Chapter 7 After the Storm

Aurora's POV

I didn’t even wait for practice to end.

The second Julian’s mom called me “some ballet girl,” I felt my face burn with humiliation. I grabbed my bag, mumbled something about feeling sick, and left the rink as fast as my injured ankle would let me. I cried the whole way home on the bus.

By the time I got to my room, I had already decided: I was quitting.

The next morning at 5:30 AM, I still showed up at Ice Haven. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I didn’t want to let Coach Rivera down. Or maybe because I was too stubborn to run away.

Julian was already there, doing stretches. The moment he saw me, he skated over quickly.

“Rory, wait—”

I didn’t look at him. I sat on the bench and started lacing my skates in silence.

“I’m really sorry about yesterday,” he said, crouching down in front of me. “My mom… she’s always like that. She had no right to talk to you that way.”

“It’s fine,” I said coldly, standing up and stepping onto the ice without waiting for him.

It wasn’t fine.

We started practicing the new romantic program, but the tension between us was thick. Every touch felt awkward. We kept messing up the simplest steps.

After the third failed attempt, Julian stopped me.

“Rory, talk to me. Please.”

I turned to face him, arms crossed. “What do you want me to say, Julian? Your mom made it very clear I’m just wasting your time. Some useless ballet girl who’s dragging you down.”

He looked frustrated. “She doesn’t speak for me. I don’t care what she thinks about you.”

“Really?” I laughed bitterly. “Because it sounded like your entire family has sacrificed everything for your Olympic dream. And now here I am, messing that up.”

“You’re not messing anything up!” His voice rose. “God, Rory, why do you always assume the worst about me?”

“Because everyone keeps warning me about you!” I shot back. “My brother, Lila, now your own mother. Maybe they’re all right. Maybe I should just quit this partnership before I become another girl you get bored of.”

Julian stared at me, breathing hard. “You really think that’s what this is?”

“I don’t know what this is!” I admitted, my voice cracking. “One minute you’re this flirty playboy, the next you’re being sweet and catching me when I fall. I’m confused, okay? And I’m scared. I already lost ballet. I don’t want to lose anything else.”

The rink went quiet except for the sound of the ice machine humming.

Julian ran a hand through his hair, looking exhausted. “You want the truth? Skating used to be fun. When I was twelve, I loved it. I would stay on the ice for hours just because it made me happy. Now? It feels like a job. My parents put so much pressure on me that I can’t even breathe sometimes. Every competition, every practice… it’s never enough for them.”

He skated closer, his voice softer. “That’s why I party and flirt and act like I don’t care. It’s the only time I feel like I’m in control of my own life. But with you… it’s different. I actually look forward to coming here every morning. Even when we’re arguing.”

I looked down at the ice, my anger slowly melting. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“Yeah, well… I don’t exactly go around telling people.” He gave a small, tired smile. “You’re the first person I’ve admitted that to.”

We tried the program again. This time, it flowed better. Not perfect, but closer. When we finished the section, Julian held my hand a second longer than necessary.

“I don’t want you to quit, Rory,” he said quietly. “I want you here. With me.”

My heart did a dangerous flip. I was about to reply when my phone buzzed in my bag. Then Julian’s phone buzzed too. Then mine again.

I checked it and my stomach dropped.

Lila had posted an Instagram story. It was a photo of me and Julian during practice yesterday — taken from the side when we were standing really close. The caption read:

“New girl trying to play princess on my ice? 😂 Good luck with that.”

The story already had over 200 views, and comments were flooding in.

“Oh no,” I whispered, showing Julian the phone.

His face darkened. “She’s really doing this?”

I stared at the growing number of views. People from the local skating community were already sharing it.

“This is bad,” I said, feeling sick. “Everyone’s going to think I’m just some desperate ballerina chasing after you.”