Bring it on

Chapter 15

It is funny how things can spiral that fast, how one little disagreement can suddenly feel like the end of the world. I should've known that something was off, as Natalie was quieter than usual earlier, but I did not pick it up. Honestly, I thought it was just another one of those days when she had a million things going on-skating practices, meetings, whatever she was juggling that I couldn't even begin to understand. I mean, I tried to be supportive, but figure skating was a whole different universe compared to the chaos of hockey.

It wasn't until we sat in the car, headed to dinner after her practice, that I felt tension between us.

I kept my eyes on the road, attempting to keep the conversation casual. "You sure? Because you are acting like you got a whole storm brewing in your head.

She shifted in her seat, her body a little too stiff. "I don't have a storm in my head. I just-never mind."

That's when it hit: the shift. The thing that had been building for the past few days. Something about her attitude, her mood, had felt off lately, and now I could see it was more than just stress from practice.

Don't 'never mind' me, Nat," I said, sharper, somehow, than I'd intended. Again, I glanced at her. "What's going on?"

At last, she turned her head toward me, flashing a fierce gaze. "You want to know? You really want to know what's going on?"

My stomach twisted. "Of course I do.

For a moment, I almost believed she was going to say something, then she just looked at me, her jaw clenched. Then she exhaled, and I knew shit was about to hit the fan.

"You don't get it, Ethan," she said, her voice low, but there was something there, something breaking through her control. "You don't get how hard it is for me. You don't get how it feels to work my ass off every day, only to have people-you-act like it's just some side hobby."

My chest constricted, the words hitting me like a punch. I opened my mouth to respond, but she wasn't done. She leaned forward, the words spilling from her lips now, each word a slap.

Do you know how many people think I'm just some pretty girl in tights who twirls around on the ice? Like it's easy. Like it's not the hardest thing I've ever done. And you-you come into my world, and sometimes it feels like you don't even see it. Like you don't even try to understand what I'm up against. What I need."

I didn't know what to say at first. Part of me wanted to shout back, to tell her she was overreacting, but I knew that wouldn't help. I could feel the heat rising in my chest. I wasn't some idiot who didn't appreciate what she did. God, I knew how hard she worked. She was a damn powerhouse, even if her sport was all glitz and glamour on the surface. I could see past that. But in this very second, it felt like every word I said would make things worse.

"I am not belittling what you do, Nat. You know that," I said, my voice low, calming down. "But neither does one expect me to know every little thing about your sport. It's not my world. I cannot be in it the way you are. Yet, I am here. I am supporting you."

Her hands had curled around the seat in front of her, the knuckles white. "Supporting me? Is that what you think this is? Some 'supportive boyfriend' role? I don't need you to just show up at my practices and act like everything's okay. I need you to be here. To understand what I'm going through. Not just throw out some halfassed 'I'm proud of you' like that fixes everything.

I felt the words hit me like bricks, and I wanted to scream back, tell her I was doing my best. But I couldn't ignore the fact that maybe he had been taking the easy route. That maybe I was too focused on my own damn problems to really see her-to see how much this meant to her.

"You think it's that easy for me?" I fired back, voice rising. "You think it's easy for me to show up to your world when I'm dealing with my own shit? With my own career? My own pressures?"

Her face screwed tighter, and for a moment, I thought she might shut down altogether. Then she opened her mouth again, voice crackling past the barriers she'd set in place around herself.

"I'm not asking you to be perfect, Ethan. I am asking you to care: to really care, not just when it's convenient for you, or when you want to get some extra brownie points. Do you get that?

The words hit like a cold slap to the face, and I swallowed hard, trying to find my breath. She was right. I had been taking the easy way out. I thought I was doing enough by showing up to her practices, by cheering her on. But I hadn't been fully there. I hadn't been in the trenches with her, feeling the weight of the pressure she was under, the constant need to prove herself.

"I do care, Nat," I said, my voice quieter now. I didn't know if I could say it enough to make it true. "I'm just... not good at this. I don't know how to be what you need me to be."

There was a long silence. She looked at me like she was waiting for me to fix it, and I felt my chest tighten with the need to do something. But I didn't know how.

"You don't have to fix it," she said finally, her voice softer now, still raw. "You just have to try. Try harder than you have been.

I let her words settle between us, the weight of them heavy. I had been skating by on the assumption that just being there was enough. But it wasn't. It wasn't even close. She needed more from me, and I needed to be better for her. Because she deserved it.

"I'll try," I said, my voice rough. "I promise.

She didn't say anything after that. Just stared out the window, her lips pressed together-like she was still processing it all. Processing it all. We were both processing. But at least we were talking now. At least we were being honest.

I pulled into the restaurant parking lot, the quiet in the car still thick with the weight of the argument, but I didn't feel like walking away anymore.

She reached for the door handle but paused, not getting out. "Ethan?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm still mad. But... I need you to try. Please."

I nodded, the words I wanted to say caught in my throat. "I will. I swear I will."

And for the first time that night, it felt like maybe-just maybe-we were going to be okay.