Worth The Wait

𝟐𝟓|𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓

𝐋𝐔𝐂IE 𝐁𝐀𝐒I𝐋𝐋E

 I adjust my gloves, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension from another grueling day of practice. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed River standing near the boards, staring out over the rink with an expression that didn't match his usual cocky energy.

Something had been off with him all day. He wasn't cracking jokes, wasn't getting on my nerves like he usually did. His movements were sharp, sure, but the fire behind them was missing. And for some reason, that unsettled me more than anything else.

Sonya finally dismissed us, and as I skated toward my water bottle, I caught River lingering on the ice, hands braced on his hips, his breath heavier than usual. A strange feeling curled in my stomach.

I could just leave. Let him figure it out on his own.

Instead, I found myself gliding toward him. "Hey," I said, softer than I meant to. "You good?"

River let out a short breath, one that was almost a laugh but didn't quite make it. "Do I look good?"

I tilted my head, studying him. "You look like someone with too much on his mind."

For once, he didn't fire back a quick-witted retort. Instead, he stared at the ice, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Silence stretched between us, but for once, I wasn't in a rush to fill it.

"I still don't know if I belong here," River finally admitted, his voice lower, rawer than I'd ever heard it. When he looked up at me, his usual steel-blue confidence had softened into something almost vulnerable. "Every day, I wake up wondering if I'm wasting my time. If I'm wasting yours."

My stomach twisted at his words. "Why would you think that?"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Because this isn't my world, Lucie. Hockey is. Or at least, it was. Now I'm stuck in this limbo where I'm not good enough for either. If my knee doesn't hold up, I'll never get back to my team, and if I screw up here, I'll drag you down with me. The pressure, the expectations—" He stopped, shaking his head. "I don't know if I can handle failing at both."

I swallowed, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. I'd never considered how much weight he was carrying. How much of his bravado was just a front.

"You're not failing," I said after a beat. "You're learning."

River huffed. "Doesn't feel that way."

I crossed my arms. "It never does when you're in the middle of it." I hesitated, then added, "You think I don't feel that pressure? The doubt?"

He looked at me, brow furrowing slightly.

"I've spent my whole life trying to be perfect, River," I admitted. "And it's exhausting. Every time I land a jump, I'm already thinking about the next one. Every time I win, I worry about losing the next competition. It never stops. And honestly? I hate it." I let out a humorless laugh. "But we don't get to back down just because it's hard."

He was quiet, watching me with something unreadable in his expression. Then, finally, he gave a small nod. "You're a lot tougher than me."

I scoffed. "Oh, I know."

That pulled a small, real smile from him. A flicker of light breaking through the uncertainty weighing him down. "So what do you do?" he asked, voice soft, almost hesitant. "When the doubt gets too loud?"

I hesitated before answering. "I remind myself why I started."

River let those words sink in before he nodded again, slower this time. "Why did you?"