𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭

fifteen

Kaiden

The locker room was empty, and I leaned back against the cold metal of the bench, letting the sounds of the rink fade into the background.

Practice had been intense, but I barely felt the exhaustion.

My mind was still caught up on what I'd seen out on the ice this morning.

Delphine.

I wasn't even supposed to be there so early, but I wanted extra time to run through drills, sharpen my edge before the weekend's game. Figured I'd be the only one on the ice that early—only to find her there, in the middle of a brutal routine.

She didn't even flinch when she saw me walk in. Just put down a line of cones and kept going. I'm not sure what I expected—maybe for her to acknowledge I was sharing the ice. But Delphine had this intensity, a razor-sharp focus that kept her locked into whatever world she existed in when she was on the ice. It's like nothing else even registered to her.

Watching her made me feel like an intruder, but I couldn't help it. There was something different about the way she moved—the precision, the way she didn't let a single misstep slide.

She'd stumble, curse under her breath, and launch right back into her routine as if nothing happened, like she was determined to carve perfection out of her mistakes. I guess I could respect that. But it didn't look like she was having any fun.

I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder, trying to shake the image of her hunched over by the side of the rink, her coach yelling at her in rapid French. I didn't understand the words, but I didn't need to. The tone was clear enough. And Delphine—she was right there, yelling back just as loud.

It was something you'd never see with any of our hockey coaches. Sure, they'd get in your face, throw out the usual hard lines, but they never pushed us like that. Not to the point where you looked ready to break.

I'm not saying hockey's easy, but we have each other's backs. If someone screws up, the team steps in.

We take the hit together.

Delphine, though—she's out there on her own, putting herself through hell for what?

A chance at some medal?

Glory?

I couldn't wrap my head around it.

As I stepped out of the rink, the cold morning air hit me, sharp against my face, but I barely noticed it. My mind was still spinning. Why the hell does she keep doing it? The bruises, the pressure, the relentless routine—none of it seemed worth it. She didn't look happy. She didn't even look satisfied. And from the way she was at practice this morning, she looked like she was teetering on the edge of breaking down completely.

It was weird, though.

Most of the time, Delphine looked so composed.

Perfect, almost.

Like she'd never let anyone get under her skin.

She'd probably snap at me if she knew I even cared enough to wonder, but still. Watching her today, I couldn't help but feel like there was more to her. Something raw, barely holding together under all that control.

But maybe that was it. Maybe figure skating was her way of proving herself, of showing the world she's got it handled, even if it's tearing her apart.