Page 47 of Goalies Don't Date Ice Princesses

No longer bound by the relentless demands and expectations that haunted me for years, I felt a newfound sense of relief. The weight that had burdened my shoulders—the need to prove myself, to be the best—lifted from my spirit like a weightless feather caught in a gentle breeze. It was as if a heavy fog had lifted, revealing a world I had forgotten existed.

Gone were the days of dreading every practice, of pushing myself past my limits, and of feeling like I was suffocating under the weight of expectations. Now, I could simply enjoy the sport that had once brought me so much happiness. There was newfound freedom in letting go of the need to constantly prove myself, to constantly strive for perfection.

"I think I made the right decision," I whispered to Archer.

He smiled at me. "I think you did too."

As the performance came to an end and everyone clapped for the skater on the ice, Archer cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing against my cheeks, and pressed his lips to mine.

As the applause subsided, the only sound that remained was the beating of our hearts, perfectly in sync. I had truly won: I discovered a love that outshone any skating medal I could ever strive for.

thirty-one

Archer

Want to go for a run?

The text camein at 6:45 a.m. By 7, I was dressed and outside, waiting for him.

After his leg healed, Archer’s doctors recommended he get back into off-ice physical activity first. We started with simple walks, then worked our way up to jogging and light workouts. Now, he was able to do most of the workouts he did before, though he had significantly less stamina from his time off, and we were going for runs a few times a week.

Turned out, when you spent most of your life in competitive sports, it was very hard to switch to no physical activity afterward.

“Are you ready for today?” I asked as we ran. I looked at him to gauge his reaction, but he had his typical emotionless expression on as he stared straight ahead.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked.

“It’s okay if you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Fine. But it would be okay if you were.”

He gave a jerky nod. I sighed and looked ahead again. I guess this wasn’t going to be a chatty run.

* * *

“The important thing is to go slowly and carefully,” I said. “And don’t be nervous.”

“Will you quit saying I’m nervous?” Archer snapped.

“Sorry,” I murmured. But it wasn’t like I was saying anything we didn’t already know. He’d been standing just off the ice for well over five minutes now, holding the wall in a death grip. “We don’t have to do this today, you know.”

“We’re here, we’re doing it,” Archer said tightly.

I watched as Archer tried to steady his breathing, his hands trembling slightly as they clutched the cold metal barrier of the ice rink. It had been months since the accident, months since that fateful day when his leg had shattered like delicate glass.

The rink gleamed between us, beckoning him to come on. I could see the hesitation in his face, but also the hope. He’d missed this. I knew he had. And he was determined to get back to it today.

I skated all the way to the edge of the rink and placed a hand on Archer’s shoulder, offering him a reassurance he desperately needed. “Remember,” I said softly, “this is just like learning to walk again. One step at a time.”

He nodded tensely then looked over at the bleachers. Adelynn and Jasper were sitting there, her reading a book and him seemingly asleep. Neither of them were big on skating, but they happily joined our club when we said we needed some members. If anybody asked, they were just siting out today because they didn’t feel well and they were definitely on the ice most days.

“They’re not watching,” I said, because I knew he hated the idea of seeming weak in front of others. He probably didn’t care much about Adelynn—she’d seen him at his worst, after all—but Jasper was a different story. They didn’t know each other well and it went against Archer’s nature to admit to anything he didn’t know how to do in front of him.

Archer took a deep breath, his grip on the wall tightening. The icy air filled his lungs, sending a shiver down his spine. I watched as he closed his eyes, his face contorting with determination. “I can do this,” he muttered to himself.

With a determined exhale, Archer peeled his hands away from the wall, leaving behind faint imprints of sweat and apprehension. His trembling legs wobbled beneath him as he planted one uncertain foot onto the ice and then the other. He reminded me of a newborn fawn taking its first tentative steps.

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