Playing To Win || paused might be continued soon ||

chapter eight

Landon's POV

I should've been thinking about the game.

It wasn't like we didn't have enough pressure on us. Midterms were coming up, and the hockey team was gearing up for our biggest match of the season. Every practice felt like a test in itself.

Our coach had a way of drilling the hell out of us, like he didn't care if our bodies gave out as long as we came out on top.

But despite all that, my mind kept drifting back to her.

Emery Valenti.

She was always there. Not just in the physical sense—though I swear it was like the universe conspired to throw us together at every turn—but in the way she occupied space in my head.

No matter how much I tried to shake it, she was a constant, lingering at the edges of my thoughts.

Maybe it was because I could see the cracks.

Everyone else? They saw her as untouchable. Emery Valenti: the figure skating captain who didn't flinch, didn't stumble, didn't show an ounce of weakness. The one who always had her shit together, whether she was on the ice or giving someone hell with that sharp tongue of hers.

And, God, could she tear someone apart if she wanted to.

Today was no different. I'd just wrapped up practice, sore as hell from drills, and was on my way out of the locker room when I caught sight of her at the rink.

The arena was nearly empty, the figure skating team long gone, but there was Emery, out on the ice by herself.

I paused, leaning against the wall, watching as she pushed herself harder than ever. I had to give her credit; she was relentless.

The way she skated was almost mesmerizing, but there was an intensity to it that felt off. I could tell she was frustrated, like she was trying to prove something to herself—or maybe to everyone else.

I should've known better than to stand there, but I was rooted to the spot, unable to look away. I watched as she attempted a jump, soaring into the air with precision before landing awkwardly.

Her expression shifted from determination to irritation in an instant, and I felt a pang of concern. She'd been working so hard, but I could see it was wearing on her.

She pushed off again, this time aiming for something more difficult—a triple lutz. I held my breath as I saw her execute the jump, twisting beautifully in the air, but as her skate touched the ice, she stumbled again. A frustrated yell escaped her lips, echoing through the empty rink.

I winced. If I had learned anything from my own struggles on the ice, it was that the more you pushed yourself when you were already on edge, the more likely you were to fall apart.

For a moment, I considered stepping in, offering some encouragement. But I shook my head. I knew Emery well enough to realize that if I tried to interfere now, she'd probably bite my head off. No one wanted a lecture about pacing from the hockey captain, especially her.

Instead, I leaned back against the wall, my arms crossed, watching her go at it with a mix of admiration and concern. It was a strange sight, seeing her like this—vulnerable in her frustration, battling an invisible opponent.

I wanted to help, to say something that would cut through her anger and remind her that it was okay to not be perfect all the time. But knowing her, I'd only be met with a glare and a defensive retort. She was fiercely independent, and I respected that, even if it meant watching her struggle in silence.

As I continued to watch, she stopped skating, breathing heavily, her shoulders rising and falling as she caught her breath. The determination in her eyes softened for a moment, and I could see the weight of everything she carried in her expression. It was the same look I'd seen when she thought no one was watching, when the pressure of being the perfect captain, the flawless skater, became too much to bear.

And for a brief second, I thought I saw something else there—a flicker of uncertainty, a hint that maybe she was human after all. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. She straightened her posture, pulled herself together, and glided to the other side of the rink as if to shake off the moment.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. It was frustrating, knowing I couldn't say anything to help her, but I also knew she wasn't ready for that. Emery had built this armor around herself, and no one could penetrate it, least of all me.

As I turned to leave the rink, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle in my gut. I didn't want to overthink it, but something was off, and I was left wondering how long she could keep up this facade before it cracked completely.

I was certain I'd see her again soon, and I hoped when that time came, she'd be ready to let someone in. Because the more I watched her fight against her own shadows, the more i realized we might just be the same.

As I stepped out of the rink, the cold air hit me, a sharp contrast to the heated thoughts swirling in my mind. The team was gathering in the locker room, but I wasn't ready to join them just yet. I needed a moment to process everything I'd seen.

I made my way down the corridor, the clatter of skates and voices fading behind me. My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me from my thoughts. It was a group message from the guys, talking about grabbing food after practice. Typical. They were probably debating between pizza or burgers—two classics that never got old.

But even that didn't draw me back in. Instead, I stood by the exit, staring out at the parking lot as the evening light faded into dusk. I couldn't shake the image of Emery pushing herself on the ice, the frustration in her movements. It was a sight I'd seen before, but something about today felt different. She was on the brink, and I was worried about what would happen if she kept trying to carry the weight of the world alone.

I leaned against the wall, the chill seeping through my clothes, and took a deep breath. This wasn't just about skating anymore; it felt bigger than that. I wanted to do something, but I didn't know how to reach her without crossing some invisible line.

Just then, I heard footsteps approaching. I turned to see Connor coming toward me, his hair damp from the shower, a towel slung around his neck.

"Hey, man! You coming? They're ordering pizza," he called, looking eager.

I shrugged, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just needed a minute."

He glanced at me, then followed my gaze out the door. "Still thinking about the rink? I saw Emery out there. She was going hard."

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. "Yeah. She's really pushing herself."

Connor raised an eyebrow. "You worried?"

"Just... she's got a lot on her plate right now," I admitted, trying to keep my tone casual. "You know how she is. Always has to be perfect."

"Yeah, well, we all have our battles," he said, shifting his weight. "She'll figure it out. She always does."

"Maybe," I replied, but I wasn't convinced. "Just don't be surprised if she snaps one of these days."

"Who knows?" Connor said, shrugging. "Maybe that's what she needs. A little chaos to shake things up."

I chuckled, appreciating Connor's laid-back approach, but it didn't ease the tight knot in my stomach. As we walked back toward the locker room, the laughter and chatter of the guys began to swell.

The moment I stepped inside, the familiar camaraderie enveloped me, but I couldn't shake the weight of my thoughts. I grabbed a slice of pizza and tried to join in the conversation, but my mind kept wandering back to Emery.

As the laughter echoed around me, I knew I wouldn't be able to relax until I figured out how to reach her. I just hoped she'd let someone in before the cracks turned into a full-on fracture.

As the guys debated the best toppings, I glanced at the clock on the wall. Practice tomorrow would come fast, and I knew I'd be watching her closely, waiting for a sign that she was alright.