Page 66 of My Last Dance

But when that last connection between us severed, all hope died.

I never heard from him again.

And it left me questioning if it ever happened, if he ever felt anything for me in the first place.

I had to replay certain moments to keep my sanity—him waiting for me by the lobby arcade with quarters, him kissing me in that rink closet, him giving me a piggyback ride through the rink when my legs hurt too badly to walk, him showing up after my surgery, him dancing with me in that dark club, calling it a dream…

What we had was real, even if he didn’t want to admit it or define it.

I racked my brain over it for a while, wondering if I should reach out to him, wondering if I should try to track him down.

I hated to admit it, but I wasted good hours of my life staring at his contact information in my phone.

But I never called.

It always came back to the fact that if he wanted to talk to me, he would. He would show up in my life the same way he crashed that frat house party years ago.

But he never did.

I knew we were both too ego-driven, both too stubborn, to even make up after a fight, so there’s no way we’d be able to make a real relationshipwork.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop my mind from wandering to him way more than I cared to admit.

Over the next decade of life, whether I was in a relationship or not, I still stupidly looked for signs of him in each rink I walked into. I couldn’t squash the tiny hope that we’d run into each other again one day.

But that’s the thing about two people who are not meant to be: Their fate lines stop dancing together and separate into parallel lines.

12. A FULL DECADE LATER

2024

Blasting music with my windows down to breathe in this sunny blue-sky day, I hightailed it down Lake Shore Drive with the lake on my left and the city skyscrapers stretching into the sky on my right.

Pulling into the city, I made a couple quick turns to find the parking lot.

Housing three sheets of ice and a state-of-the-art gym upstairs, the Coliseum Arena was a massive new building in downtown Chicago and, more importantly, my new home rink.

My coaches, Michelle and Luka, were offered a deal to start an Ice Dance Academy at the Coliseum this summer, probably because they coached about five ice dance teams, including Patrick and I, who were most likely Olympic bound in another year.

Pulling into the parking lot, I hopped out of my car, grabbed my skate bag and iced latte, and strolled across the cracked parking lot.

But entering the brightly lit lobby, my coffee almost slipped right out of my hand.

Because standing by the concession stand, seemingly waiting for me, was a man from my past.

He had more wrinkles around the eyes, his hair was all salt instead of pepper these days, and he was hunched over a bit more now ashe shuffled forward, but his smile still held the same kindness it always had.

“Hello, Piper,” he said warmly. “Welcome home.”

“Hans!” I rushed forward to hug him. “Oh my God, how long have you been working here?” I pulled back. “Wait, why aren’t you at Centre Ice?”

He let out a rough chuckle. “Ah, Centre Ice sadly closed their doors last fall. Been here ever since. One hockey season down, about a hundred more to go, right?” he said with a wink.

The news about Centre Ice shocked me. “B-but you like it here?” I stammered out, looking around at the dark blue, light blue, and white decor. “It’s a good spot for you? I’ll knock some heads if you need me to,” I promised.

He laughed. “I know you would, thank you, Piper. It’s been good here.” His old eyes twinkled with happiness as he looked around. “But it was missing some of my favorite people. The hockey players’ egos were getting too big. Needed some figure skaters to keep them in check, show them what real talent and hard work looks like out there.” He nodded to the ice. “We’re running low on staff though. You know anyone else who would like to coach?” he asked, giving me a conspiratorial grin.

Surprise rocked into me.

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