Page 7

chapter seven

she's my ghost of skating past

I needed a plan B because, as it turned out, bringing happiness back into my life was coming at a price. A price I couldn’t afford unless Flo decided that she wanted to up my hourly rate to $800 an hour.

And I was good at pouring coffeeand handing people pastries, but not that good.

I’d been sitting at my desk looking at rink hiring for the past hour, and thecheapest I’d found was a hundred dollars over what I could afford.

Well, Rory, why don’t you just go to the rink with everyone else, or the one inCentral Park? You know, like the rest of the world does?

The idea had crossed my mind, but I’d vetoed it pretty quickly.

The first time Iskated again couldn’t be some casual group outing. No, it needed to be private. Not because I was hoping for some dramatic moment where I’d step onto the ice and violins would swell in the background like I was in a movie montage.

Oka y, maybe a tiny part of me had imagined that. I’m just a girl.

But mostly, I wanted it to be quiet. Peaceful. Just me, the ice, and the chance tosee if this part of me still existed without any distractions—or an audience. Especially if all my skating skills didn’t miraculously return and I ended up with my ass in the air.

Yeah, no witnesses for that, please.

“Just one,” I whispered, more tomyself than my empty room, scrolling like my life depended on it. “Just one of these websites needs to say, ‘ Hey! Want an ice rink all to yourself? Well, come to us; we won’t charge you a thing!’”

A few more fruitless clicks later, I felt my body give up, my shoulders sagging as I closed the laptop with a defeated sigh. My arms folded into a pillow on the desk, my hair spilling over them as I let my head drop.

Maybe this was the universe’s way of telling me I wasn’t ready to skate again. Maybe it was just trying to protect me for once.

My head turned just enough for my eyes to land on the skates resting on mybed, the satin sheets making them look like royalty.

No. I could do this. Just five moreminutes.

But as I scrolled through the same unhelpful links, my heart sinking a little further with each one, I gave up again.

Abandoning my laptop, I pulled out my phone and headed for Instagram. My thumbs flew across the search bar, plugging in keywords: rink, lessons, hire. Within seconds the explore page l oaded with a blur of icy images, glittering costumes, and skaters mid-spin.

My thumbs cranked back into gear, searching faster now, almost frantically.

Then I stopped. A square in the middle of the feed caught my eye.

I blinked, pulling my screen closer.

I know her.

The picture filled my screen—a woman in a sleek navy tracksuit, a gleamingmedal around her neck, and a warm, pretty smile. Her face stirred something familiar, tugging at a memory I couldn’t quite reach.

My gaze wandered down to the caption: Calling all competition skaters, a newcoach just dropped. Aspen English, a four-time Olympic gold medalist, is hanging up her costumes for her coach’s uniform, training the future greats like the one and only Aurelia Greene trained her.

My heart stopped.

Mom’s name.

I stared at it, the letters blurring slightly as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. There it was. Proof that she wasn’t just a memory in my heart but a part ofsomething bigger—a legacy.

I blinked away the tears threatening to fall, knowing full well that once Istarted, I’d never get to sleep. Instead, I focused on the screen, skimming over the caption again.

Simply fill in the form in our bio, and we’ll get back to you. Happy skating!

At the bottom of the caption was the signature: Everglades Ice Rink: NYC.

A quick map search showed me it was only a few subway stops away from thehouse. I scrolled back up to the picture, letting my eyes linger on Aspen English, taking in how much she’d changed—and stayed the same. Her once long auburn hair, which I used to envy more than words could describe, was now a sleek, professional bob. It suited her. Her sharp green eyes were still striking, though softer now.

Without thinking, I clicked on the rink’s profile and followed the link to theirform. It loaded quickly, but the more I read, the heavier my heart felt.

References. Competition figures. Test levels. USFSA membership details.

The list went on and on, like a checklist for someone I wasn’t anymore. I slumped back in my chair, the hopelessness bubbling up again.

My eyes darted back to the post, reading it for the third time.

Wait.

The form was only for skaters looking for a competition coach. That wasn’tme. I wasn’t trying to compete. I wasn’t even looking for lessons. I just needed a rink—a moment to see if this was something I wanted.Would it hurt to ask?

