Skated Across Time

"The final pair skate of the evening, representing the Boston Skate Team, Vandy Winters and Reese Vanderbilt!"

The moment my blades touched the ice, the world quieted. Not the arena—no, the air still hummed with anticipation, the murmurs of the crowd blended with the crisp announcement of our names. But inside my head? Silence. Focus. Purpose. This is where I belonged.

Reese and I glided into position as the announcer's voice echoed through the rink.  The crowd erupted with cheers, a lot of them from our hometown. The cameras flashed. I'd be blinded if I looked into them.

"It's been quite a night for the Boston-born Butterfly, hasn't it?"

"It really has. After her solo skate, there's no question who is taking the gold tonight. But after all that, is she going to be able to pull this off? It's a pretty demanding program."

Butterfly.

My lips twitched. My father had called me that since I was a little girl, long before I had even started ice skating. The fact that the announcers started calling me that after my first competition only made it more special.

But I had to tune them out for now as the announcer's voice echoed through the arena, listing my victories at past championships, my dominance in every solo event, my progression as an athlete. I let their voices drift away until they were nothing but a dull roar in my ears.  I exhaled slowly, my breath just barely visible in the chilled air, and looked across the ice to my coach standing at the boards.

Coach Avery had taken me on years ago and nurtured me. I knew he'd been planning to retire soon, but I wanted his last year coaching to be spectacular.  Getting to the Olympics was the only way I could thank him for everything he'd done for me. He nodded at me, just once, but the meaning was clear.  

I'd already secured my spot for the Olympics.

My skate with Reese was just the cherry on top.

But I wanted more.  

I shifted my gaze to Reese. He stood beside me, tall and confident, the picture of ease, like he was born for this moment. His dark hair was smoothed back, and his expression was unreadable beneath the bright overhead lights. He didn't look at me, not yet, but I could feel his presence, solid and steady.   

The urge to tell him now was so strong it was painful. It had been at the back of my mind, pushing toward the front since we'd arrived.

I wanted to tell him, but I didn't have the courage. Not yet.

After this, after we won, I’d finally tell him how I felt. How I’ve always felt. I didn't want his response to cloud my mind before we skated, good or bad.

I smoothed my hands down the bodice of my dress—a delicate shade of pale blue, almost white, with wisps of silver embroidery that catch the light as I moved. The announcers have called me The Boston-Born Butterfly since my first national junior championship. Something about the way I flitted across the ice, effortless, graceful, untouchable. A creature meant to fly, and I'd fly tonight for us both.

The connection between Reese and I was undeniable. Reese gripped my hand, our fingers laced together, and for one breathless second, I swore he squeezed just a little tighter than necessary. My heart stumbled.

Did he already know?

Reese has been my partner, my anchor, for the past three years. This year, we were slated to go to the Olympics together. Reese hadn't cinched his spot as an individual skater, but with our pair skate, he had a much better spot on the team. I wanted Reese with me more than anything.

Reese and I circled each other, slowing to a stop to our starting position three-quarters of the way down the rink.  I centered myself and just before our program was set to start, I spotted Coach Avery talking to the Olympic scouts. I couldn't hear their conversation, but I didn’t need to. Coach Avery knew I didn't want a new partner. He was probably hyping Reese up to the coaches. I looked back at Reese and smiled a real one. He smiled back with a little nod. This was it. The moment that decided everything. My heart pounded—not with nerves, but with anticipation, with the weight of knowing that my entire future was resting on the next few minutes.

"You and me," I said.

He smirked and nodded.

The music started. I exhaled and skated. We moved together like we always had, seamlessly and effortlessly. Every lift, every turn, every step was burned into my muscles, second nature at this point. I pushed higher, spun faster, and let the thrill of the wind against my skin fill me the way it always did. No. More than ever. Reese was there, steady, guiding through every lift and slick change of direction.

I could hear the crowd cheering, our points soaring up.

Just as we head into the last few moments of our program, into the lift that is sure to skyrocket our points. He took my hands. My feet flew off the ice, high, a twist, a kick, and just as he circled and he was meant to lower me down his fingers relaxed at the wrong moment.

Panic surged through me. My body knew before my mind did—this wasn't how it was supposed to go. We'd done it a hundred times until it was perfect. Was he sick? Faltering? Maybe he was just nervous. I could save this. I tried to keep a hold of him, to correct the movement, I kept my smile on my face, but I was already airborne, the wrong trajectory, too far, too fast, rushing flying towards the walls. I twisted, aiming my skates to the ground, but I couldn't tell which way was up. I couldn't move or control myself in the air. I threw my hands up, trying to cushion my head from the fall somehow. The world spun violently. The cold rushed up to meet me.

A collective gasp rippled through the arena, a sound so sharp it cut through the music. Fear pumped through me, thick and dizzying. I couldn't breathe, bracing for the impact. I barely registered the sickening crack as I hit the ice, but I felt the shock of pain. I could see it—the red streak across the pristine white surface, spreading, blooming across the ice.

Pain exploded through me, along with another loud crack, and the world stopped moving and went dark. The fear eased as if my body knew there was nothing to fear anymore.

A part of me knows that there was a good chance I would never wake up…

I should have told Reese sooner.