Page 39 of The Last Pirouette
Liam's teammates swarmed him on the ice, a chaos of whooping and helmet-patting. The coach skated over, a grin splitting his face. Even Mr. Hayes was beaming from the stands, a rare expression of pride creasing his features.
But Liam barely noticed.
Through the crush of bodies, Liam's head whipped around, searching the stands, his eyes frantic. He scanned the faces in the crowd, desperate to find her again.
And then he did.
She was still there, high up in the bleachers, her figure small but distinct against the bright lights. She offered him a small, tremulous but genuine smile.
It wasn't the triumphant, dazzling grin he had imagined. It wasn't the carefree joy he had hoped for. But it was real. It was honest. It was enough.
He leaned his head back, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow. His gaze locked on hers, the physical distance between them rendered meaningless by the intensity of the moment. He lets the noise wash over him as he holds her stare. Everything is okay.
Chapter 25
The crisp night air buzzed with the residual energy of the hockey game, but the roar of the crowd had faded to the distant hum of traffic. Steam ghosted from a nearby sewer grate, illuminated by the cold, white light of the arena's exterior lamps. Liam, still feeling the phantom weight of his gear, spotted Harper huddled in her coat near the players' exit. She's hesitating, a solitary figure caught between the magnetic pull of the arena and the anonymity of the street, and his heart lurched with the fear she might vanish before he could reach her.
He knew the odds were stacked against him. After her abrupt departure, the raw hurt he’d glimpsed in her eyes haunted him more than any missed shot or botched play ever could. He hadn’t wanted to leave the ice, hadn’t wanted to celebrate the win with his teammates, hadn’t wanted anything except to find her. The victory, so hard-fought and yearned for, felt like ash in his mouth.
Liam crossed the pavement, his steps deliberate and heavy with unspoken words. He stopped a few feet from Harper, giving her space, but his presence was an undeniable question in the cold air.
She looked smaller than he remembered, her shoulders hunched against the chill, her face pale in the stark light. The crutches leaned against the brick wall beside her, a stark reminder of the chasm that had opened between them. He wanted to bridge that gap, to pull her close and rewind time, to erase the hurt he’d unknowingly inflicted.
He took a deep breath, the frigid air stinging his lungs. “Harper,” he said, his voice raw with post-game adrenaline and vulnerability. “I saw you.”
She didn’t look up, didn't acknowledge him at all. He pushed on, needing her to understand.
“I looked for you in the stands. After… after I scored, I just… I needed to see you.” He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, feeling the weight of his helmet, the sweat plastering his jersey to his skin, the ache in his shoulder. None of it mattered. Only she did.
“The win… it felt empty,” he confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Hollow. Until I saw you waiting outside.” He paused, searching her face for any flicker of recognition, any sign that she understood the turmoil raging inside him. "I just needed you to know, Harper.” His voice cracked, revealing the team's triumph turned into a personal ache.
Harper finally lifted her head, her gaze meeting his. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, reflecting the harsh light and the myriad of emotions swirling within her. He saw regret, pain, and maybe, just maybe, a sliver of hope.
After what felt like an eternity, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "Liam…" She paused, swallowed hard, and continued, confessing her own fault. "I was wrong."
He waited, his heart pounding against his ribs, afraid to breathe, afraid to break the fragile connection.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you away,” she admitted, her voice gaining strength with each word. She shifted her weight, the movement causing a slight grimace of pain. “I was just… I was so consumed by… by the ghost of my past self,” she explained, her words laced with regret, "that I couldn't see the future you were trying to offer me.”
Her words were like a balm to his wounded spirit, a sign that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to eachother. The tightness in his chest eased, replaced by a cautious optimism.
Liam responded with profound understanding, not blame. "Hey," he said softly, stepping a little closer. "It's okay. I get it. It's all okay."
He wanted to tell her that he understood her pain, her fear, her sense of loss. He wanted to tell her that he was scared, too, scared of failing, of disappointing everyone, of losing her. But the words caught in his throat, choked by the weight of his own vulnerability. Instead, he offered her the pivotal line, a suggestion, not a demand, filled with hope for a future built on their present selves, not their broken pasts.
“We’re not who we were before," he said, his voice filled with a quiet certainty. “But maybe we can be something new, together.”
The air hung thick with anticipation, the silence punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city. He held his breath, waiting for her response, his future hanging in the balance.
Harper’s gaze softened, the hard edges of her face melting away to reveal the vulnerable girl he’d come to care for. She moved from a place of regret to one of active choice. She blinked back tears, a watery smile gracing her lips. Hearing Liam's words, she finally let go of the fear that her injury defined her and decided to embrace the uncertainty of a new beginning with him, accepting that healing is a path they can walk together.
She took a step forward, closing the remaining distance between them, her movement a clear answer. She reached out and tentatively touched his arm, a simple gesture that grounded them both in the moment.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, her voice barely audible above the hum of the city. “Maybe we can.”
His heart soared, relief washing over him in a wave. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I know we can,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
He gently cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. He looked deeply into her eyes, searching for any lingering doubt or hesitation. He saw none. Only trust, and a yearning as profound as his own.
