Page 44 of Goalies Don't Date Ice Princesses

Archer pressed his hand against my cheek, turning my head enough that we were face to face again. He looked more alert than he had since the accident. Like this had broken him out of whatever state he’d been in.

“What about your dream, Bri?” All the air whooshed out of my lungs. My legs almost collapsed under me as I stared into his deep, brown eyes. “Your parents aren’t the ones having to get up at five a.m. every day. They’re not the ones avoiding sugar, working out for hours every day, sleeping through classes, and doing homework at meals. They’re not the ones spending day in and day out thinking about figure skating.” His hand slid down to wrap under my arm, like he was worried I was going to fall. The only thing holding us both up right now was his precarious balance on his crutches which seemed incredibly unsafe but I couldn’t focus on that. “They’re not the ones killing themselves over this, Bri.And nobody who loves you would want you to suffer like this.”

“I failed them, Archer,” I said in a broken voice.

“Oh, Princess.” He rested his forehead against mine. “You didn’t fail anyone.”

twenty-eight

My tremblingfingers fumbled over the screen as I dialed the familiar number. I didn’t want to make this call but I knew I had to. They deserved to know and more importantly, they deserved to hear it from me.

The phone rang, each chime intensifying the pounding in my chest. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as the call connected. The sound of my father’s voice crackled through the air, a mix of warmth and concern.

“Hey sweetheart,” he said, his voice filled with his usual enthusiasm.

I swallowed hard, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over. “Dad,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I need to talk to you and Mom.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, a long silence that seemed to stretch on forever. Finally, my mother’s

soft voice came through, barely audible. “Is everything okay, darling?”

Everything in me wanted to break down right then and there, to let the tears flow freely as I shared the news that would shatter their world. But I had to be strong. I had to find the words, no matter how difficult they were to say.

“No, Mom,” I replied, my voice steady but filled with pain. “Everything is not okay.”

A heavy silence followed my words, as if the weight of my confession hung in the air between us. I could almost hear their hearts beating faster on the other end of the line, a mirror of my own racing pulse.

“What is it?” My father’s voice was tight with worry now, no longer filled with its usual cheerfulness.

My mind raced, searching for the best way to deliver the news. How do you prepare someone for something they never expected? How do you soften the blow of a truth that would undoubtedly break their hearts?

Taking a deep breath, I steadied my trembling voice and began, “I... I quit the figure skating team.”

There was a collective gasp on the other end of the line, as if the entire world had suddenly stopped spinning. The silence grew thicker, pressing against my eardrums like a suffocating weight. I could picture my parents, thousands of miles away, frozen in disbelief. I could almost hear their thoughts racing, their minds desperately attempting to make sense of what I had just revealed. The weight of their unspoken expectations bore down on me, threatening to crush my resolve.

“But Bri...” My mother’s voice quivered with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “You’ve dedicated so much of your life to figure skating. It’s been your dream since you were a little girl.”

A lump formed in my throat as I struggled to find the right words. How could I explain the whirlwind of emotions that had led me to this decision? How could I make them understand the toll it had taken on me physically and mentally?

“I know,” I replied, my voice breaking slightly. “But it’s become too much. The early mornings, the grueling workouts

that leave me exhausted, the constant pressure to perform...it’s taken a toll on my health and my happiness. I’ve been pushing myself to the brink, sacrificing everything else in my life for this dream that isn’t even mine anymore.”

“But Bri,” my father’s voice wavered, “you were so close to achieving greatness.”

There was a heavy pause, and I could imagine the disappointment etching lines onto my parents’ faces. They had invested so much in my figure skating career, supporting me through endless practices, competitions, and sacrifices of their own. They had watched my passion ignite and flourish.

“You had the potential to be one of the best.”

Potential. That word echoed in my mind, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been. “Dad, what good is potential if it comes at the expense of everything else? If it means sacrificing my well-being and losing sight of who I am?”

There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. I could sense their disappointment, their struggle to understand and accept my decision. But I couldn’t let their disappointment dictate my own happiness any longer.

“I’m sorry if this disappoints you,” I said softly, tears streaming down my face now. Talking to them, saying these words aloud, was making this whole thing so much harder. What if I made a mistake? What if figure skating wasn’t the problem, but rather something deeper within myself? Was it possible that I had lost sight of why I loved the sport in the first place? Doubt gnawed at me, its sharp teeth sinking into my resolve. Maybe quitting was just an escape from the hard work, the discipline it demanded.

Regret tugged at the corners of my conscience, whispering tales of what could have been if I had persevered. But beneath that trepidation and fear was something else, something I hadn’t felt in months.

Relief.

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