Aspen had been close to Mom. She’d followed in her footsteps, and if she stillremembered her enough to mention her in that post, maybe… maybe she’d remember me too.

I d idn’t let myself overthink it. I quickly searched for the rink’s address, savingit to my maps before throwing on my pyjamas and turning off my phone for the night.

As I curled into bed, a flicker of hope warmed my chest. For the first time in along while, I fell asleep without crying.

Even though mittens were the definition of childish, I couldn’t help but adorethem. They were just so cute, and the fact that they attached to my wrists with little clips so I could slip them off without losing them? Whoever came up with that deserved a lifetime of cold pillows.

The walk to the rink gave me far too much time to mentally spiral about what I was going to say to Aspen. If she was even there.

“Hi, Aspen! It’s me, Rory, remember? No? Okay, great. Bye!”

I think that would give me the confidence to bawl every time I saw an iceskate.

I was mid-contemplation, tugging my scarf tighter to stop the September chill sneaking under my coat, when I turned the corner and found myself looking up at the rink. The elegant sign swung gently in the wind, its cursive lettering catching the light. The sight of it froze me, my breath puffing out in quick clouds.

Bef ore I could let myself chicken out, I tightened the straps on my bag,straightened my shoulders, and strode up to the door. My eyes traced the swirls of the sign as I passed under it, feeling a weird mix of nerves and excitement that made my heart race. I wrapped my hand around the handle and took a deep breath.

My dark braids fell over my outfitas I yanked off my woolly hat, immediately regretting the decision as I sank further into the rink, the frosty air hitting me was even colder than the one I’d been walking in, forcing me to wrap my arms around my torso to stop whatever heat I had in me from escaping.

The reception area was so quiet I could’ve sworn I’d stumbled into a libraryinstead of an ice rink. No one was at the desk, no phones were ringing—just me and the soft hum of the building. For a second, I debated walking right back out. But then my brain unhelpfully reminded me that I’d walked ten blocks in mittens that made me look like a third-grader, and I wasn’t about to let all that effort go to waste.

I pushed through another set of glass doors, wandering further until I reachedthe rink itself. And there she was.

Aspen English.

She was mid-spin, her tracksuit I’d seen online swapped out for a casual workout set that matchedher fiery auburn hair, which was now neatly tucked into a sock bun. The loose curls framing her face bounced as she finished her turn.

I stayed frozen, not from the cold but because—well, what now? I had no plan. I’d just shown up like some weirdo thinking I could wing this.

Tip toeing along the rink’s edge, I watched her glide across the ice like sheowned it, the soft scrape of her blades like a lullaby. Her expression was so serene, so full of something unshakable, that for a moment, I almost forgot why I was here.

What if she didn’t have time for me? Or what if she looked at me and thought, “Who is this really tall third grader and why is she interrupting me”?

Or she could be nice to me. And I was just overthinking things.

But even so, would she recognise me? I was barely the same person I’d been atthirteen. Okay, not true—I still had the same haircut because change is terrifying, but you get the point.

I was starting to sweat. Oh no. Was that my upper lip sweating? Oh God.This was a mistake.

Before I could think, I spun around, making a beeline for the door like my lifedepended on it, when—

“Hey!”

Her voice stopped me before Icould take a step.

My shoes squeaked on the mats asI turned back around, forcing myself to face her.

Aspen skated to the edge of therink, her green eyes narrowing slightly as she studied me. For a moment, her expression was unreadable, and then her eyes widened, almost knowing. “Can I help you?”

“Uh.” My brain short-circuited. Itried to speak again, but all that came out was, “Uh.”

Good start, Rory.

I swallowed, setting my eyes backon her. “Yeah. Um. I don’t know if youremember me—”

“Remember you?” she laughed, gliding right up to the edge. “Rory Greene, are you kidding? I still carry a picture of me, you, and your mom to every competition.”

My jaw practically hit the floor.

