Page 3 of Ice Dance

“Alright, but don’t forget what I said, eh.” Casey continued. “You need to be front and center, my friend. Don’t sit this one out, I mean it. Tell your coach you want in. Where is he?”

“I’m between coaches right now,” I admitted.

Casey hesitated, then nodded and frowned with a glimmer of pity in his eyes. Whatever, I didn’t need his sympathy. I couldn’t afford a private coach. My skating spoke for me, told the haters I was as good as anyone here. They knew it too. Casey wasn’t the only one who had said I just needed that break to push me to the next level.

I did need a break, needed someone to believe in me as much as I believed in me. That’s why I was here. I had gotten an invite for the Meridian Cup selection, every skater here had, but I wasn’t a serious contender. I was at the Montreal International Rink to be seen and to remind everyone I was a player. They thought me too wild, too careless, too chaotic on and off the ice. I needed to show them how my brand was exactly the flavor the Meridian Cup needed.

“When are you on?” Casey asked.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be watching.”

“You do that, you might learn something.”

He laughed, and pushed out onto the ice backwards, then showed me two middle fingers, for fun. Hopefully there weren’t any judges watching from the spectator seating. They mostly frowned on skaters being dicks on and off the ice.

I watched Casey warm up, and dialed my thoughts into my own routine, running it through my head. It was late, and there weren’t many people here, but I’d already seen a few skaters side-eyeing me. My style drew a crowd. Which wasn’t a bad thing, but it made the first practice of the week tense. I just needed to get a few dances under me, and I’d loosen up.

Hey, don’t worry, Cam, it’s not like this week will set you up for the rest of the year . . .

Music queued, spotlights on the ice, the previous session’s skaters finished, and I was on in two. I stretched out, ready to step onto the ice. I was aiming for loose and fluid, and this was my moment.

I skated out. My blades hissed softly across the hard ice. The lights dimmed.

Just a warm-up, not the main event. Breathe.

But it was the first time I’d be seen on the ice at selection week. People would be watching. Important people.

My heart was already racing, my body fired up. When the music started, my heart got louder. “HandClap” by Fitz and the Tantrums started. The beat kicked in, and I pushed into my program. Fast, slick, the spectator seating a blur beyond the lights. The ice gasped beneath my blades. Air whooshed. A smile tugged at my lips. The ice was talking to me, flowing under me. The music filled my veins, pushing me on, filling me up, and the routine I’d been practicing for months slotted into place. Perfection.

I was fucking flying . . .

THREE

REN

“I don’t know what to tell you, Ren.”

Dylan and I sat several rows back in the stands, wrapped in jackets, sipping coffee from takeout cups. It was late in the day. A day that hadn’t gone well. In fact, a day that would go down as one of the worst days of my entire career, perhaps my life.

“Alisha wasn’t the right match for your energy,” Dylan continued, sweeping her short black hair behind her ear. “We knew it going in, we stuck with it, and perhaps that was my mistake as your coach. I should have seen the warning signs sooner.”

“It’s not you,” I told her. Dylan had done everything she could to make Alisha and me click. I’d thought we had. Apparently not. Clearly. The shame of being abandoned on the ice sat like a cold rock in my chest. By now, the entire circus of selection week knew I was out. Probably for the year. My program relied on having a partner. I didn’t have a solo routine.

I sipped the hot, black coffee and stared at the rink below. My chances of competing in the Meridian were shot. I needed to walk away, but I wasn’t ready to let go just yet. In my mid-twenties, I only had a couple more years left in me, and I hadn’t won enough.

It hurt, although I’d never show it. I’d done everything possible to make it work with Alisha, and it had all fallen apart on the first day. Was it me? I knew what was said about me, knew the gossip, but I only ever wanted to be the best. Was that too high a bar for everyone else?

The rink’s lights dimmed. Someone was about to run their program for the Meridian tryout, doing it late in the day to avoid too many spectators. A few groups stood by the boards, watching and waiting for the routine to start. Whoever it was, they clearly had a small, dedicated following.

“We need a partner who complements your energy,” Dylan was saying. “Someone strong enough to compete alongside you.”

She was telling me, in a roundabout way, that it was over. There weren’t any ice-dancing partners out there who weren’t already paired up, and certainly none who could step into Alisha’s position at a day’s notice. Even if we could find someone, we’d only have four days to train them up for the selection panel on Friday. It wasn’t possible.

Dylan didn’t do gentle, but she was now, which was how I knew I should pack my bags once my coffee was finished.

“There’s the regionals. We’ll do London, of course. Paris⁠—”