Chapter 3

A week before Sectionals, our club ran a final mock competition. Full panel of judges, full scoring, the works.

I took first. Highest combined score in the group field by almost twelve points.

Lyla came in last.

She picked the score sheet off the boards, balled it up, and tossed it into the trash on her way off the ice.

"Doesn't matter. I got the training grant."

Silas was waiting at the boards with two coffees. He handed her one.

She lit up at him like she hadn't just bombed in front of the club.

"You were beautiful."

She pressed up onto her toe picks and kissed him on the cheek.

I walked past them toward the locker room.

"Maeve."

I did not stop.

"Maeve. Hey."

He came around in front of me, blocking the path.

"You still mad about the training grant?"

I didn't answer.

"I get it. But come on. Look at her situation. She needs this more than you do. You're going to win Sectionals in your sleep."

He stepped closer and lowered his voice.

"That card I offered you. It's still on the table. Anything you need — coaches, off-season camps... It's covered."

He thought money was the answer. He thought money could buy back what he'd already broken.

"I don't need it."

"There you go again." His jaw set. "How long are you going to keep doing this. You know how much you make in a month? I'm offering you more than you could pull out of that place in your entire life."

Lyla skated up behind him and put a gloved hand on his arm.

"Silas, don't. She's just not used to it yet."

She gave me a small, sad, practiced smile.

"Maeve. I know you hate me right now. But I was really, truly out of options. My stepmom has been awful since my dad lost everything. I had nowhere else to turn." Her eyes welled up.

I'd watched her do it for a year now.

In every conversation, she was the victim. In every room, I was the one making her cry.

"Silas said he's going to take care of you," she went on, with the soft, generous tone. "Whatever you need, just tell us. Both of us."

Us. Like she'd already moved into my life.

The corner of my mouth pulled up. I couldn't help it.

Silas frowned. "What's funny?"

"Nothing. Just appreciating the matchup. You two deserve each other. Hope it lasts."

His face changed.

"Maeve — "

I walked past him to the locker room.

"Maeve, get back here."

I ignored all his words.

That night, Bree sent me a photo. Lyla's Instagram, screenshots before it could disappear.

Lyla and Silas were in the bar, Silas holding a bottle of champagne, Lyla draped across his lap.

Their friends were in the background, raising glasses, shouting "CONGRATS LYLA!"

Bree: Stop looking at it. She's not worth your serotonin.

I closed the app and tossed the phone aside.

Then picked up my training journal off the nightstand, opened it to the next blank page, and started writing out my Sectionals program.

As long as I kept training, I didn't have to think about anything else.