no pressure to speak.
I don’t deserve her comfort, but I take it anyway.
When I finally look up, she’s watching me. Not with pity. Just knowing.
“You always carry that much weight around?” she asks.
“Only on good days.”
She chuckles quietly and sits back down.
“So I told you a story. Time to tell me one.”
She nods once. “Fair. What do you want to know?”
“That day you wrapped my shoulder, you said you skated competitively. Tell me about it.”
She draws in a breath, tucks her long legs up beneath her.
“I started figure skating competitively when I was seven years old.”
“You started young.”
Her gaze drops to her almost empty plate. “My mother died the year before, and my father said I needed something to do. So he hired the best coach around and got me out on the ice.”
When she stops to drain her wine glass, I want to reach out. I know what it’s like to lose your mom as a kid, though I can’t imagine being just a small child.
Before I can say anything, she continues.
“So I did as my father wanted and threw myself into skating.By the time I hit sixteen, I was ranked top five in the southeast. Nationals. Junior Olympic qualifiers. It was my whole life.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
She nods. “Dead serious. Had the routines memorized, the costumes stitched, the whole damn schedule taped to my mirror.”
“So why’d you stop?” I ask, already knowing I won’t like the answer.
She doesn’t meet my eyes this time. “When I failed to make the Olympic team the second time, my father fired my coach and said I needed to do something I wasn’t a failure at. And since I was his only child—his legacy as he always loved to remind me—that meant I went into business with him. So that was that.”
My jaw tightens, and I can’t help but think I’m glad I’ll never have to meet the man. “And you just…quit?”
“Didn’t have a choice. I buried it. Went to school, learned the business, and became who he wanted me to be.”
I let the silence stretch between us, let the weight of that settle. Because I know what it’s like to be shaped by someone else’s hands. To carry a version of yourself around that doesn’t feel like yours.
And hate every minute of it.
“You still skate?” I ask quietly.
“Sometimes.” She smiles, but there’s something wistful underneath. “When no one’s around. Late nights at the practice rink.”
