Page 100 of Off the Edge

For Camden Navarro, the end of a journey few believed he would complete.

Within reach of the gold.

They now have the undivided attention of millions watching from around the world, but their only thoughts will be of the next few minutes.

Zoe Phillipps and Camden Navarro, representing Canada.

Their free dance begins now.

THIRTY-FIVE

CAMDEN

Silence.

Thousands of people in the arena, millions worldwide. Their gazes on us.

Zoe’s hand in mine. My pulse up, but steady.

The first piano note fell.

I breathed in.

Zoe’s fingers tightened on mine.

And we moved.

My left blade pressed into a deep forward outside edge, knee bending as the curve opened beneath me. Zoe traveled backward beside me, her free leg extended, her whole body stretched into a shape we’d made together a thousand times in practice.

The ice was hard and fast today. Perfect. My blade bit cleanly, metal singing against the surface, and the first push sent me gliding away from the center as though the rink tilted beneath us.

No drag. No pain. Free, and breathless and easy. Nothing holding me back.

The music was quiet at first, almost fragile. Just piano and that aching voice filling the arena without breaking the stillness. We let it breathe. Long edges, slow turns, nothing rushed. Building.

My hand slid around Zoe’s waist and drew her into a hold.

She was right there, exactly where she needed to be. Her hip aligned with mine. Her eyes lifted to my face and the raw emotion showed as we traveled together, our blades cutting matching curves on the ice. It had cost us to be here today, but we were living it, breathing it, our bodies, blades, and hearts part of the music.

Left progressive, right. Another push against the ice, deeper this time, building speed without showing the strength through the thighs behind it.

The outside of the rink began to blur.

Cold air rushed over my face, through my hair. The crowd disappeared beyond the light. I knew they were there, thousands of people holding their breath, but they didn’t mean anything to me anymore.

There was only Zoe, the ice, and the music beating through my veins.

I guided her beneath my arm. She turned smoothly, her blade changing edge without a scrape, and I caught her hand behind my back, as we dropped into the next curve. Fuck, she was good. No push, no pull, she was with me all the way.

She pressed through her knee, accelerated past my shoulder, and pulled me into the next sequence. I followed, letting her lead for the three beats before taking the movement back.

Our bodies spoke without words.

Now, turn, hold, go. The music lifted. So did we.

The crossovers drove us down the long side of the rink. Every push gathered more speed. My thighs burned, my lungs burned too with every cold breath, but underneath it all was the thrill, coming up through me, setting me ablaze. That feeling of knowing I was about to absolutely fly.

I had it.