Jax

  The last note fades into silence, and all I can hear is the faint rasp of our skates slowing against the ice. For a second, neither of us moves. Milli’s breathing hard beside me, cheeks flushed, stray strands of hair clinging to her face.

  Then she laughs–breathless but bright–and it echoes in the cold air like a spark catching.

  It’s the first real sound after the music stops, and somehow, it’s the only one that feels right.

  Coach Taren claps once, breaking the moment. “Alright. That’s a wrap for now. Off the ice.”

  I nod, still trying to catch my breath as we glide toward the barrier. Milli steps out first, gripping the edge lightly for balance, and I follow close behind. Liana’s already jotting something in her binder, her expression unreadable but focused.

  Mr. and Mrs. Everhart—my parents—stand near the gallery window. They’ve been watching the whole time, arms crossed in identical postures of polite evaluation.

  It’s funny. They never cheer, never clap. Approval with them isn’t loud; it’s measured in glances, small nods, or lack of criticism.

  Today, I’m not sure which one I’ll get.

  As Milli sits to unlace her skates, Liana crosses to my parents, voice low but clear enough that fragments drift across the ice.

  “...strong chemistry…natural rhythm…a balance we don’t usually see this early…”

  Chemistry. The word makes my chest tighten.

  Mother’s voice answers, smooth and reserved. “It’s promising, but we’ve seen promise before. Can she handle the pressure of competition?”

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  Liana doesn’t hesitate. “From what I’ve seen, yes. She’s instinctive–and she listens. They’ll only get stronger together.”

  Father folds his hands behind his back. “Then we’ll proceed. The winter circuit is coming fast, so I’ll have the PR team draft the announcement. Partner pairing confirmed.”

  PR team. Announcement.

  It hits me–this isn’t just about skating anymore. It’s about names, sponsorships, headlines. About Everhart and Brooks, a marketable duo.

  I look over at Milli. She’s standing now, laughing softly at something May said while helping her with her jacket, completely unaware that the next few months of her life are already being planned out in bullet points.

  Something about it stings–the way my parents can take something that felt alive and turn it into an asset. Still, a small part of me–a selfish part–is glad that Milli is here with me. That I’m able to skate with her, whether or not it means she got roped into being an asset for my parent’s fame.

  When Liana turns back toward us, clipboard tucked under her arm, her expression softens. “You two did great today,” she says, addressing both of us now. “It’s rare to see that kind of connection on a first run. Keep building it.”

  Milli smiles, still flushed, eyes bright with excitement. “We will.”

  I manage a small grin in return. “Thanks Liana.”

  As my parents move toward the exit, my mom gives a single approving nod. It’s subtle, but in their language, that’s as close to a good job as it gets.

  When they’re gone, the rink feels different. Quieter. More ours again.

  Milli glances at me. “They didn’t seem too mad. I showed up uninvited.”

  “They weren’t,” I say, pulling off my gloves. “If anything, they’re intrigued.”

  “Is that good?”

  I shrug. “Depends who you ask.”

  She studies me for a moment, then bumps her shoulder lightly against mine. “Well, if they’re intrigued, we must be doing something right.”

  I look down at her–her confidence, the way she slows even when she’s exhausted–and something unspoken settles between us.

  Maybe we are doing something right. Or maybe we’re skating toward something we don’t fully understand yet.