“It’s so close to your competition date,” Dani says when Mom and Trick are both out of earshot. “What if she wants to put you on more shifts to get everything ready? What if … I don’t know. Anything could happen. They’re too close together. You should tell her.”

“No way. Why do you think I sneak around just to go to Fillmore and Baylor’s? Skating stuff totally reminds her of my father. She’d freak.”

“That was a long time ago, Hud. Maybe she’d be okay with it now. Maybe things have changed for her, and—”

“They haven’t.” I think back to that night with the bra, the lines in my mother’s face, the way she swept the evidence into the drawer like it didn’t exist. I think of all the fights leading up to that final straw, the arguments about ice time and private tutors and moving and how would they ever afford to keep me in the competition, anyway? I see my father’s suitcases, his empty promises, and my stomach twists, my eyes hot with stored-up, uncried tears. Not just for me and Bug. But for Mom, too.

“Give it a chance.” Dani takes a step closer. “Maybe she’d be excited for you. Maybe—”

“Maybe you should stay out of it. Maybe I don’t want to risk hurting her feelings.”

Dani slams her hand on the counter. “Since when do you care about anyone else’s feelings?”

“Settle down back there, ladies,” Trick says. He twists around and shoots us both a warning look, a cloud of meat-steam rising behind him. The whole effect is quite devilish.

Dani sighs. “But Hudson won’t—”

“Me? You’re the one—”

“Enough.” Trick flips something onto a plate and holds it over his head. “Bacon, egg, and cheese croissant up for table twelve, Dani. Run it.”

I strip off my apron and toss it onto the counter. “I’m going on break. Catch you guys later.”

She snorts as she heads for the grill. “Say hi to the ice for me—your new BFF.”

“No problem. You guys have a lot in common—cold hearts.” I grab my gear from the staff closet, stomp out the back way, and slam the kitchen door behind me. From the ledge of the Dumpster, the Hurley’s mascot squawks into the air.

“You got something to say to me, bird? Take a number.” I zip into my jacket and tighten the backpack over my shoulders, but the seagull is still giving me dirty looks.

“What?!”

He shrugs and dives under a loose cardboard box.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I yank on my mittens and march across the lot, Hurley’s disappearing in the snow behind me. Stupid bird. Can’t you see it’s still winter?

Chapter Seventeen

Chocolate Banana Snap Crackle Popcakes

Cold banana cupcakes topped with milk chocolate icing, sliced strawberries, and Rice Krispies; served in a bowl with a spoon and a splash of spilt milk (to cry over)

That sorry excuse for a triple ain’t happenin’, sweet stuff. Back on the glass until you nail it.

After the tenth consecutive wipeout, I pick myself up off the Baylor’s ice for another go, Lola’s voice scolding me at every turn. I pump my legs and rush toward the center line, but when I try the lift again, I lose my balance, crash, and skid to a halt on my ass.

Again! Lola shouts.

I stand and dust the cold from my hands, thinking about Parallel Life Hudson. She’d probably be doing this exact thing right now—prepping for a chance at Lola’s once-in-a-lifetime skating scholarship. If I’d stayed strong at Luby Arena that night, showed up at regionals, continued working with elite private coaches, I might’ve ended up exactly here anyway. Maybe I didn’t get that far off course. Maybe our divergent paths have finally fused. Maybe there’s still a chance. The chance.

I push across the ice and leap into a double axel/double lutz combo, pulling off a perfect landing. The crowd roars in my head, and when I close my eyes, it almost becomes real. The shouts and whistles from the stands, the crisp white smell of the air over a freshly smoothed rink, the chill rising from its surface.

Hudson Avery, ladies and gentlemen. The Cupcake Queen of Watonka, back for another shot on the ice. Can she impress the judges one last time? The crowd stomps their collective feet in a unified march, their energy a force field propelling me into another double/double combo.

A perfect score! Folks, this is figure skating history in the making….

I coast forward for one more go, taking the hard turns with speed and grace as I lap the rink. My lungs ache and my cheeks are numb, but I can’t stop now. I twist into a death spiral, the white of the ice swirling against the stands above until I stop, take a deep breath of chilled oxygen, and pump my legs toward the other end of the rink.

Swish …

I can do this.

Swish …

I have to do this.

Swish …

I push off from the back edge and spring forward, curling into the air for a single … a double … a triple flip. Ice-air-air-air-ice. Landing. First one I’ve nailed in weeks. And the crowd goes …

“Damn, girl. You still got it.”

I whip my ahead around toward the sound. A single spectator leans against the rails, arms crossed over her chest, strawberry blond braids poking out the bottom of her light blue hat.

Only she’s not a spectator. She’s laced up.

I swallow the lump in my throat to make room for the sarcasm. “You packin’ that ice pick today?”

“Not this time.” Kara glides toward the center of the rink, hands clasped behind her back. “Will said you’d probably be here, so I thought … I don’t know.” She looks down at her skates, black leg warmers pulled down over the tops. “Figured I’d dust these things off and see if they still work.”

“You talked to Will?”

“Texted him after I saw him on the news. That’s it.”

I shrug. “Free country.”

“Did you catch his interview?”

“Yep.” I swizzle backward toward the penalty box, putting some distance between us.

“Hudson, wait.” She follows me, her strides as graceful and balanced as ever. “I came to apologize for harassing you at your locker. New Year’s, too. I’m sorry I cornered you in the bathroom. I wanted to talk, but I had a couple drinks, and by the time you got there … I don’t know. Can I blame the booze?”

I grab a bottled water from my pack and take a swig. “You know what they say. Don’t drink and … stalk people in bathrooms. I mean … okay. I don’t know where I was going with that.”

Kara laughs. “Guess things got a little ridiculous between us, huh?”

“A little bit, yeah.” I tuck the bottle back into my pack and skate to the center line. “So, what’s up? You trying out for the Capriani thing after all?”

“Think I have a chance?” Kara laughs and follows me to the line. “I don’t want to compete, Hud. I told you that already. And I don’t want this to come out wrong, but I need to say something about Will. One thing, then I’ll shut up.”

“Again with the Will threats?” I know she liked him first, but that was forever ago. They had their chance, and it didn’t work out. She’s the one who dumped him, anyway. And it’s not like Will and I are together together. And even if we were, it’s none of her business. “Sorry, Kara. I don’t—”

“Just be careful. I know you’re helping with the Wolves, and you two are hanging out now, but as charming as Will is … look, once he gets what he wants, he moves on. You saw his interview today. Gorgeous smile or not, Will is all about Will.”

“Hockey boys, right? Comes with the territory.” I laugh to show her how much she’s not getting to me, just in case she missed it.

“I know, but Will—”

“We’re not having this conversation.”

“Point taken.” She fingers a loose thread on her jacket, the sleeve fraying at the end as she pulls. “Speaking of hockey boys … is Danielle Bozeman trying to talk to Frankie?”