Page 38 of The Last Pirouette
She walked slowly to her bedroom, her cane clicking against the wooden floor. She didn’t reach for her dance clothes, or even anything remotely athletic. Instead, she chose a simple pair of jeans, a soft, oversized sweater, and her worn leather boots. Practical. Unassuming. Comfortable.
In the mirror, she saw a reflection of the girl she had been and the woman she was trying to become. The bitterness in her eyes hadn’t entirely faded, but there was something else there too. A flicker of hope. A spark of determination. A fragile sense of self-worth.
She ran a brush through her hair, adding a touch of lipstick. A small act of defiance against the grayness that had threatened to consume her.
Then, she grabbed her cane, took a deep breath, and walked out the door, her movements deliberate and resolute.
The crisp autumn air bit at Harper's cheeks as she made her way across campus. She clutched her cane tightly, each step a conscious effort. The path to the ice rink seemed longer than she remembered, each uneven patch of sidewalk a minor obstacle to overcome.
She focused on the sensation of the cool air in her lungs, the rhythm of her breathing, the feel of the sun on her face. She tried to block out the swirling thoughts in her mind, the what-ifs and the maybes. She just needed to get there.
Harper arrived at the university ice rink. The chilly air hit her first, a blast of artificial winter that made her shiver. Then came the roar of the small crowd, a chaotic mix of shouts, cheers, and the high-pitched squeal of teenage excitement. And finally, the sharp, distinctive sounds of skates on ice, a familiar symphony that both thrilled and terrified her.
The entrance was a throng of bodies. Students bundled in parkas, parents clutching steaming cups of coffee, little kids bouncing with anticipation. Harper navigated the crush with her cane, feeling self-conscious of her limp, the metal tip clicking loudly against the concrete floor.
The bleachers loomed before her, a daunting wall of steep steps. Each one presented a challenge, a test of her strength and resolve. She gripped the railing tightly, pulling herself up slowly, deliberately, ignoring the burning in her leg and the prickle of sweat on her forehead.
A few heads turned her way, curious glances and whispered comments. She could feel their eyes on her, assessing, judging, pitying. She forced herself to meet their gaze, to hold her head high, to project an air of confidence she didn't quite feel.
Finally, she reached the top row and found an isolated seat high in the stands. It offered a panoramic view of the ice, a safe distance from the chaos below. She settled in, her heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.
The rink was smaller than she remembered. The air smelled of sweat and freshly Zambonied ice. The players, a blur of jerseys and helmets, were skating drills, their movements fluid and practiced.
She scanned the ice, searching for Liam. It didn't take long to find him. He stood out, even amongst his teammates. His goldenhair, his broad shoulders, his easy grace. He looked…good. Healthy. Strong.
A pang of jealousy twisted in her gut, but she quickly tamped it down. This wasn't about her. It was about him.
Down on the ice, the scrimmage was in its final minute, the score tied. The tension was palpable, the air crackling with nervous energy. Players collided, sticks clattered, the coach yelled instructions from the sidelines.
Liam, looking winded and frustrated, skated to the center of the rink, preparing for a face-off. He adjusted his helmet, took a deep breath, and focused his attention on the puck.
He skated a tight circle, his gaze sweeping the crowd out of nervous habit, a fleeting, almost unconscious gesture. And then he froze.
His eyes locked with Harper's across the arena.
It was a moment of pure, unspoken communication. The roar of the crowd faded away, the chaos of the game dissolved, everything winnowed down to just the two of them, connected by an invisible thread that stretched across the ice.
For Liam, it was shock. Disbelief. A jolt of hope that sent a surge of adrenaline through his veins. Harper? Here? He hadn't expected to see her again, not after yesterday.
For Harper, it was a terrifying, heartfelt offering of support. A silent apology. An acknowledgement of the deep connection that still existed between them, despite everything.
The look conveyed more than words could, a lifetime of unspoken emotions crammed into a single, fleeting glance. He’s not mad at her. In fact, in this moment, she’s the only thing that matters.
The referee dropped the puck.
In the final seconds of the game, a surge of adrenaline and renewed focus flooded Liam. The sight of Harper in the stands, her face pale but her eyes bright, was the catalyst he needed. He saw the slight curve of her smile, the way she tilted her head, and the gesture brought him back. To reality. To the ice. Tothem.
He dug deep, drawing on a reserve of strength he didn't know he possessed.
He won the face-off, flicking the puck back to his teammate. He weaved through the defense, his skates carving a path through the ice. He could feel the pressure, the weight of the game on his shoulders, but he pushed it aside.
He was playing for Harper. For their shared dreams. For the possibility of a future together, whatever that might look like.
He received a pass, his stick connecting with the puck in a satisfyingthwack. He made a powerful drive toward the net, dodging a defender, faking a shot. The goalie lunged, anticipating his move, but Liam was one step ahead.
He flicked the puck into the air, sending it soaring over the goalie's head. It hit the back of the net with a resoundingclangjust as the final buzzer sounded.
The arena erupted in celebration.
