Worth The Wait

𝟎𝟓|𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓

𝐋𝐔𝐂IE 𝐁𝐀𝐒I𝐋𝐋E

The ice rink feels colder than usual as I step off the rink, my body heavy with exhaustion. I've been pushing myself hard lately, every practice, every move, every turn. I can feel the strain in my muscles, but it's the mental weight that's been harder to shake. The tension between Callum and me has been building for two months now, and I can't ignore it any longer.
When I enter the locker room, I spot Callum immediately. He's tying his skates, his back to me. His posture is stiff, his focus entirely on his task, and I can feel the distance between us, even from across the room. Something has been off with him lately—he's been distracted, distant, and I can't get through to him.
I walk toward him, trying to push aside the nerves that have been gnawing at me. We need to talk. This silence is suffocating, and I can't pretend everything's fine anymore.
"Callum," I say, trying to sound calm, though there's an edge to my voice that I can't hide. "We need to talk."
He doesn't respond right away. It's like he didn't hear me. I step closer, standing just behind him, and when he still doesn't turn around, my frustration bubbles over.
"Callum, seriously," I push, my tone more insistent now. "What's going on with you? You've been acting like you're somewhere else for months. I can't keep doing this. We're not going to fix anything if you keep shutting me out."
Finally, he turns to face me, but it's not the look I expected. His eyes are narrowed, his jaw clenched, and there's a tension in his posture that makes my stomach drop.
"What do you want from me, Lucie?" His voice is low, almost tired, but there's an edge to it that I haven't heard before. He's angry, but I don't understand why.
"I want you to talk to me," I say, my heart pounding in my chest. "We're a team, Callum. We have been for three years. But lately, you've been shutting me out, and I don't know why. You're not yourself. What's going on?"
For a long moment, he doesn't speak. The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. I can see him weighing his words, and for some reason, the weight of that moment feels unbearable.
"I'm just tired, Lucie," he says finally, his tone sharp, but with an undercurrent of something I can't quite place. "I've been trying to keep up, trying to make everything work, but I'm just... tired of it all."
I blink, taken aback by the admission. "Tired of what? Of us? Of the team?" I don't want to hear it, but the question bursts out of me before I can stop it.
"No," he snaps, but there's something in his voice that's not quite convincing. He seems to hesitate for a moment before continuing. "I'm tired of always being compared to you. I'm tired of living in your shadow, Lucie. You're always the star. Everything comes easy for you, doesn't it?"
I freeze. His words cut deeper than I could have ever imagined. "What are you talking about?" I ask, my voice shaking with hurt. "I don't want to overshadow you. I never have. You know how much I've always supported you. How much I've believed in you."
He shakes his head, a bitter smile curling at his lips. "Yeah? But it doesn't feel like that, does it? You've always had everything figured out. Your routines, your performances, your career—it's all perfect. And then there's me. The guy who's just... trying to keep up. The guy who can't ever seem to be good enough."
I'm speechless. I can feel the sting of his words sinking into me, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at him, completely blindsided by what he's saying. I've always supported him, always been his biggest cheerleader, and now, it feels like he's tearing it all down, blaming me for things I didn't even know were problems.
"You don't think I've been trying, too?" I say, my voice thick with emotion. "You think everything's been perfect for me? You think I don't work my ass off every day, just like you? I've struggled too, Callum. You don't get to act like you're the only one who's been working hard. We've been in this together."
He doesn't seem to hear me. He steps closer, the tension between us palpable, and the anger in his eyes flares.
"You want to know what the real problem is?" he spits, his voice rising now. "The real problem is that you're always the one who gets the praise, always the one who gets the attention, and I'm just the guy in the background. You want to know how I really feel, Lucie? I feel like I'm nothing. Like I'm just the guy who's here to make you look good."
I shake my head, confused, hurt, and angry all at once. "That's not true! I never asked for that, Callum! You're the one who's been pushing me away. You're the one who's been acting like everything's my fault when it's not."
He's silent for a long moment, his eyes dark, but there's a tension in his jaw that tells me he's holding back, something more he's not saying. Finally, he opens his mouth again, and the words that come out make my blood run cold.
