Chapter 3

A week before the East Coast Ice Trials, our training school held its final mock competition. There was a full judging panel, full scoring, and several committee observers in black suits sitting by the boards; the whole thing was run like the real event.

I took first. My total score was almost twelve points higher than second place.

Bianca came in last.

She took the score sheet off the board, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it into the trash on her way off the ice.

"Doesn't matter. I got the national training grant."

Dante was waiting at the boards with two coffees. He handed one to her.

Then, with a sincerity that made my stomach turn, he said, "It's fine. You were beautiful."

I watched Bianca smile like she had just been crowned. She pressed up onto her toe picks and kissed him on the cheek.

I walked past them toward the locker room.

"Valentina."

I did not stop.

"Valentina. Hey."

He came around in front of me, blocking the path.

"Are you still angry about the national training grant?"

I didn't answer.

"I get it. But come on, look at her situation. She needs this more than you do, and you could win the East Coast Ice Trials in your sleep."

He stepped closer and lowered his voice.

"The card I offered you is still valid. Whatever you need, coaches, training camps, I'll cover it."

He thought money was the answer, as if money could smooth over every wound he had opened.

I shook my head. "I don't need it."

"There you go again." His jaw tightened. "How long are you going to keep doing this? Do you know how much you make in a month? What I'm offering you is more than you'll ever pull out of that place in your whole life."

Bianca skated up behind him, all false softness.

"Dante, don't be like that. You can't be so harsh with a girl."

She gave me a practiced little smile.

"Valentina, I know you hate me right now, but I really, truly had no other choice. After my father lost everything, my stepmother has been awful to me. I had nowhere else to turn." Her eyes shone with tears.

I had watched her perform like this for a year.

In every conversation, she was the victim; in every room, I was the one making her cry.

"Dante said he'll take care of you," she went on, her tone soft and generous. "Whatever you need, tell us. Dante and I will help you."

Us? As if that one word meant they had been tied together for life.

I couldn't help the corner of my mouth from lifting.

Dante frowned. "What's funny?"

"Nothing. I just think the two of you match each other. I hope it lasts."

His face changed.

"Valentina—"

I walked past him into the locker room.

"Valentina, come back."

I ignored every word.

That night, Sofia sent me a photo, a screenshot she had saved from Bianca's Instagram.

Bianca and Dante were in an underground bar. Dante held a bottle of champagne, while Bianca leaned across his lap.

Their friends were in the background, raising glasses and shouting, "CONGRATS BIANCA!"

Sofia: Dante is rotten through. Walk your own road. He is not worth your grief anymore.

She was right.

I closed the app and tossed the phone aside.

Then I picked up my training journal from the nightstand, opened to the next blank page, and started writing out my East Coast Ice Trials program.

As long as I kept training, I did not have to think about anything else.