Worth The Wait

𝟏𝟏|𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄

I wake up with a pounding headache, the kind that makes me curse every sip of whiskey I had last night. My mouth feels like a desert, my limbs are heavy, and the world spins as I groan, burying my face in the pillow. The second I move, nausea hits me hard. Great.

Callum quitting. That's why I ended up at the bar. Just me, a  couple shots of whiskey, and the suffocating realization that my Olympic dreams were slipping away. I don't remember calling Sophia, but somehow, she and Kolton must have come to get me. A hazy memory surfaces—I'm slumped in their backseat, rambling without a filter.

"But—he's hot. Like... really hot. And that's the problem. He makes me so... ugh, I don't even know, mad? But not mad, like... why is he so distracting?" I chuckle to myself, shaking my head. "I'm such an idiot. So damn dumb."

Oh god, Sophia is never going to let that go.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, the vibration sending another jolt of pain through my skull. I groggily reach for it, cracking open one eye. The bright screen blinds me, but I squint, trying to make out the caller ID.

Sonya. 

Perfect. Exactly what I need first thing in the morning—my coach.

I clear my throat, trying to sound somewhat human, and answer. "Yeah?"

"You sound like hell," Sonya says, her voice sharp and dry. "Late night?"

I rub my temple, wincing at the ache that seems to pulse in time with my heartbeat. "What do you need, Sonya?"

There's a pause. Too long. My stomach clenches, an immediate warning sign that something's coming, something I won't like.

"I talked to River Prescott," she says, finally, like it's no big deal.

Every ounce of my hangover vanishes.

I sit up too fast, and the world tilts violently, but I don't care. "You did what?"

"He came to me," she says, as if that somehow makes it better. "He's interested."

"Interested in what? Ruining my life again?"

Sonya's sigh is heavy, the kind of sigh that makes me feel like I'm about to be lectured. "Lucie, listen to me—"

"No." My grip tightens on the phone, my fingers going white with the force. "You're not seriously suggesting—"

"I'm suggesting we explore all our options," she interrupts, her tone firm, unyielding. "You need a partner, Lucie. And he might be an option."

I almost laugh. Almost. The kind of laugh that's sharp and bitter. "An option? He's the reason I lost my first Olympic shot. He and his stupid friends thought it'd be funny to wreck the rink before my qualifying event. You think I'm supposed to just forget that?"

"That was over a decade ago," she says, her voice calm but insistent.

"And?" My heart starts to pound in my chest, a wave of anger swelling inside me, pushing all the pain of my hangover into the background. "That doesn't erase what happened. You want me to just pretend it never happened? That it didn't ruin my life, my career?"

"I understand why you're upset," Sonya says, and her voice softens, but it doesn't stop the fire burning inside me. "But I also have a responsibility to make sure you get to the Olympics. You're a two-time gold medalist, Lucie. You don't give up. Not now."

I press my fingers to my temples, feeling the pressure of the storm brewing in my head, threatening to spill over. "Why is he even interested? He's a hockey player."