Page 35 of Puck Me Thrice
By the time we finished, we were all sweaty and laughing, and the atmosphere had shifted. Three men who knew exactly how it felt to hold me, catch me, support me. And me, knowing I could trust them with my body in ways I'd never trusted Sam.
"Same time tomorrow?" Logan asked hopefully.
"Only if you practice your three-turns," I said. "All of you. I'm not teaching more advanced elements until you have the basics down."
"She's a taskmaster," Blake said to the others.
"She's brilliant," Nolan corrected.
I went to bed that night with my muscles aching and my heart full. The contract offer from Stars on Ice sat unread in my inbox.
Chapter 13: Blake
I found Mira in the laundry room at 11 PM, surrounded by a lot of garbage bags and crying like her world was ending.
Which, based on the sparkly fabric spilling out of those bags, it might actually be.
"Mira?" I stepped into the small room, ducking slightly because the doorframe and I had a complicated relationship. "What's wrong?"
She looked up, her face blotchy and tear-streaked, and held up what appeared to be the most elaborate piece of clothing I'd ever seen. It was deep blue, covered in thousands of tiny crystals that caught the fluorescent lighting, with intricate beading that formed patterns across the bodice.
"I have to sell them," she said, her voice breaking. "My costumes. All of them."
I stared at the bags, understanding slowly dawning. "These are your skating costumes?"
"Fifteen years of competition costumes. Each one hand-beaded by my mother. Thousands of dollars of materials. Hundreds of hours of work." She clutched the blue one to her chest. "This was my nationals costume from when I was sixteen. Mom spent three months beading it. Every crystal placed by hand."
I moved closer, crouching down beside her even though my knees protested the position. "How much could you get for them?"
"Enough to help my parents. There's a market for competition costumes—other skaters buy them used, modifythem. These are high-quality, well-made. I could probably get a few thousand for all of them."
A few thousand. For fifteen years of her mother's love translated into fabric and crystals.
"Have you listed them yet?" I asked.
"I was writing the descriptions when I just—" She gestured helplessly at her tear-stained face. "I can't stop crying. It's stupid. They're just clothes."
"They're not just clothes," I said quietly. "They're your history. Your identity."
She nodded, fresh tears spilling over. "This one—" She pulled out a white costume with gold accents. "This was my first pairs program with Sam. I landed my first triple Lutz in this. And this one—" A red costume emerged. "Regionals. We placed second. Mom was so proud."
I watched her cycle through the costumes, each one carrying a memory, a milestone, a moment when she'd been someone other than the person crying in a laundry room about money.
My protective instincts overwhelmed every rational thought.
"Let me take pictures," I said suddenly.
"What?"
"Let me photograph each costume. With your phone. Just... let me document them before you sell them."
Mira looked confused but handed me her phone. I spent the next twenty minutes photographing every costume from multiple angles—the beading details, the construction, the waythe light hit the crystals. I told myself it was to help her with the listings.
I was lying. I was planning to commission replicas—exact replicas—so she could sell the originals while keeping the memories. I had money from my signing bonus. Money I'd been saving for a restaurant that could wait. This couldn't.
"Blake?" Mira's voice was small. "Will you hold me? Just for a minute?"
I gathered her into my arms carefully, always aware of my size, always worried about being too much. But she burrowed into my chest like she belonged there, like my bigness was a feature instead of a flaw.
