Page 15 of The Last Pirouette
Harper snorted. "Magic? Please. It's a lot of hard work and excruciating pain."
"Yeah, I guess I can relate to that," Liam said, wincing as he adjusted the ice pack on his shoulder.
"What about those dumbbell presses?" Harper asked, turning the tables. "What muscles are those supposed to work?"
"Mostly your pecs, deltoids, and triceps," Liam explained. "It's all about building upper body strength for puck control and checking. You gotta be able to hold your own on the ice."
Harper listened intently, genuinely interested in his world for the first time. She had always dismissed hockey as a brutish, unrefined sport. But now, as Liam explained the intricacies of the game, the strategy, the skill, she began to see it in a new light.
“I always thought it was just slamming into each other.”
Liam chuckled, “There’s a bit of that, too.”
Liam wordlessly offered her his water bottle, and she took it without hesitation. Their fingers brushed as she accepted the bottle, sending a small jolt of awareness through her.
They caught each other's eye, and a small, simultaneous smirk appeared on both their faces. It wasn't a smile of friendship, not yet, but a silent acknowledgment of a truce called and a new game begun. The unspoken question hung in the air: "Same time tomorrow?"
Chapter 10
The weight room assaulted Harper’s senses. The air hung thick and heavy, a cloying blend of metallic iron, stale sweat, and something vaguely…locker-room-ish. The rhythmic clanging of weights provided a discordant soundtrack, punctuated by the occasional low grunt or strained exhale. It was a brutal, overwhelming sensory experience, a far cry from the hushed reverence and familiar, rosin-scented air of the dance studio – her sanctuary, now a forbidden memory.
Liam stood amidst the organized chaos, completely at home. A slight smirk played on his lips, a silent, challenging invitation as he waited for her to absorb the alien environment. His posture was relaxed, but Harper could see the coiled energy in his frame, the inherent confidence that radiated from him like heat from a furnace.
“So,” she said, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. “This is your happy place?”
His smirk widened. “You wound me, Quinn. I thoughtwewere each other’s happy place.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t let it get around. My reputation will be tarnished.”
“Too late. Everyone already thinks I’m corrupting the prima ballerina.”
“Please,” she scoffed, pushing past him to survey the equipment. Rows of gleaming metal machines stretched out before her – contraptions designed to isolate, punish, and…build muscle, apparently. Barbells lay heavy on racks, surrounded by stacks of iron plates. It all seemed so… graceless. “It’s like a torture chamber designed by a sadist with a gym membership.”
Liam chuckled, stepping closer. “A sadist with excellent biomechanical knowledge, maybe. Don’t knock it till you try it.” He leaned against a squat rack, crossing his arms, his expression turning serious. “Besides, this isn’t just a room full of iron. It’s a laboratory for movement. Another stage in our little game, remember?”
Harper narrowed her eyes, recognizing the glint of challenge in his gaze. “And what exactly am I supposed to be experimenting with here? My ability to lift things without throwing up?”
“Your definition of strength,” he countered smoothly. “You think this is just about brute force, about heaving heavy things around. But it’s not. It’s about control. It’s about understanding how your body works, how to generate power efficiently, how to move with intention.”
“Intention isn’t exactly the first word that springs to mind when I look at this place.” She gestured dismissively at a hulking man struggling to bench press a weight that looked dangerously close to crushing him. “More like… desperation.”
Liam shook his head, his eyes alight with an almost missionary zeal. “You’re only seeing the surface, Harper. You’re seeing the grunt and the strain, but you’re not seeing the precision beneath it. It’s just a different kind of artistry. Think of it as sculpting your body, not with delicate movements, but with focused resistance.”
Harper remained skeptical, but she was also intrigued. Liam's passion was infectious, and she found herself grudgingly admiring his ability to find beauty and purpose in what she considered a barbaric environment.
“Okay, Professor Hayes,” she said, conceding slightly. “Enlighten me. Show me this… artistry.”
Liam grinned, pushing himself off the squat rack. “Alright. Class is in session.”
He walked over to a barbell loaded with a moderate amount of weight. “Ever seen a deadlift?”
Harper shrugged. “Vaguely. Isn’t that where you just pick up the bar and try not to explode a blood vessel?”
“That’s one way to do it,” Liam agreed, his eyes twinkling. “But therightway is a thing of beauty.” He stepped up to the bar, positioning his feet carefully, his back straight, his gaze focused. “Watch.”
He inhaled deeply, gripped the bar, and then, with a smooth, controlled motion, lifted the weight from the floor. His movements were deliberate, almost balletic in their precision. He didn't just heave the weight up; he guided it, his muscles working in perfect synchronicity. He stood tall, the weight held firmly at his hips, his core engaged, his back ramrod straight. Then, with the same controlled grace, he lowered the weight back to the floor.
“See?” he said, straightening up and wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “Not just brute force. It’s a sequence. Core, glutes, back. Everything working together, like a perfectly choreographed routine.”
