Edge of Breaking: On Thin Ice

Chapter 3: six am

Catalina's POV

He was already skating when I got there, and the sound of his blades was the only thing that made me feel safe.

I did not sleep that night after seeing Diego's car outside my window.

I lay in bed with my eyes open and my phone on the nightstand, and I watched the shadows move across the ceiling as the hours passed. Diego's car was still outside. I checked three times, and every time I pulled the curtain back, his car was still there.

He left at 4 AM.

I watched his taillights disappear down the street, and I finally let myself breathe.

At 5:30 AM, I got out of bed. My body was stiff from the fall, and my hip ached with every movement. I changed into my training clothes and pulled my hair back. I did not look in the mirror. I did not want to see the dark circles under my eyes or feel the fear that was still sitting in my chest.

I grabbed my skates and walked out the door.

The air was cold and the sky was still dark, but the streetlights were on and the campus was quiet. I walked fast with my head down and my hands in my pockets, and I did not look back.

I did not know why I was going to the rink that early or why I was going to meet a boy I barely knew at 6 AM. But my feet kept moving, my heart kept pounding, and I did not stop.

I reached the rink at 5:58 AM.

The doors were unlocked, the lights were on, and I could hear the sound of blades cutting through ice before I even stepped inside.

He was already there.

Sebastian was skating in circles at the center of the rink, and his body moved like he had been born on the ice. His arms were loose at his sides, his knees were bent, and his blades carved smooth lines into the white surface. He was not practicing anything specific. He was just skating.

The sound of his blades was the only thing in the world, and for a moment, I forgot about Diego.

I stood at the edge of the rink and watched him. I did not say anything. I just stood there with my skates in my hand and my heart in my throat, and I watched him move.

He stopped when he saw me.

He skated to the edge of the rink and stopped a few feet away. His chest was rising and falling, and his face was red from the cold, but his eyes were bright. He looked alive in a way that made me feel dead by comparison.

"You came," he said.

"You asked," I said.

He smiled. It was not a big smile, just a small one, but it reached his eyes. "I brought you coffee," he said, and he pointed to a paper cup sitting on the bench behind him. "I did not know how you took it, so I guessed. Black with one sugar. If that is wrong, do not tell me. Let me believe I got it right."

I did not know what to say to that.

I sat on the bench and put on my skates. My fingers were stiff and cold, and the laces were hard to tie. He did not watch me. He turned back to the ice, skated to the other side of the rink, and he gave me space.

I appreciated that more than I could say.

I stepped onto the ice, and my hip ached terribly, but I ignored it. The ice was smooth here, not like the bad ice from yesterday. It felt good under my blades. It felt like home.

Sebastian skated back to me. He did not say anything. He just skated next to me, and we moved in silence.

His presence was not heavy or demanding. It was just there, like a steady hand on my back, and I did not know how to feel about that.

I started my routine.

I did not do the full thing, I just moved. I let my body remember what it felt like to glide without thinking, to spin without counting, and to jump without fear. I did a double salchow, I landed it clean, and my hip ached badly, but I kept going. I did a camel spin, and my arms stretched out, and for a few seconds, I felt like I was flying.

When I stopped, I was breathing hard.

My face was wet with sweat, and my heart was pounding. Sebastian was standing where I had left him, with his arms crossed, and his eyes wide open, like he was in shock.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said, adjusting his posture. "I just did not know skating could look like that."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like you are telling a story," he said. "Like your body is saying something your mouth will not."

I looked down at the ice and traced a circle with the toe of my blade. I felt exposed in a way I did not like. He had seen something I did not mean to show. He had seen the part of me that was still hurting, still hoping, and still reaching for something I could not name.

"You should go," I said. "Your team will be here soon."

"They can wait," he said.

"No," I said, and my voice came out harder than I meant it to. "You should go. I need to be alone."

He looked at me for a long moment. I could see him trying to decide whether to push or to leave. I wanted him to push and try harder to stay. But I also wanted him to go because if he stayed, I might say something I could not take back.

I might tell him about Diego. About the way Diego grabbed my wrist after practice last week and held it so tight that my fingers went numb. About the way Coach Holcomb looked the other way, while bad things happened before her eyes. About the way I had been disappearing for years, little by little, and no one had noticed except him.

But I did not say any of that.

I stood on the ice with my arms wrapped around my body, and I waited for him to leave.

"Okay," he said finally. "But I will be here tomorrow. Same time and place. If you want to talk, I will listen. If you want to skate, I will watch. And if you want to be alone, I will leave. But I will keep showing up, Catalina. Because someone should."

He skated to the edge of the rink and stepped off. He pulled off his skates without looking at me, then he walked to the door and paused with his hand on the handle.

He looked back at me.

"Clean your elbow," he said. "And eat something. You look like you have not slept in weeks."

Then he was gone. The door closed behind him, and I was alone in the rink with the half lights, cold air and the sound of my own breathing.

I stood there for a long time.

I thought about what he had said. Someone should keep showing up, should care, and someone should notice when you are bleeding.

I looked down at my hands. They were shaking again, but this time it was not from fear. It was from something else. Something that felt like hope, and hope was dangerous because hope meant I had something to lose.

I stepped off the ice and sat on the bench. I pulled off my skates and pressed my hand against my chest. My heart was still pounding.

I thought about my sister, Sofi. She was fifteen years old, and she was still living with our parents in Seattle. She was starting to show the same signs I had shown at her age. The quietness, the way she made herself small, and the way she apologized for things that were not her fault.

I had been sending her money every month, hiding it in a bank account our parents did not know about, and I had been planning to get her out as soon as I qualified for the national team. That was the goal. It had always been the only goal, and it still was.

I had even written it out boldly once.

My goal; WIN NATIONALS, GET THE FUNDING, AND GET SOFI OUT.

But now Sebastian was in my head, and he was making me want things I had no business wanting. Like someone to hold me, to tell me it was going to be okay, and someone to really see me, and not look away.

I stood up and walked to the door.

I pushed it open and stepped into the cold morning air. The sun was starting to rise, the sky was pink and orange, and the campus was still quiet.

I walked back to my dorm with my skates in my hand and my heart in my throat.

I did not know what I was going to do about Diego, or what I was going to do about Sebastian. I did not know if I was strong enough to save Sofi or brave enough to let anyone in.

But I knew one thing.

I could not want this, or want him. I had to focus, win, and I had to save her.

I reached my dorm room and unlocked the door.

I walked inside and froze.

Diego was sitting on my bed.

He had my phone in his hand, Sebastian text messages was opened, and he had read them. His jaw was tight, his eyes were cold, and he was smiling. It was not a nice smile.

"We need to have a conversation," he said.

He patted the bed next to him.

"Sit."