Worth The Wait

𝟐𝟔|𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄

The rink was quieter than usual today, the absence of our usual banter hanging in the air like a thin fog. It was one of those rare moments where everything felt... heavier. Even the ice beneath my skates seemed to carry more weight today, as if every glide, every step was measured and deliberate, a reflection of everything I was trying to avoid.

River and I hadn't spoken much since our breakthrough yesterday. Sure, we had practiced together, but it was different. There was an unspoken tension between us now, one that neither of us had fully acknowledged yet. It was like walking on thin ice, just waiting for the moment when everything would crack.

Today, it felt like that moment was getting closer.

I focused on the routine in front of me, trying to get through it. The jumps, the spins, the lifts—they were all second nature by now. But when it came time for the trust lift, everything changed. I felt my breath catch in my throat as I glanced over at River, standing ready in position across from me.

The trust lift was one of the hardest elements of our routine. It required more than just technique; it required complete and utter trust in the other person. I had to let go. I had to let River catch me, hold me in the air, and trust that he wouldn't drop me. And River had to trust that I would do my part, that I wouldn't pull away, that I wouldn't freeze up.

I hadn't realized how much of a challenge this was until now. I had always been in control—always. But here, with River, everything was out of my hands. The idea of trusting someone else that much, especially after everything I'd been through, was terrifying.

River's eyes met mine, a question there. "You ready?"

I nodded, even though my stomach was in knots. The plan was simple. I'd skate toward him, leap into the air, and let him catch me. But the weight of it, the significance of it, made everything feel ten times harder.

"You can do this," I told myself silently.

I took a deep breath, blocking out everything else—the noise, the doubts, the past—and pushed forward, gliding across the ice toward River. The air seemed to crackle with the tension, and the sound of my skates slicing through the ice felt deafening. I was close to him now, and I could feel my body tensing in anticipation.

When the moment came, I leapt into the air.

For that split second, everything was suspended in time. The world stopped, and I was weightless. My heart raced, my body tense, and the only thing I could feel was the space between River's hands and mine. And his hands were there but not steady nor strong like how they were supposed to be. Slowly, River lowered me back to the ice, his hands shaking still holding onto me. When my skates finally touched down, the world rushed back into focus, and I stood there, breathless, facing him. I could feel the tension between River and me more than ever now. We were both on edge—trying to focus on the routine, but everything else, the unspoken words, the proximity, was weighing us down. I had never hated being this close to someone as much as I did right now. I skate away to go get water to tell myself to calm down.

"Come on, Lucie. We're not going to get anywhere if you keep freezing up like that," River said, his voice sharp, and I felt the familiar irritation rise in my chest.

I stopped mid-skate, glaring at him. "I'm not the one who's frozen, River. Maybe you should be putting more effort into actually learning how to skate instead of acting like a know-it-all."

His jaw tightened, the lines of frustration deepening. "Oh, I'm sorry I'm not as perfect as you, Lucie. Not all of us can skate like we've already won a gold medal." The words were like a slap to the face, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.