Aspen grinned, tucking the pieces of her hair that had slipped from the bun behind her ears. “Ihaven’t seen you in… forever. What’s it been—years?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice a littlesqueaky. “Like, a lot of years.” I don’t know if she picked up on the swell of emotion that had wedged in my throat.

Aspen reached out for me over therailing, I didn’t hesitate to move closer. Considering we were surrounded by ice, her hands were surprisingly warm as they wrapped around mine.“How have you been?”

I stared at her, trying to find an answer that wouldn’t make me burst into tears.“I’ve been… better,” I admitted. “I mean, I was great—perfect, even. Well, maybe not perfect… but, I was okay. But then, you know… life happened. And now everything’s, uh, kind of a mess.”

The words tumbled out awkwardly, and I winced, waiting for her to back awayslowly and call security. Instead, she just tilted her head, her green eyes softening like she could see right through me.

And then, as if channelling every mom-like instinct she’d ever learned frommine, Aspen skated her thumb gently over the back of my hand. “Want to have a catch-up?”

Som ehow, that was enough to calm the sweatstorm happening under my scarf.

I nodded, only softly. “Yes, please.”

Her smile was warm and easy, like it hadn’t been years since we’d last spoken.“Give me five minutes and I’m all yours.”

I swallowed the last bit of the lump in my throat and nodded. “Thank you.”

She let go of my hands and glided off the ice with the same grace she always had, disappearing into thechanging rooms. I waited in the stands, my leg bouncing on the anti-slip rubber the ground was laid with. When Aspen reappeared, skates in hand, she plopped down next to me with a soft sigh.

“So,” she said, turning to me with acurious tilt of her head. “Wanna tell me why you’re here?”

The words tumbled out before Icould stop them. “Dad passed away a few months ago.”

Sympathy flooded her eyes, herhead bowing like someone had taken a knife to her back. She was there for mom’s funeral. She knew what this meant for me.

She blew out a breath before hereyes locked on mine again. “Aurora, I’m so sorry.”

My smile pulled tight. I think I’d run out of responses to this somewhere inJuly. But I nodded. “Me too.”

Before I could let the weight of everything settle back on my shoulders, I tucked my grown-out curtain bangs behind my ears, swallowing a breath as I met her stare. “But I guess the reason why I came here today is because I’m not happy.”

Asp en didn’t flinch, didn’tblink—just waited, her eyes steady and clear, like they could hold whatever I needed to say.

“I don’t think I’ve been happy for awhile, actually,” I admitted, my voicebarely above a whisper. “Not because of my friends or my life here. I enjoy college, but…” I took a deep breath, staring at the frost on the rink glass. “I don’t think I was ever doing college for myself.”

Aspen tilted her head slightly, asmall smile breaking through. “Okay… who do you think you were doing it for?”

“My dad,” I said without hesitation.“And the world, I guess. It’s just what we’re told to do. School, college, job, marriage, white picket fence, minivan full of soccer gear…”

Her laugh was like a breeze, one that made me sink into the gentle connection I forgot existed between us.

“I feel like… since Mom, I’ve lost a part of myself. And I didn’t even realise ituntil…” I swung my backpack off my shoulder, unzipping it with shaky hands. A second later, I pulled out my skates. “I found these.”

Aspen’s eyes widened, her gaze tracing the white leather-like it held a secret. “To find them,” she said carefully, her voice soft, “that means you had to have stopped using them.” She glanced up at me, her expression unreadable. “You don’t skate anymore?”

I shook my head.

“The last time I saw you, you were heading for sectionals. She had big plansfor you Ror, and even I expected you to be trying out for the Olympics by now.” Sorrow took over her expression. “But I have a feeling I know why you stopped.”

I n odded, knowing what she was trying to say.“After Mom, I just… couldn’t. And after we left Honeywood, I did everything I could to avoid skating. It hurt too much to even think about.”

“And now?” she asked, leaning slightly closer, her head tilted in curiosity.

I dropped my gaze to the skates in my lap, fingers brushing over the laces.“And now,” I said, lifting my eyes back to hers, “I want to try again.”

Aspen’s lips curled into a soft smile.

“I want to be happy again.”

