Page 21 of Break my Heart

It’s everything.

I landed like crap, didn’t get enough sleep, and now, on top of everything else, I’ve convinced myself I saw Nathan at the game last night. That possibility is enough to turn my stomach.

I blow out a slow breath, trying to get my head right, and push off again. My skates slice the ice as I build speed, approaching the takeoff for a triple axel. Even though my legs are tired, I ignore it and launch into the air. The rotations feel right. The landing is solid.

It’s perfect.

At least for a moment.

That moment where everything falls away, and it’s just me, the ice, and the sound of my breath.

I miss that feeling.

The rush.

The power.

It’s like Nathan found the smallest thread inside me, pulled it, and unraveled everything.

My confidence, my joy, my belief in myself—it all came apart in his hands.

Now I’m here, fighting to get it back.

I transition smoothly into a triple lutz-triple toe loop combination, nailing both jumps without thinking. My body knows the rhythm, the timing, better than my mind ever could.

For a few minutes, everything is simple again.

No Nathan, no scandal.

Just skating.

But it’s fragile.

I glide through a Biellmann spin, my signature move. One arm reaches back to grab my blade as I spin faster, my body bending and core burning. The announcers used to rave about my spins. But Nathan’s voice would cut through the praise, pointing out the smallest flaw.

“Hold it longer, Ava. That was sloppy. Do it again.”

With a flick of my toe pick, I exit the spin and launch into a sequence of jumps. The final combination is a quadruple salchow, the one I always struggle with. My body surges into the air, muscles tense as I twist four times before landing cleanly. My knees bend with the impact, and for a second, I can almost imagine the roar of the crowd.

But it’s all in my head. The only sound is the empty arena and my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

The peace that follows is short-lived as a chill races down my spine.

Just like that, the moment is gone.

Vanished into thin air.

I whip around, gaze scanning the seats.

It’s enough to have my skin prickling with unease.

There’s no sign of him, no figure lurking in the shadows, but the feeling refuses to be evicted.

It’s like he’s still here, somewhere, watching.

I shake my head, trying to shove the paranoia away. But ever since the text messages started, every little thing feels like a warning.

A threat.