Page 42

six weeks later

“ A ny updates?”

My head fell back against the wall of my room, tilting it just enough to let my eyes sweep over Finn as he leaned on the doorframe. His presence was enough for me to let go of the breath I’d kept trapped, allowing my lungs to fill properly.

But the longer I looked at him, the more I could see the same desperation swimming in those beautiful green lagoons that had a tight grip on my heart.

I pouted my bottom lip, my hand, and my phone, thrashing against my bedsheets with everything I had in me. It was the only way I was able to ease the pain of being ungodly frustrated and undeniably nervous. “No!” I groaned, before twisting to face him. “I don’t get it, I saw somewhere that the announcement was dropping today!”

Finn’s grunt was fuelled by nothing but humour, his smile stretching across his mouth and deepening his dimples as he hopped over the end of my bed and sank into the space beside me. “I saw that too. But you know how these things are. Things like this happen all the time.”

I a ngled my head, my eyes pleading. “But she put a green snake in her bio! Rep TV is coming, I just know it!”

Before I could close my mouth, I was scooped up in his arms, tugged against his hard chest as a giggle forced its way out of me.

“You know nothing, it’s all theories.” He said, his hands making their way to my waist.

My head pulled back in shock. “Yeah. Theories you feed me. If anyone is to blame for this beast you’ve turned me into, it’s you.”

“Well, I find you adorable when you’re like this, it’s all selfish really.”

An infectious pain bloomed across my ribs as my legs began to thrash. “Stop, I can’t breathe when you tickle me!” I gasped between laughs, my body crumpling under his.

He grinned, proud and utterly shameless. “I know. It’s my favourite sound in the world.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t deny it. Not when he looked at me like that. Not when I felt like this—full and soft and certain.

But certainty was slippery, and it never stayed for long.

Especially not with sectionals in less than twenty-four hours.

Hence why I was letting my mind think anything but that impending skate.

My laughter faded as my mind tried to grip it again, reaching for anything to distract me from the pressure in my chest. From the routines I kept rehearsing in my head. From the tiny voice whispering that maybe I wasn’t good enough to be here at all.

So, I focused on Taylor Swift conspiracy theories. On Finn’s dimples. On how the light cut across his cheekbone and how the room smelled like his cologne and the laundry detergent we both liked. Anything but the ice.

But Finn noticed it. Of course he did.

He brushed my hair back from my face, his thumb lingering at my temple. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?” I whispered.

“Pretend you’re not nervous.”

My throat caught, and for a second, I didn’t say anything.

He kissed my forehead and pulled me against him again. “You’re allowed to be scared, Rory. That doesn’t mean you’re not ready.”

I closed my eyes and breathed him in, letting the words settle.

Letting myself believe them. Letting myself remember that his words meant everything to me now.

I finally settled into his hold. "I love you, Finn Rhodes."

The same smile I fell for a year and a half ago shone down on me, as his dimples deepend, and the green embers of his eyes lit up. "Love you more, bambi."

The rink was eerily quiet before the music started. Just the hiss of my blades against the ice as I glided to the centre, and the familiar sting of nerves in my stomach.

But atleast it wasn’t fear. Not anymore.

No, after a pep talk with myself in the bathroom earlier, it was peace.

Well, almost all of it was. That overthinker that had a perminant residence in my mind was fuelling whatever panic coursed through me.

I exhaled slowly, watching the white puff of my breath vanish in front of me. Every inch of me was alert—my muscles poised, my heartbeat steady, my fingers curled ever so slightly at my sides.

You’ve got this, Aurora. You were so right to choose this path.

Apsen’s voice echoed in the valleys of my mind as I looked up, letting the white arena lights bathe my face, my petal pink costume, and as the music swelled, I skated into it—into the first of many spins, into the footwork, into the performance that had once terrified me and now made me feel whole.

The first notes bloomed through the speakers, soft and aching and so utterly perfect for the story I was skating to. I moved like the music lived in my bones, each motion a conversation between my heart and the ice. The sound of my blades slicing across the surface was rhythmic, clean, satisfying—like punctuation on a sentence I had rewritten a hundred times until it finally said what I meant.

There were moments—fleeting but precious—where I felt like I was flying. Like gravity forgot me. Like the weight of grief and doubt and all the years I’d lost didn’t matter anymore. They’d brought me here, hadn’t they?

To this routine. To this breath. To this chance to begin again.

Aspen stood just off the boards, chin lifted, eyes trained on me. Her arms were crossed, but the subtle smile on her lips gave her away.

She believed in me.

And so did the people in the stands.

