Worth The Wait

𝟐𝟗|𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓

𝐋𝐔𝐂IE 𝐁𝐀𝐒I𝐋𝐋E

River and I stand in the center of the rink, facing each other, our breath coming in steady puffs. The rink is nearly empty, the sounds of blades carving into the ice the only noise filling the silence. It's just the two of us today—no coach, no distractions. Only us and the weight of what's ahead: the Olympics.

"Ready for the next one?" River's voice cuts through the quiet, low and steady.

I glance at him, eyes narrowing slightly. The jump we landed earlier had been flawless. My body still buzzes with the adrenaline from it, but something in me knows we can't stop there. Not when every move, every second, is going to count in front of the world.

"We need to nail this routine," I say, my voice low but firm. "It's got to be perfect."

River nods, his eyes never leaving mine. There's something different in the way he's looking at me today. Maybe it's the tension in the air, or maybe it's the understanding that we're closer than ever to something bigger than either of us realized.

"Yeah, we do," he says, his voice unwavering. "But it's not about perfection. It's about trust."

I try to keep my composure, but inside, my heart skips a beat. His words—they hit harder than I expect. I've spent so much of my life chasing perfection. It's the only way I know how to be. But trust? Trust has always been harder. Not just with River, but with myself.

We move into position for the next move, the one I've been dreading since Coach first mentioned it—a lift that requires absolute faith. River will hold me in the air, my body positioned perfectly for a moment that feels as fragile as glass. If we're off, if we falter for even a split second, it could ruin everything.

I position myself, my heart racing. I stare at River's strong arms, his steady gaze, and the weight of what's about to happen sinks in.

"You're going to be fine," he says, his voice low, his hands already resting on my waist. He steps closer, a quiet certainty in his movements.

I nod, but inside, doubt creeps in. This move is different. This isn't just about strength. It's about letting go of everything, about surrendering control to him. The fear of falling, of failing in front of everyone, it's almost paralyzing.

"Lucie," River says, his tone commanding but gentle. "Look at me. Trust me. I won't let you fall."

His words—they shouldn't feel like much. They're just words. But they settle deep in my chest, making the cold feel a little warmer. I swallow, pushing down the panic rising inside of me.

"Okay," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

I take one last deep breath, and then I allow him to guide me. His arms wrap securely around me as he lifts me, my feet leaving the ice. My heart beats louder in my ears as I feel myself being elevated, higher and higher, until I'm completely suspended in the air, my body weightless, supported only by him.

For a moment, I feel like I'm falling—falling into the void, into a place where everything could break, where everything could shatter. And then, something inside of me shifts. I stop trying to hold on, stop trying to control every aspect of the moment. I just... breathe. I trust him. I trust that he won't let me go.

The world around me goes silent, and I focus on the sensation of his grip, the steadiness of his touch. I can feel his strength, his determination. His unwavering confidence in me is like a tether, grounding me even as I soar above the ice.

And then—just like that—I'm back on the ground, steady and safe in his arms. He lowers me carefully, placing my feet back onto the ice. I gasp, the air rushing into my lungs like I've been holding my breath for too long. My body is trembling, my heart racing, but the fear has lifted. The doubt has been replaced with something stronger—something I can't quite define, but it feels like freedom.