Page 113 of Ice Princesses
He laughs then, still a little breathless, still a little disbelieving, and the moment falls into something good, earned. And I let myself sit in and feel it fully.
This is exactly what we came here for.
To place this boy on a podium, despite the noise and the politics. And all because of the work and the years and the effort it took to get here.
Just this.
Voices start filtering in behind us, and I start seeing the influx of cameras and people armed with mics coming in our direction.
But there’s a group of coaches to the right of us who are having a very heated conversation, words getting louder as the space starts to fill with movement.
“No, I heard it from someone on the board?—”
“Armand’s done, it’s official?—”
“Which means it’s hers.”
It takes a second for the words to separate themselves from the general hum of the rink, and for them to register in a way that means anything at all.
Sandra stills beside me, and it’s so reminiscent of that time, years ago, where she talked about embellishments and clean lines and talent.
“—they’re definitely already positioning her,” someone else adds, just behind us. “She’s the obvious choice.”
“Pierce?” another voice says. “I mean, who else?”
A tightness coils through my chest, thick and heavy in my veins.
Sandra shifts, just enough that her shoulder brushes mine.
“Don’t,” she murmurs under her breath before pasting on her skater smile. “There are cameras everywhere focusing on you.”
“It makes sense, especially after the program she launched?—”
“Ascend?”
“Yeah. It’s all connected. Total PR to launch her into a leadership role. Her parents practically wrote the blueprint.”
I keep my eyes on Rodrigo talking to a reporter, smiling widely like he’s won Olympic gold. I find anything to distract me from the sudden and sharp awareness that is reconciling into place in my head.
I haven’t even told her yet. About the job and the fact that I’ve already started rearranging things in my head, in my life, quietly and carefully trying to build something as close to her as possible. Something we could ease into without breaking anything.
And now?—
I exhale slowly.
If I move too fast, something will crack open beyond repair.
“Hey,” Rodrigo says, turning back towards me, still riding the high of his performance and completely in his own moment. “Did you see?—”
“I saw,” I say quickly, forcing my voice back into place, into something steady that belongs here. “I think you need more media training, my man.”
“The nickname is going to stick, Ceci,” he replies with a laugh. “I feel it in my bones.”
“Okay, Mr. Dramatic. Let’s go cool down.”
The room I find is quieter but not totally silent. It’s contained enough that I can finally hear my thoughts, and I end up standing still longer than necessary after closing the door behind me, my hand resting on the handle like I forgot what I came here for in the first place.
I should be with Rodrigo.
