Page 101 of Off the Edge

Holy shit, we had it.

My right skate carved hard into the ice. I changed edge and sent us across the rink on a sweeping diagonal. Zoe’s body angled away from mine, our joined hands the only connection.

The distance looked dangerous.

It wasn’t. I knew exactly where she was, and she knew where I’d be.

We came together on the swell of the music, chest to chest for less than a second, before breaking apart again. The drums began to build beneath the voice, and every beat traveled through me. I didn’t think about the panel, or the stories written about me, or the months when I couldn’t put my full weight on my leg. I didn’t think about how close I’d come to never feeling the thrill of this again. About the first time I’d stepped back onto the ice after months away, about how I’d trembled, and how I’d fallen. How I’d gotten back up, and fallen, and gotten back up. My body remembered falling, but it remembered getting back up too. You always get back up to fight again. No matter what.

I wouldn’t fall today.

Zoe released my hand and we separated for the twizzles.

One beat apart.

My weight centered over the right blade.

I drew my arms in.

Turn, turn, turn, turn. The world spun in a blur of color.

Change of foot.

My blade kissed the ice. No wobble. No fight.

Zoe was beside me. Perfectly matched.

Turn, turn, turn.

Exit hard.

We hit the edge together.

The crowd erupted. The enormous sound punched through me. But we weren’t done, it wasn’t over.

Rocker.

Counter.

Bracket.

My body moved before my thoughts could catch it. The turns came fast, blades switching edges, each one carving a fraction deeper. I lowered my center, drove through my knees, and the speed climbed. Pressure through the ankle. Ice gripping, easing, gripping. Never the same. A notch, a ridge, my body adjusted to it all. I controlled it, every fraction of a second, every millimeter beneath my blade.

Zoe crossed in front of me, close enough that the glitter on her costume flashed across my vision. I caught her at the waist, redirected her momentum. We spun. Her face was fierce, alive. This was her moment too. Her whole life was in this dance. She deserved every second of this.

I pushed harder.

The song rose, the voice roughening with it, the sound so huge now it seemed to come from under the ice itself.

A swell of emotion came up through me. Love, maybe. Grief. Joy. All of it spun together.

Zoe came toward me at speed. I planted my left blade, compressed through my knee, and caught her. Her body swept across mine and for half a beat, her entire weight was in my hands. Then I turned with her lifted off the ice. One rotation. The sound of the crowd rose. Two rotations. Onto one foot. Blade on point. The press drove through my ankle, calf, thigh, and hip. The same hip that had almost cost me everything. It held.

Three rotations. The rink streaked around us. Zoe reached outward above the ice, one arm stretching toward the lights, her body long and weightless while I carried her through the curve.

The music soared, so did we.

Then Zoe shifted. I lowered her cleanly, setting her down on a deep outside edge. Our hands caught. The audience roared. I smiled.