Chapter 5 - Lena

The world is still dark when I step out of the car. It’s barely five in the morning, the kind of cold that bites through my jacket and settles in my bones. The high school’s security lights cast a soft glow over the frozen pond, just enough to make the ice shimmer like glass. My breath curls in front of me as I stare at it.

The ice. My ice. The thing I used to love more than anything. My stomach twists. Coach Daniels stands beside me, hands in his pockets, watching me carefully. “Take your time,” he says. “We’re not rushing anything.”

I nod, but my fingers tremble as I lace my skates. The moment the blades touch the ground, my chest tightens. My vision blurs at the edges. The fall flashes behind my eyes. too fast, too bright, too loud. I can’t breathe.

“Lena.” Coach’s voice is steady, grounding. “Look at me.” I force my eyes up. “You’re safe,” he says. “This is just a pond. No crowds. No pressure. Just you and the ice.”

I swallow hard and nod again, even though my heart is still racing. I step onto the pond, the familiar scrape of my blades echoing in the quiet morning. The panic spikes, sharp, sudden, overwhelming.

I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping my knees. “I can’t...”

“Yes, you can,” Coach says gently. “Just breathe. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”

I do. Once. Twice. Again. Slowly, the world stops spinning. I open my eyes. The pond is still. The sky is turning pale blue. The cold air stings my cheeks, but it’s real. It’s grounding. It’s mine.

“Good,” Coach says. “Now just… skate. No jumps. No spins. Just laps.”

So I push off. The first few strokes are shaky. My legs feel stiff, my balance off. But the ice holds me. It doesn’t crack. It doesn’t swallow me whole. It just… waits. I circle the pond once. Then twice. Then again.

My breathing evens out. My muscles loosen. The panic fades to a dull hum instead of a scream. I’m not okay, not even close, but I’m moving. I’m skating. An hour passes before I even realize it. Coach calls out, “That’s enough for today.”

I glide to a stop, chest rising and falling, sweat cooling on my skin. I’m exhausted, but in a way that feels good. Real. Earned.

Coach smiles at me, proud and relieved. “That was a big step, Lena.”

“It didn’t feel big.”

“It was,” he says firmly. “Go home. Rest. Maybe do something normal today. Shopping, lunch with your mom, something that reminds you you’re more than skating.”

I nod, unlacing my skates as we walk toward the parking lot. My legs feel like jelly, but my heart feels… lighter. Not fixed. Not healed. But lighter. We round the corner toward the cars, and I freeze. Evan Hart is standing beside his truck, hockey bag slung over his shoulder, hair damp like he just finished practice. He looks up at the sound of our footsteps. Our eyes meet. My heart drops straight into my stomach. Coach steps slightly in front of me, instinctive, protective. “Let’s keep moving,” he murmurs. “You don’t need distractions. Especially not him.”

I blink, startled. “Him?”

“I’ve read the articles,” Coach says quietly. “The suspension. The fights. You don’t need that kind of chaos right now.”

A laugh escapes me, small, surprised. “Coach… I grew up with Evan. He’s not...he’s not what the papers make him look like.”

Coach raises an eyebrow. “People change.”

“So do stories,” I say softly. “And right now, I need to focus on myself. Not him. Not anyone.”

Coach studies me for a moment, then nods. “Fair enough.”

But as we walk past, Evan’s gaze lingers on me, confused, surprised, and something else I can’t name. I look away quickly. I survived the ice this morning. I’m not sure I’m ready to survive him.