"You've gained weight, Lucie. Have you noticed that? You're not the same. You've been getting slower on the ice. Maybe if you focused more on your training and less on everything else, you wouldn't be in the shape you're in now."
The words hang in the air between us like an icy slap to the face. I feel the sting instantly, the hurt cutting through me so sharply that I can't speak for a moment. I try to hold my ground, to stand tall, but everything inside me is shaking. How could he say that? How could he throw that in my face?
"Really?" I finally manage to say, my voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and anger. "That's what you're going to use against me? My body? You think I'm failing because of my weight?"
He doesn't answer right away, but the look in his eyes says it all. It's like he's just waiting for me to crumble, for me to apologize, to back down. But I won't. I can't.
"You have no idea what I've been going through, Callum," I say, my voice low but firm. "You have no idea how hard I've been working to get through this season. I've been trying to balance everything, but you're the one who's been making it worse. You've been shutting me out, pushing me away, and now you want to throw my body in my face like it's the only thing that matters?"
The words feel like a weight in my chest, but I don't back down. I'm done letting him belittle me. Done letting him make me feel like I'm not enough, like I'm not worthy of his respect.
"Maybe you should take a good look at yourself before you go around judging others, Callum," I say, my tone hard. "You've been so wrapped up in your own issues that you haven't even bothered to see what's happening with me. But you're too focused on your own ego to care, aren't you?"
He looks at me, the anger still simmering in his eyes, but there's something else there too—a flicker of doubt, of regret. But he doesn't say anything more. He doesn't apologize. Instead, he turns away from me, his back to me again.
"I'm done, Lucie," he says quietly, his voice rough. "I can't keep doing this."
And just like that, he walks out of the locker room, leaving me standing there, broken and silent, the sting of his words echoing in my mind.
I want to scream. I want to throw something, to make him feel the hurt he's caused. But all I can do is stand there, holding back the tears that threaten to fall, my heart-shattering in a way I never expected.
────୨ৎ────
The ice rink has never felt so cold, and the locker room even colder. The weight of Callum's words hangs over me like a thick fog, and the silence between us lingers, suffocating. His walk-out earlier echoes in my head, but I can't make sense of it. One moment, he's angry, accusing, and the next, he's gone, leaving me to pick up the pieces of something that doesn't even feel like it was real.
I slowly pull off my skates, my hands shaking. I try to focus on the task, but my mind is miles away, replaying the fight over and over, trying to understand how things escalated so quickly. How did I go from feeling like we were a team to feeling like an enemy?
By the time I finish changing and leave the rink, it's clear I'm not going to make sense of this on my own. The thought of going home alone makes my chest tighten with a kind of loneliness I haven't felt in a long time. But just as I'm about to pull out my phone to text Sophie or Ophelia, I see them both walking toward me.
Sophie's expression softens when she spots me, and Ophelia's usually mischievous grin falters just a bit. They can tell. They always can.
"Hey," Ophelia says gently, her tone a little too knowing. "We saw Callum leave in a hurry. Everything okay?"
I force a smile, but it's thin, brittle. "I don't know anymore," I admit, my voice quieter than usual.
Sophie gives me a sympathetic look and immediately moves in to pull me into a hug. I let out a shaky breath, trying not to crumble right there. The weight of everything—the fight, the way Callum stormed off, and the rawness of his words—feels too much. But Sophie and Ophelia have always been there, always known how to make things a little easier.
"Come on," Sophie says, pulling back and giving me a soft, encouraging smile. "Let's get out of here. We're going to have a girls' night. No more ice skates, no more Callum, just us."
Ophelia nods eagerly. "Yeah, I've got the perfect movie marathon in mind. Plus, I've stocked up on all the best snacks."
I can't help but laugh a little, the corners of my mouth twitching. "You're not letting me off the hook that easily, are you?"
"Absolutely not," Ophelia grins. "You need to let loose. We all do."
I look between my two friends, their eyes filled with concern, but also with that unshakable determination to make things better. I don't know what I'd do without them. The reality of my life with Callum feels so complicated and heavy right now, but here with my girls, I can breathe for a moment.
