Page 5

Chapter 5

Ginny

C oming to the rink at the crack of dawn wasn’t the best start to the day, but I wanted to skate. Not for my father, not for Antony or the Olympics, but for me. Skating used to be fun, and I had a glimpse of that fun when I went skating with the guys. Well, when I pretended to not be able to. It was fun having them try to teach me.

Sitting down on the bench, I slip off my boots and put on my skates, taking a moment while I lace them to look out at the ice, enjoying the moment of tranquility. Once they’re on, I stand and take my first step out onto the ice. My dad and Antony will be here in a couple of hours, so I want to make the most of the freedom I have.

The moment my blades touch the ice, there’s an instant connection—like the ice is alive beneath me, ready to respond to my every movement. Skating feels like dancing with the wind, a combination of strength and grace that becomes almost second nature. If only my dad and Antony hadn’t taken this joy from it when I skate competitively.

The first push sends a thrill through my body, the subtle resistance of the blade against the ice giving way to a smooth glide. There’s a rhythm to it, a pulse, as if the ice and I share a heartbeat. Each stride is a perfect balance of power and elegance—pushing off hard with one leg, extending the other in a sweeping arc, my edges slicing into the ice with a satisfying shhhhk . It’s effortless and yet deliberate, like flying, but with control.

The sound is music to me. The sharp hiss of the blades as they cut through the ice, the hollow echo of my movements in the empty rink—it blends together into a symphony that only someone who lives and breathes skating can truly understand.

With each stroke of my blades, I can feel the texture of the ice underneath it—smooth, sometimes grainy, or just sharp enough to keep me grounded. And then there’s the speed. There’s nothing like the rush of moving faster than you thought possible, the cold wind biting your cheeks, your body low and streamlined, everything else blurring away.

And the jumps? They’re magic. I feel weightless, spinning or soaring, before my blades find the ice again with a sharp, clean sound. Landing a jump is like threading a needle; it’s precise, it’s perfect, and it’s the kind of satisfaction that lingers long after the moment has passed.

Skating is freedom. It’s where I feel most alive, where I can express all the emotions that I can’t put into words.

I go in for my final turn and my eyes meet his, staring back at me. The connection is anything but warm. It is filled with a mix of emotions—confusion, anger, perhaps even regret—most of those coming from him.

Carter. Fuck, I don’t even know his last name.

We stand there, each of us frozen in place as our gazes stay locked on the other. The silence like a dense fog, heavy and stifling and each wordless second stretches unbearably long. The only thing standing between us is the electric charge of unresolved tension.

Carter shifts, dropping his bag to the floor, crossing his arms over his chest, his jaw tightening as he inhales sharply, letting the breath escape in a sigh. I blink, breaking the stare for a second, giving him the opening he craves.

“Why?”

One word. A question. Yet, it’s so difficult to answer. No matter how I say it, I end up sounding like a bitch. Which, in a way, I guess I am. What person would give up three amazing men? Ones who care for her and that she loves as well? It was such a short time, but I can’t help the attachment I made to them in that time.

“Well?” He steps forward, and as if on command, my legs move, cutting through the ice, cutting the distance until we meet at the edge of the rink.

“It’s complicated.” The words fly from my mouth before I even realize I’ve said them.

“I’m pretty good at figuring shit out. You lied.” He extends his arm out to me, waving it up and down. “Pretty damn good, too. You should be an actress with the skills you have.”

I step off the ice and make my way over to the bench and sit down. Taking a deep breath, I bend over and undo my skates, taking them off, running my feet across the floor. Anything to keep from talking. The bench shifts under his weight as he takes a seat beside me.

“You don’t understand,” I mumble as I fidget with the string on my hoodie.

“Then explain it to me, so I do. Because what I see right now is a liar. Yeah, we said we’d keep our personal lives just that, personal. But you can skate. You lied through your fucking teeth that you couldn’t. You even put on a damn good show of being terrible at it. But worst of all, you slipped out of the house in the middle of the night and left a damn note. I don’t know about you, but the three of us were in love with you. Yet, you couldn’t even give us the respect of saying goodbye to our faces or message one of us back.” His words are just as cold as his eyes are.

