Worth The Wait

𝟐𝟏|𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓

𝐋𝐔𝐂IE 𝐁𝐀𝐒I𝐋𝐋E

The airport is louder than I want it to be, the constant hum of conversations and flight announcements filling the space between my own thoughts. I shift my skate bag higher on my shoulder, adjusting the strap as I glance over at River. He's scrolling through his phone, looking as relaxed as ever, like this is just another flight, another trip.

It's not.

Nationals are in three days. Nationals that we have to win.

I exhale slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax as Sonya gestures for us to follow her toward security. We move in practiced rhythm now—not just on the ice, but off. I don't have to tell River to grab his boarding pass or remind him to keep up. He's already a step ahead, like he's been doing this for years instead of months.

Which is good. Because we don't have time for him to make mistakes.

I make it through security without an issue, rolling my carry-on behind me as we weave through the crowd toward our gate. Coach walks ahead, her usual crisp efficiency making it clear that she's already planning our schedule for the next few days.

River falls into step beside me, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag. "You always this tense before a flight?"

I shoot him a look. "I'm not tense."

His lips twitch like he's holding back a smile. "You sure? Because you've been gripping that bag strap like it personally insulted you."

I roll my eyes and force my fingers to loosen. "I'm not tense about flying."

He hums, the sound low and knowing. "Ah. Nationals, then."

I don't bother denying it.

We find seats near the gate, and I pull out my headphones, desperate for a distraction. But even as I press play on my playlist, my mind is already on the competition ahead. On the routines we've drilled into our bodies. On the fact that, despite all of our work, I still don't know if I trust River the way I need to.

The flight to Wichita is smooth, but my nerves only increase the closer we get. By the time we land, my stomach is twisted in knots. The rental car ride to the hotel is silent except for Coach Sonya's occasional reminders about our schedule.

"We'll train early tomorrow," she says, flipping through her notes. "You'll have two full practice sessions before the competition starts." One practice each day until nationals.

I nod, already running through the moves in my head. River, for once, stays quiet.

At the hotel, we check in quickly, picking up our room keys at the front desk. Coach Sonya hands them out with a pointed look. "Separate rooms. I don't need any distractions or drama. Get rest. We start at six a.m. sharp."

River snorts, pocketing his key. "Lucie's the one who gets distracted, not me."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You wish."

He grins but doesn't argue. Instead, he slings his bag over his shoulder and heads toward the elevator. I follow, stepping in beside him as the doors slide shut.

For a second, it's just the two of us, the quiet between us thick with unspoken things. I shift my weight from foot to foot, watching the numbers tick up.

"You ready for this?" River asks, voice lower now, like the walls of the elevator have stolen some of his usual bravado.

I want to say yes. I want to tell him that of course I am, that I was made for this. That I've been winning competitions like this for years.