Later that evening, we're all sprawled out in Ophelia's cozy apartment, the soft flicker of the TV illuminating our faces as we watch chick flicks, the kind that are meant to be light, funny, and comforting. There's an array of takeout containers scattered on the coffee table, half-eaten snacks littering the room, and wine glasses that have already been refilled more times than I can count.
I don't even remember the last time I felt this carefree. The weight of Callum and his accusations still lingers at the back of my mind, but the three of us have always known how to escape for a while. There's something magical about these nights—no drama, just laughter, and the kind of conversations that keep you grounded when everything else feels like it's falling apart.
"I swear," Sophie says in between bites of pizza, "if I see one more cheesy rom-com, I might actually die. We need something with substance. Something that doesn't make me feel like I need to fall in love with someone."
Ophelia raises an eyebrow. "You're not feeling the love, huh? But seriously, what's wrong with a little fantasy every now and then? The world's a bit harsh right now; a little escape never hurt."
I can't help but chuckle at their back-and-forth. It feels good to laugh. It feels good to just be here. They may be distracting me, but they're also helping me heal, helping me forget, even if it's just for tonight.
"So, what about you, Lucie?" Ophelia asks suddenly, turning the spotlight onto me. "How's everything with Callum?"
I sigh, taking a long sip of wine to steady myself. The last thing I want to do is bring him up, but I know I can't avoid it. Not with them. Not now.
"It's... complicated," I say slowly, feeling the weight of the situation again. "I don't know what happened, but it's like everything has changed. He's been distant, and when we finally talked, it was like he was blaming me for everything—especially for how I've been performing."
Sophie looks at me with concern, her brow furrowing. "What do you mean, blaming you?"
I shrug, trying to brush it off, but I can feel the anger starting to rise again. "He said that everything comes easy for me. That I've got the perfect routine, the perfect career. That he's always living in my shadow, and now, he's the one who feels like he's failing."
"That's ridiculous," Ophelia says immediately, her voice sharp with anger. "You're both on this journey together. It's not a competition. What the hell is he thinking?"
"I don't know," I say quietly, my hands trembling slightly as I grip my wine glass. "But then he said something about my weight, how I've gained some, and that's why I'm not skating the way I used to. It felt like... he was trying to break me."
I don't realize I'm holding my breath until the words come tumbling out, and when they do, it's like they've been waiting to escape. The emotions I've been keeping hidden all evening—hurt, disbelief, frustration—come rushing forward, and I feel myself starting to unravel.
Sophie reaches over and takes my hand in hers, her grip strong and reassuring. "Lucie, you know that's not true. He doesn't get to make you feel like that."
Ophelia nods, her voice filled with quiet rage. "He's been a jerk. But you're amazing, Lucie. You've worked so hard, and you don't need him to tell you what you already know—that you're worth it, just as you are. He's the one who's messed up here."
I nod, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill again. It's so hard. So damn hard. Callum's words cut so deeply, but hearing my friends speak the truth gives me a little more strength. Maybe they're right. Maybe Callum has his own issues that he's projecting onto me, but I can't let his insecurity define me. I won't.
"I don't know what's going to happen with us," I say, wiping my eyes and taking a shaky breath. "But for tonight, I need to just let go."
"You don't have to figure it all out right now," Sophie reminds me gently. "We're here for you. Always."
Ophelia adds, "And no matter what happens with Callum, we've got your back, Lucie. No one's ever going to make you feel small again."
And for the first time in a long time, I believe them. I'm not alone. I don't have to carry the weight of Callum's words or his abandonment. I've got my girls. And together, we'll get through this. The morning after our girls' night, I wake up feeling... lighter. Not by much, but enough to notice. Callum's words are still lodged in my chest, sharp and persistent, but they no longer dominate my every thought. The laughter from last night, the comfort of my friends, their steadying support—it makes a difference. I know the road ahead won't be easy, but for now, I have this moment of clarity, and I'm going to hold onto it.
The sunlight filters through my curtains, the warm glow helping to ground me. I stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles from yesterday's practice, but there's something else there now—a sense of something new, something untangled. I don't have all the answers, but I know this: I need to step back, reassess. This journey isn't just about skating—it's about me, too. I am more than what Callum says, more than his criticisms, more than any performance. I am enough. I know that now.