“I know, and I hate myself for it. My life has been planned for me since the moment I laced up my first pair of blades. Skating became more like a punishment than fun.” I shift on the bench so I can face him. “Do you know what it’s like to be shipped off away from your family and live with a trainer on the other side of the country? Barely getting calls, or being able to see them. To have your father care more about his hockey players than his own daughter. I’ve always felt like a rag doll tossed to the side until it’s wanted for a few brief moments.”

My eyes begin to sting, a warm, prickling sensation that pools just at the edges of my vision. I blink rapidly, unconsciously attempting to hold the tears that are building in place. A swell of emotions surge through me like a tidal wave I can’t escape, pulling me under. My heart feels heavy, hearing him say that he—that they—loved me, knowing I felt the same way. When the first tear finally slips free, it feels like a quiet breaking point—soft, inevitable, and unstoppable.

He lifts his hand, using his finger to wipe away the tears. “You could have talked to us. Hell, we planned to talk to you about wanting to continue our relationship after the trip. It wasn’t just a holiday fling for us. But now everything has gone to shit. Blake and Chase are fighting. And you’re… Fuck, you’re Coach Lein’s daughter.”

What did he just say? No, that can’t be.

“What do you mean Blake and Chase are fighting? They’re so perfect together.” My heart tightens as if someone is gripping it.

“Chase wasn’t out yet, not here anyway, and he asked Blake to keep their relationship a secret until he came out. Blake didn’t like that, and well, some shit went down and now they’re not talking.”

“And you’re in the middle.” My heart breaks for him. My hand moves without thought, gripping his tightly. He lets it remain in his grasp for a moment, but it quickly passes and he pulls away, taking another piece of my heart with him.

“Yeah, I am. So, you had a boyfriend this whole time? Was that just another way you were fucking with us?” The broken man from before is immediately replaced with the angered one who first approached me.

“Boyfriend?” I question, unsure why he would think that. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Then who was the guy hanging all over you, pissing on you like a dog marking his territory?”

“That’s my dance partner, Antony. While he may think there’s going to be more from us than a skating partnership, there won’t be. He’s just another person sucking the love out of skating for me. It’s all about the Olympics for him and whoever has the best shot of getting him there.” I let out a sigh as my thoughts drift back to yesterday. He did kind of act like that. He was hanging all over me and acting like we were together. My mind goes back over our whole career as partners and I realize the last couple of years he really started to change from my friend who cared about me to the person he is now.

“You might want to tell him. I don’t think he’s gotten the memo.”

“I’ll be sure to make it clear to him.” I can’t help but laugh, which causes him to laugh too, and god, does it sound good. I’ve missed hearing it and I didn’t realize it until just now.

“Do you still care about us?” His laugh fades away, bringing a somber tone with him.

“It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, you’ve told me that already. Just answer me, Ginny. Or is it Geneva?”

A name far too formal for me. It’s not that I don’t love it. I do and maybe one day when I’m older, or the right person calls me by it, I’ll embrace it. But for now, I like Ginny and I just wish I could get everyone to realize that.

“Ginny. Only my dad calls me Geneva, and for the love of me, I can’t figure out why Antony did that yesterday.” I pause for a minute, but he deserves an answer. “I do still care about the three of you. I didn’t want to leave the way I did. I just thought it would be easier. My father gave me the ultimatum to be back here and Antony was laying it on thick about how I was letting him down, because I was costing him his shot at his dream. It was too much. I wanted to contact the three of you so many times, but I thought it would make it worse. I know it doesn’t make up for how I handled things.”

“It doesn’t help either that you’re Coach Lein’s daughter. That’s an instant don’t touch.”

I smirk. “Or that I have a strict no dating hockey players rule.”

He belts out a laugh that has him doubling over.

“Yeah, Coach would kill us if he found out about our time together.”

“So, what are we going to do to fix things between Chase and Blake?” I ask, hoping that he’ll take a bite of the olive branch I’m offering.