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

chapter fourteen

(Translation: PIMA- pain in my ass)

The pain was getting worse.

I'd tried to ignore it, telling myself it was just temporary, that my ankle would get better, but every time I put pressure on it, the sharp sting shot up my leg, reminding me of how broken I really was. Yet, I couldn't stay off the ice any longer.

I wasn't sure when it had become an obsession—maybe it always had been—but now it felt like if I wasn't skating, I wasn't anything. There was too much at stake. Nationals were just a few weeks away, and every day off the ice felt like another lost opportunity to prove myself. To make up for all the failures.

Coach had cleared me for light practice, but I wasn't listening to her. I couldn't afford to. I needed to get my jumps back, needed to be perfect again. Otherwise, what was the point?

Sienna had been watching me closely during practice. She hadn't said anything outright, but I could feel her eyes on me, the concern radiating off her in waves. It was starting to get on my nerves.

I'd gotten to the rink early that morning, hoping for some alone time before the others showed up, but no such luck. Ava and Sienna were already there, stretching at the boards, their chatter filling the quiet space.

"Hey, Em," Ava called out when she saw me hobbling over to the benches. "You're back early."

I forced a smile. "Yeah, just wanted to get some extra practice in."

Sienna gave me a skeptical look, her eyes flicking down to my ankle. "You sure you're ready for that? You've barely had time to rest."

"I'm fine," I snapped, harsher than I intended. "It's just a little sore. I need to practice if I want to catch up."

"Catching up doesn't mean pushing yourself until you break," Sienna said quietly, her voice careful. "You need to listen to your body, Em."

I bit back a retort, focusing on lacing up my skates instead. They didn't get it. They didn't understand the pressure I was under—the pressure I'd put on myself.

Without another word, I stepped onto the ice, the familiar coldness biting at my skin. The ache in my ankle flared instantly, but I shoved it down, gritting my teeth as I glided across the rink. I needed to move, to push through the pain, to remind myself that I was still capable.

The jumps weren't coming as easily as they used to. My legs felt heavy, my body out of sync. I'd land, wobble, and barely catch myself before falling. Each time I stumbled, the frustration grew, gnawing at me from the inside out.

It wasn't just my ankle. My entire body felt weaker, slower, more fragile. I knew why, of course. The skipped meals, the exhaustion from sleepless nights, the constant stress—it was all catching up to me. But I couldn't stop now.

I had to be stronger than this.

The pain finally caught up to me during a double axel attempt. I pushed off, my body twisting in the air, but the moment I landed, the searing pain in my ankle buckled my leg. I hit the ice hard, my breath knocked out of me as I crumpled in a heap, gasping for air.

I could hear Sienna and Ava shouting from the other side of the rink, their footsteps rushing toward me, but their voices were drowned out by the throbbing pain radiating up my leg.

"Em! Oh my God, are you okay?" Ava's voice was frantic as she knelt beside me, her hands hovering like she didn't know where to touch.

"I'm fine," I ground out, trying to sit up, but my ankle gave out again, sending another jolt of pain through me.

"Stop moving!" Sienna ordered, her voice shaking with panic. "You need to stay still. We're getting Coach."

"No," I hissed, grabbing her arm. "Don't. I'm fine. I just need a minute."

"Emery, you can't even stand," Sienna said, her voice full of worry.

I tried to argue, but the pain was too much, and deep down, I knew she was right. My body wasn't listening to me anymore.

Ava helped me up, and I hobbled over to the bench, every step a reminder of how far I'd fallen. Sienna went to get Coach, leaving me and Ava in awkward silence. I could feel her watching me, her worry practically radiating off her.

"You need to take it easy, Em," Ava said softly. "This is too much. You're pushing yourself too hard."

I didn't respond, staring down at my hands, my jaw clenched tight. I hated this. Hated feeling weak, vulnerable, out of control.

"I know you're under a lot of pressure," Ava continued, her voice gentle. "But this... it's not healthy. You're going to hurt yourself even more if you keep going like this."

She was right. I knew she was right. But I didn't want to hear it. I couldn't afford to listen to reason, not when everything was on the line.

Before I could respond, Sienna returned with Coach, her face pale with worry. Coach immediately started asking me questions, inspecting my ankle, but I barely heard her. My thoughts were spiraling, a tangled mess of frustration, fear, and anger.

I was supposed to be better than this. I was supposed to be stronger.

Later that night, I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. Coach had ordered me to take more time off, insisting that I couldn't push myself back onto the ice until I was fully healed.

It felt like a death sentence.

My phone buzzed on the bedside table, and I reached for it, half expecting it to be Sienna or Ava checking in on me again. But it wasn't. It was Landon.

PIMA: Heard you fell again. You okay?

I stared at the screen, the words blurring in my vision. Why did he even care? We weren't friends. We barely tolerated each other on a good day. But for some reason, he always seemed to show up when I was at my lowest.

Me: I'm fine. It's just a setback.

I watched the three little dots pop up, then disappear, then reappear again.

PIMA: Doesn't sound like it.

My jaw tightened. I didn't need him to tell me how bad things were. I already knew.

Me: What do you want, Landon?

There was a pause before his reply came in.

PIMA: Just making sure you're not doing something stupid.

I almost laughed, but it came out as a bitter scoff instead.

Me: Too late for that.

I didn't expect him to respond, but he did, almost immediately.

PIMA: Take care of yourself, Valenti. Or you're going to lose everything.

The words stung more than they should have. Because deep down, I knew he was right. If I didn't slow down, if I didn't take care of myself, I was going to lose everything I'd worked for.

But the question was—how? How did I stop when all I knew was how to push through the pain? When all I knew was how to fight for control, even if it was killing me?

I didn't have an answer. And that scared me more than anything.