I grab my phone to check for messages. Sophie's text pops up first, asking if I'm okay, offering to talk more if I need it. I send a quick reply, reassuring her that I'm doing better. Then, there's a message from Ophelia—another movie night planned for the weekend. The idea of unwinding with them, surrounded by laughter and warmth, brings a small smile to my face. It's nice to be reminded that I'm not alone.
But as I get up to make my coffee, my mind shifts. The Olympics are still out there, waiting, looming. I can't afford to let personal drama get in the way. My focus needs to be on the ice. I've worked too hard to let anything derail me now.
After a few more minutes of contemplation, I grab my skates and head to the rink. The air hits me as I step inside, cool and familiar. It wraps around me, grounding me. Here, I can breathe. Here, I can be.
I lace up my skates with a steady hand, my mind sharpening, the focus settling in like it hasn't in days. The cold bite of the ice welcomes me as I step onto it, and I inhale deeply. With each glide, each turn, I can feel the tension in my body start to ease. This is where I belong.
The next few hours fly by in a blur of practice and repetition. It's just me and the ice. No distractions, no Callum, no nothing. I push my body harder than I should, making up for lost time, chasing after a sense of control. Every jump, every routine, feels like a small victory, a step toward reclaiming the strength I thought I had lost. I finish my session, feeling both exhausted and... not entirely at ease. The weight is still there, but it's manageable. As I take a deep breath, letting the cool air calm me, I grab my things and head for the door.
But something about today is different. I don't feel like running away from everything. The pressure, the expectations—they're still there, but they're not the only things weighing me down anymore. For once, I feel like I can breathe through it. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough for now.
As I step out of the rink, the cold air hits me, sharp and biting, but it's refreshing. I take a deep breath, letting it clear the remnants of the practice from my lungs. The weight of the past few days still lingers, but it's starting to feel more manageable, more like something I can carry, rather than something that defines me.
I start walking toward my car, the sound of my skates scraping against the pavement fading as I reach the parking lot. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to check the notification. It's from Kolton—just a quick message to check in. "How's everything going, Lucie? You good?"
I smile, my fingers flying over the screen as I type back a response. "Getting there. One step at a time. Thanks for checking in."
I hit send and slide my phone back into my bag, the weight of it no longer as oppressive as it once was. It's small, but it's a victory. I'm starting to feel like I might be able to handle this—whatever this is.
As I pull out of the rink parking lot, the familiar feeling of the city envelops me. The streets are busier than usual, cars whizzing past and people moving in all directions. It's a reminder of the world that doesn't stop, that keeps turning no matter what's going on in my personal life.
The thought gives me some comfort. The world doesn't stop for me, and that's okay. It just means I have to keep going, too.
I drive home in silence, the hum of the engine filling the space. It's a good kind of silence, not the heavy kind that weighs you down, but the kind that offers a moment of peace. I park in front of my apartment, gather my things, and head inside.
The space is quiet when I walk in, the kind of quiet that settles over everything when you've been gone for a while. I kick off my shoes and make my way to the kitchen, the smell of coffee still faint in the air from this morning.
My phone buzzes again, pulling me out of my thoughts. This time, it's Sophie. "How about a movie night this weekend? I know you've got a lot going on, but I'm pretty sure a little distraction will help."
I laugh softly to myself, tapping out a quick reply. "Even though we just had a girls night? But you're probably right. I'll be there."
It's strange, this balance I'm starting to find—between the pressure of the Olympics, the pressure of my own expectations, and the unexpected moments of clarity. But maybe, for the first time in a long time, it feels like I don't have to choose between them. Maybe I can make room for both: the weight of the world and the small, fleeting moments of peace.
I sit on the couch, my mind still racing with thoughts of practice, Callum, the Olympics, —everything—and nothing. I pull up the text messages one last time before setting my phone aside, closing my eyes, and leaning back against the cushions. I'll face everything that's coming, but for now, I let myself rest.
And for once, I don't feel guilty about it