My stomach knots up at the mention of Dani. “Frankie Torres? Doubt it. Why?”

“Ellie said … well, she thought they went out or something. And—”

“They hung out once before Christmas, but it was kind of a joke. She’s not into hockey boys.”

Kara laughs. “Smart girl.”

“Yep.” I skate away from her and twirl into a camel spin.

“Your moves are tight,” she says, skating a backward circle around me. “You ready for the competition?”

“Mostly. I’ve been working my ass off after every Wolves practice and whenever I can sneak away from work. I just hope it’s enough.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. You have, like, crazy talent.”

“Crazy talent that’s been hibernating for three years without a coach.” I bend down to adjust my leg warmers, pulling them off my laces a bit. Maybe they’re too heavy. Maybe that’s what’s throwing me off. “I’m still perfecting my triple/triple. I keep screwing up the first jump.”

“Looked good to me.”

“That was a one-in-a-hundred shot. I can’t replicate it consistently, which means I don’t have it.”

“Let me see.”

“What, here?”

“Better than Amir’s bathroom, right?” She skates back to the box. “Maybe I can give you some pointers. I remember stuff too, you know.”

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Why not? Come on.” Kara resumes her spectator position on the sidelines and I skate back to the center line. This was our routine for so long. For weeks leading up to our events, we’d practice together at Buffalo Skate Club every night, swapping critiques until we’d nearly broken every bone, perfected every move.

Now, after years of not speaking, it’s so strange to be skating for her like this again, but it’s kind of nice, too. I go through a quick version of some of my program moves, launch into my triple flip, and … crash and burn.

“See what I mean?” I stand up and check my laces. Everything’s tight. The leg warmers are clear of the blades. The skates aren’t a perfect fit anymore, and they’re definitely not in mint condition, but I don’t think that’s the problem. I try two more for her and get the same results: Ass, meet ice. Talk amongst yourselves.

“Your left foot’s dragging after the jump,” she says. She slides out to the center and demonstrates a version of my pre-jump in slow motion. “You’re pushing off the ice strong, but your trailing foot lags. You’re not pulling in tight enough for the triple.”

“You sure that’s it?”

She nods. “Try it again, but this time, lift you left foot a half second earlier.”

I skate back to the center, close my eyes, and lean into a glide. I speed up, concentrating on that lagging foot, counting my strokes, two … three … four … and launch …

“Yeah! That’s it!” She claps from the sidelines, and I open my eyes. I really did it. Triple flip, perfect landing. No missteps, no wipeouts.

“Try another, just to be sure.”

I skate back into position, glide up the center ice, and bang out another perfect triple.

“And there you have it,” she says. “Put it together with your triple toe loop, and you’re golden.”

I skate back to the box and grab my water. “Thanks. I’ve been crying over that move for weeks.”

“Should’ve called me sooner.”

“Um …”

“Kidding. You still have your old DVDs, right? Might help to watch them again. Make some notes from the outside looking in, you know?”

I nod, picturing the dusty box in the basement.

“You look good out there, Hudson. I’m sure you’ll kick ass next month.” She looks at me with shiny eyes, and my stomach lurches sideways. If I didn’t screw up that night in Rochester, maybe she’d still be competing. Maybe we’d be practicing for the Capriani Cup together, sharing tips and tricks, shouting out cheers and encouragement, may the best girl win. Instead, I’m training alone, lying to basically everyone I know, and she’s here apologizing about some stupid half-drunk bathroom exchange at a party when all she really wanted to do was warn me about Will. Protect me from getting hurt by the boy that was once hers.

I think I’m in love with Will Harper….

“I’m so sorry, Kara.” The words sting my throat on the way out. I take a deep breath and try again. “I’m sorry about kissing Will at that party when I knew you liked him. And I’m sorry about throwing the Empire Games. I got out there that night and I was pissed at my dad and kind of in shock and I just … I gave up. And after that, I disappeared. I couldn’t face up to anything. My parents got divorced, and I went into hiding because I thought it was my fault.”

Kara knew that my parents officially split up soon after Empire—everyone did—but by then we were no longer speaking. I never told her about everything that came before the divorce: The nights my father slept on the couch. The clipped arguments and silent breakfasts, forks scraping angrily on plates. All the endless pretending. How that night at the event, just hours after discovering the cheetah bra, I let my own dreams melt, right there on the ice in front of my parents, my coach, my skate club, and my best friend.

“He was having an affair,” I say. “I’m pretty sure Mom knew it all along, but I found the real proof that day, fifteen minutes before we left for Rochester. I didn’t fully realize what it was in the moment, but somehow I knew they’d split up. That night at the event, I saw it coming, and I freaked.” The ice machines tick below our feet and a shiver passes through my bones. “It’s not an excuse, but that’s what happened.”

Kara lets out a long, slow breath. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that by yourself. But you could’ve told me the truth. Maybe not that night, but after. Yeah, I would’ve been mad about losing our shot at the Empire sponsorship, but I would’ve understood. I would’ve … I don’t know. Maybe we’d still be friends today, instead of … not.”

I look out across the rink, tears blurring the ice into a white sea. “I know.”

“I thought I’d moved on,” she continues. “It was so long ago, I wasn’t competing anymore, we weren’t friends, why bother, right? But then I heard you were working with the hockey team, training again, hanging out with Will … I’m not the psycho jealous ex here, Hudson. Seriously. But every time I see you with him, it’s like watching the last three years unravel in reverse. I didn’t … I never forgave you.”

I turn to face her again and whisper over the tightness in my throat. “And now?”

She sighs, scraping a line in the ice with her toe pick, back and forth, back and forth. “So much happened; things are so different now. We’re different. But the other night at Amir’s, I realized something: Friends or not, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life hating you.”

“Same,” I say.

“So let’s call this a mutual understanding. It’s the best I can do.” She smiles and holds out her hand. Despite the heaviness of her final words on my chest, I take it.

“Does this mean no more bathroom brawls?”

She smiles. “Afraid so. But, Hudson, I’m serious about Will. Right now he needs you for the team, but after that … just be careful, okay? And that’s all I’ll say about it.”

I drop her hand and nod toward her skates. “Fifteen minutes before I have to get back to work. Feel like giving those things a workout? Letting me kick your ass for old times?”

Kara raises an eyebrow, and for a second I think she might join me. I know we’re not friends anymore—not really. But I want her to say yes. I want her to skate with me again—to want to skate with me again. Because after everything that happened, if things can be okay with Kara, maybe it means my skating doesn’t have to be an either/or, a bittersweet choice that always leaves something else behind, some other dream unfollowed.

But Kara’s smile fades fast, her eyes turning serious and regretful. “I should let you get back to your training.”

“No, it’s cool. We could—”