𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭

twenty five

Kaiden

The rink was practically empty when I got there, early for once and half-hoping for some quiet practice.

Just me, the ice, and no one around to interrupt. But as soon as I walked in, I saw her. She was already on the ice, gliding over it with that intense focus she always had, as if she was the only one in the building.

I dropped my bag, half-hoping she wouldn't notice me, or at least that she'd keep to her side. I didn't need any more weird encounters with her after what happened last night. But as usual, Delphine had her own ideas.

She skated right over to my side, coming to a stop with this look on her face like she was about to say something completely absurd. I sighed, meeting her gaze, already bracing myself for whatever she was going to throw my way.

"Hey," she said, her voice breaking the silence like she owned the place.

"What?" I replied, raising an eyebrow. Her expression was intense, that determined, almost challenging look that she seemed to wear like a second skin.

"Throw me."

I blinked, pretty sure I'd heard her wrong. "Absolutely not."

But she just crossed her arms, unfazed. "Come on, I need the height. Just once. Throw me, and I'll be out of your way."

"Do I look like someone who's gonna be throwing people in the air?" I asked, shaking my head. "You figure skaters are all nuts."

"It's not that complicated," she said, like she was talking to an amateur. "Just throw me as high as you can, and I'll take care of the rest."

I took a deep breath, my patience already wearing thin. "Not happening."

Her expression didn't change; if anything, she just doubled down. "Kaiden. I'm asking for a favor. Are you gonna help, or are you scared?"

I scoffed. Scared? That was rich coming from someone asking to be thrown. But there was something about the way she looked at me—challenging, like she already knew she'd get her way.

"Fine," I muttered, getting up. I had no idea what was going through her head, but I figured it'd be easier to just get this over with than to stand here arguing with her. "But if you fall, it's on you. Got it?"

She nodded, that strange little spark of excitement in her eyes. "Got it."

I stepped closer, taking her hands. They were colder than I expected, even through her gloves. She gave me some brief instructions, which sounded more like orders, and I mentally braced myself for what felt like a terrible idea.

"This is ridiculous," I muttered, almost to myself.

"Shut up and throw me," she replied, looking entirely serious.

I tightened my grip, steadied myself, and with a shift of weight, I tossed her up and over.

I threw harder than I intended, but before I had time to worry about it, she was in the air, twisting with this effortless kind of grace that was honestly impressive.

She spun mid-air, her body moving in clean, sharp lines, and just when I thought she might not make it, she landed clean, smooth as hell.

Without missing a beat, she transitioned into another jump—a double axel, I think?—and hit the ice with this look of pure focus, like she hadn't just been thrown across the rink.

I couldn't help but just stare.

She skated backward, catching her breath, but there was this calm in her expression, like it was no big deal.

"You're insane," I finally managed, not sure if I should be annoyed or impressed.

"It's not that hard," she said with a shrug, but there was this hint of satisfaction in her eyes, like she'd proven her point.

"Not that hard?" I repeated, still trying to wrap my head around it. "You just got tossed in the air and did... whatever that was."

"A double axel," she replied simply, that slight, smug smile still on her face. "And I wouldn't have landed it without that throw."

She was messing with me, I could tell.

And yet... she'd actually done it.

For a moment, I didn't know what to say.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," I muttered. "I'm not doing that again."

"Whatever you say, tough guy," she said, turning and skating back to her side like it was nothing. Like she hadn't just made me do the most bizarre thing I'd done on the ice in years.

I stayed on my side, trying to shake off the weird feeling of watching her.

She had this way of moving, like she owned the ice in a way that was different from the way we hockey players did. Her lines were smoother, more practiced. But there was this intensity there too, this sharpness to the way she pushed off, the way her body twisted and curved as she skated.

And the way she just... didn't seem to care.

Not about what I thought, not about the bruises scattered across her arms and legs.

She wasn't even trying to hide them, like they were part of the job. Every time she landed, I could see her legs tense, the way her knees buckled just a bit under the impact, like every jump cost her something she wasn't willing to admit.

She'd glance at her coach every now and then, who was on the side barking orders in French, his words sharp and cutting even if I couldn't understand a damn thing he was saying.

It made me wonder why she put herself through it. What drove her to work herself to the point of exhaustion, to the point where she could barely stand but kept going anyway. I couldn't wrap my head around it.