Page 32 of Puck Me Thrice
I demonstrated a simple lift preparation, and Blake, despite his complete lack of figure skating knowledge, had the raw strength to make it work. His hands found my waist, and he lifted me overhead like I weighed nothing.
"This feels wrong," he said, holding me up. "Like I'm going to break you."
"You're not going to break me. I've been thrown higher than this and landed on single blades. You're fine."
When he put me down, I noticed the rest of the team had circled around us. And more specifically, several of the younger players were looking at me with interest that had nothing to do with skating technique.
"Could you show me that lift?" one of them asked.
"Me too," another chimed in.
Logan appeared at my side so quickly I almost didn't see him move. "Actually, that lift requires very specific training. Wouldn't want anyone getting hurt."
Blake materialized on my other side. "Yeah, super technical. Advanced stuff."
Nolan skated over to complete the protective circle. "Maybe we should stick to basic skating today."
The younger players looked between the three of them and wisely decided not to argue. But I caught a few smirks from the older team members, like they found this situation absolutely hilarious.
Coach Williams blew his whistle from the edge of the rink. "Good work, everyone! Mira, excellent coordination. Same time next week?"
Wait, what?
Chapter 12: Mira
The video went viral overnight.
I woke up to hundreds of notifications—my performance had been recorded and shared, and suddenly everyone had opinions about the "pairs skater's stunning solo comeback." The comments ranged from supportive to uncomfortably personal—"Is she single?".
And buried in those notifications was an email that made my heart stop.
Stars on Ice - Talent Acquisition
Dear Ms. Petrova, We were impressed by your recent performance at...
They were offering me a spot in their touring show. The money they quoted would solve my parents' financial problems immediately. The contract started in three weeks, which meant I'd have to leave school. Leave the team. Leave...
I closed my laptop before I could finish that thought.
The offer was everything I should want. Security. A path forward. A way to support my parents without depending on anyone else. But it also meant abandoning the first real connections I'd made since Sam. Abandoning my education. Abandoning the careful progress I'd made toward becoming someone outside of skating.
I didn't tell anyone. Instead, I threw myself into work, spending hours analyzing game footage and preparing strategic reports. If the guys noticed I was distracted, they were polite enough not to mention it. But my excuses for skipping meals and movie nights were getting weaker.
The breaking point came during a team meeting three days later.
I'd prepared a detailed presentation about opponent weaknesses—specific defensive patterns, tendency toward penalties, optimal line matching strategies. It was thorough, well-researched, and based on hours of analysis.
The assistant coach—a man named Adrian who'd never quite warmed to having a figure skater on staff—looked at my suggestions and laughed.
"This is figure skating nonsense," he said dismissively. "We can't implement strategies based on... what, artistic interpretation?"
The room went silent.
"It's based on statistical analysis," I said carefully. "I've tracked every defensive play from their last twelve games. The patterns are clear."
"Patterns you learned from twirling in sparkles." He shook his head. "This isn't a performance, sweetheart. This is hockey."
Several players shifted uncomfortably. Coach Williams looked like he wanted to intervene but was waiting to see how I'd respond.