Finn was there, pressed against the railing, his Liberty Grove hoodie bunched up in his hands like he couldn’t quite stay still. Daisy stood beside him, recording everything on her phone, while Jesse yelled my name loud enough that the judges definitely heard. Goldie had glitter under her eyes, and tears in them, too. And Tristan had his chin resting on her head, holding her like the anchor she probably needed.

I barely had enough time before my axel to notice that Cora’s seat was empty, but I did, and I think that was what made me fall.

I sank into the collective sigh from the crowd as I tripped over myself, barely spinning in the air before I collapsed, my arms burnin with the sting from the ice as we became one. It was as though I’d left my soul on that corner of the ice as I shakily rose to my feet and carried on like nothing had happened.

But I wasn’t replaying what I’d just done, I wasn’t thinking about how I’d probably ruined my chances of qualifying.

The beauty of discovering my dreams all over again was that time didn’t scare me anymore. I had so much of it to chase this dream. So if I’d blown it. Well, there was always next year.

No, for the rest of the skate, my mind was on Cora.

Just like I had been ever since the night she came bursting through the door to the townhouse.

Luckily, I nailed the last spin. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. But considering that I was the last skater of the day and everyone, apart from me and another skater, had fallen, I had a pretty good idea about what the outcome of the day would be.

But it was okay. Maybe this year had already been stuffed with enough of my dreams to see me through.

The crowd clapped as I froze in the ending pose. My name was called as I skated off. And as the ice flew behind me, the fire in my lungs and frost on my cheeks burned.

Aspen met me at the boards with a grin that felt like sunshine. “You did it,” she whispered, pulling me into a quick, fierce hug. “You did it exactly how you needed to.”

“I’m not winning,” I murmured into her shoulder, heart still racing.

“I don’t care,” she said. “You didn’t run. You didn’t disappear. You showed up. That’s so much better.”

I nodded, throat tight.

“And besides, it just means we get to spend another year together.” She let her laugh echo around us. “Next year this sport is yours. I can feel it.”

My laugh burned as it came out of my throat, my hands on my hips to try and ease my breath. “Another year? I’m claiming you for the rest of my life. I can’t do this without you.”

Her smile beamed brighter than the lights above us. “Right back at you, Ror.”

By the time I made it to the others, Daisy was already tearing up. “You looked like you were flying, Rory.”

“Oh, you didn’t see? I was flying, and then falling, on my ass,” I admitted, my breaths finally coming back to me.

“Yeah, but you did it with grace,” Jesse said, smiling softly.

Finn didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t even hand me the pink roses nestled in his grip. No, he passed them to Jess, stepped forward and pulled me into his chest like he knew I was holding back a whole ocean. His hand found the back of my neck, grounding me.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he said, voice low in my ear. “Like, the kind of proud that hurts.”

I closed my eyes, holding on to the warmth of his jacket, the safety of being known like this.

“Thanks for never letting me give up,” I whispered.

“You never needed me to do that,” he said. “You just needed someone to remind you you’re allowed to want things.”

My eyes stung, but I’d sit through the sting for the rest of time if I meant I got experience a love like this.

They were all around me—my people. Laughing, crying, joking about how I “probably invented a new spin” when I slipped slightly in the footwork. Jesse handed me my flowers. Daisy stole my water bottle. Goldie and Tristan wouldn’t stop laughing with each other. Finn didn’t let go of my hand once.

It was joy. Real, messy joy.

And wasn’t that exactly what I was searching for?

But even in all that noise, I felt the silence of the one person who wasn’t there.

Cora.

She would’ve been in the front row. She would’ve filmed the whole thing and screamed too loudly at the wrong moments and brought some ridiculous handmade sign with glitter that rubbed off on all our clothes.She would’ve told me she was proud.

But she hadn’t left the house in weeks.

And something in my chest ached at the thought of her sitting in the dark, not painting, watching life happen without her.

I squeezed Finn’s hand a little tighter. “She should’ve been here,” I said softly, not even sure who I was talking to.

His eyes found mine. Gentle. “I know.”

The celebration faded around me, blurring into something quieter, sadder. Somewhere in the crowd, my coach was waiting. Somewhere back home, my next chapter was waiting.

But before any of that, I needed to know one thing.

I looked at Daisy. “Heard anything?”

Her face shifted. A flicker of something—hesitation, maybe. Worry.

She shook her head. “Still nothing.”

My heart sank for a beat, and I hated it.

Not just because I missed her. But because I knew what she looked like when she was fighting to stay above water. I knew what it meant when someone like her disappeared.

But with every other emotion swimming around my heart, the only one that wasn’t, was fear.

I wasn’t scared for Cora.

I was scared for the asshole who’d made her hide.

Because if there was one thing people ought to know by now, it was that Cora Holland didn’t stay quiet for long.

And when she comes back, she won’t come back soft.

No.

She’ll come back swinging.