It felt like the weight that had been slowly building up on my shoulders hadvanished, as though the world had gotten warmer and whatever had solidified, weighing me down, was finally melting.

I glanced back up at Aspen, my voice quieter now. “And I suppose this iswhere you come in.”

She tilted her head slightly, folding her arms around her torso with anencouraging smile. “I’m listening.”

“For my first time back on the ice… I need it to be just me. I need the quiet so Ican figure out if skating is even a possibility for me anymore.” I glanced toward the rink, the cold surface reflecting the fluorescent lights like a frozen mirror. “I’m scared I’ve forgotten everything. And I’m scared it’ll remind me of everything I don’t have anymore, and I’ll just… break down and—”

Aspen’s steady gaze stopped my spiral in its tracks, her eyes saying breathe better than words ever could.

I i nhaled deeply, letting my heart settle before I continued. “But I need to try.Just in case… just in case I still love it as much as I did before.”

The adrenaline from the moment, from letting everything off my chest, hit me like awave. I felt the ache in my lash line, my bottom lip trembled, and that heavy, familiar weight settled back onto my shoulders. Before I could fall apart completely, Aspen moved. She wrapped her armsaround me and pulled me close, her embrace warm and steady, her sweet amber scent like the cosy heat of a log fire.

For a split second, I could have sworn it felt like a distant echo of Mom.

I slowly pulled away from her hug, my hands falling into my lap as our eyesmet. “Last night, I came across a post that said you were looking for new skaters to train. I know I’m not exactly looking for that, but…” I hesitated, playing with the frayed threads of my mittens. “I thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask if I could use the rink, maybe just once or twice?”

The flicker of guilt in her eyes wasn’t exactly encouraging.

Before I could stop myself, my inner rambler took over. “Or, wait—was thisjust super weird of me to ask? Oh my God. It was weird, wasn’t it? I don’t know what I was thinking. Like, yeah, haven’t seen you in eight years, but sure, here’s my rink, have at it!” I winced and gestured vaguely toward the exit. “I’m just gonna—”

“No,” she cut me off with a giggle, her warm hand wrapping gently aroundmine and settling me back onto the bench. “It’s not that.”

Her eyes softened as she spoke.“Without you officially signing up for the classes, or going through all the contracts and health and safety stuff, if anything were to happen to you out there, I could lose everything. And I couldn’t carry on my career trying to live up to even half the coach your mom was.”

The sincerity in her voice calmed me, even though the hope inside me felt likeit was sliding away like loose snow in an avalanche.

She offered me a tiny smile. “But I am running beginner classes. The average age is no higher than six.”

Six-year-olds. More judgmental than most adults. Superbe. 1

I swallowed, trying to summon some humour. “Six-year-olds? Amazing, I can’twait to be out-skated by a kindergartner named Bella.”

Aspen laughs rattled off the glass. “Hey, those kids are fierce, but it’s a safe space. If you join theclass, I can arrange for you to stay longer after everyone leaves, so you’ll still have your privacy. And I’ll throw in a discount. I remember how frugal student life was so if there’s any way I can help, I’m in.”

I smirked, tilting my head. “I think a hundred per cent off sounds pretty reasonable, youknow… for old times’ sake?”

Aspen grinned, nudging me. “How about forty?” I nodded, my hands rubbing my arms as hers reached behind her. “I'll send you all the class info andthe schedule,” she said gently. “If you’re ever not feeling up to it, or it gets to be too much, we’ll figure something else out. I promise.”

Her words settled the last of mynerves, and I nodded, my smile blooming in gratitude. “That sounds amazing. Thank you so much.”

“No, thank you for coming.” Her playful eye roll tugged at my heart. “I missedhaving you around, Ror. And, side note, all that French you taught me? Yeah, totally left my brain the second I landed in Paris for the Olympics this summer.”

I laughed, and for the first time in forever, it didn’t feel forced. Like I wasn’tdoing it for the facade I showed the world. “Guess I’ll have to give you some refreshers. But only if you’re nice to me when I fall on my ass in front of Bella and her squad of six-year-old prodigies.”

Aspen grinned, looping an arm around my shoulders as we stood. “Deal.”

1. Great.