Nola Scott POV
As soon as Ember left my room last night, I performed my nighttime routine and crashed onto my bed, completely drained. It had been a long day an exhausting one that felt like it lasted forever. I was ready for it to be over, hoping the next morning would be a fresh start, but I should've known better.
This morning had started off on a high note. The first hour of practice was smooth sailing; I was in sync with the ice, gliding effortlessly. Every movement felt like second nature. My jumps were on point, light and confident. The choreography flowed through me as if my body and the music were one. It was one of those moments where I felt invincible. But those fleeting minutes of perfection didn't last. Everything after that first hour turned into a nightmare.
I couldn't land a single jump. Each attempt was a disaster, and with every fall, my frustration grew like a rising tide.
"Try them again, Nola. Either separately or in the sequence," Coach Laurel instructed, her voice steady but lacking the warmth I desperately needed.
I nodded mechanically, skating over to the edge of the rink to take a breath. As I leaned against the cold barrier, I caught a movement from the corner of my eye. A familiar figure was making his way toward the stands, his presence impossible to ignore.
Miles.
My heart raced even faster than it had from skating, an uneasy combination of adrenaline and nerves taking over. I'd invited him to watch one of my practices earlier in the week, but now, seeing him actually here, I felt a sense of dread bubbling up inside me. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to witness this—me, fumbling and failing at everything I'd spent years perfecting.
His eyes found mine, and he sent me a small, closed-lipped smile. There was no mocking in it, but I couldn't help feeling embarrassed anyway. I returned the smile weakly before averting my gaze, taking a deep breath as I prepared to go back onto the ice.
"You can do this, Nola," I whispered to myself. "Don't embarrass yourself in front of him. Not now."
I pushed off, the cool air brushing against my cheeks as I gained speed. This was it, the moment to redeem myself. I set up for my quad flip, my body going through the familiar motions as I launched into the air. But the moment I came down, I felt it, the loss of control, the slip. My balance vanished, and I crashed onto the ice, my body colliding with a humiliating thud.
Ugh.
"That's okay, we're still working on that one," Coach Laurel said calmly, her tone neutral, as though my failure was nothing more than a minor setback. But to me, it was everything. I'd landed this jump before; I knew I could do it. So why now? Why today?
I scrambled back to my feet, desperate to regain some semblance of dignity. Deciding not to look up at Miles, I focused solely on the ice, ignoring the heat rising to my cheeks. The last thing I wanted was to see the look on his face, disappointment? Sympathy? Whatever it was, I didn't want to face it.
I threw myself into the next sequence, skating through the choreography as if sheer determination could will me into doing better. My music played in the background, but it barely registered. All I could hear was the racing of my thoughts.
Come on, Nola. Focus.
I set up for my triple flip into a triple toe loop. The jumps that normally felt routine suddenly became a mountain I couldn't climb. Just like before, I hit the ice with a painful thud.
Another fall. Another failure.
Groaning, I slapped the ice in frustration before forcing myself back up. I couldn't let this defeat me. I wouldn't.
Coach Laurel remained silent this time, watching me from a distance. She knew me well enough to understand that words wouldn't help now. I had to push through this on my own. I had to prove to myself that I wasn't completely useless.
"Try your double axel," she finally said, breaking the silence. Her voice was gentle, and I knew what she was doing. She was offering me a lifeline, a jump I could land without even thinking.
Nodding, I skated back into position. Quick strides and then, up, an easy rotation and I landed it cleanly. Relief washed over me in waves. It wasn't much, but at least I didn't fail this time.
"Yeah!!" Miles' voice boomed from the stands. I glanced up to see him clapping enthusiastically, as if I had just nailed the hardest jump in the world.
A small smile tugged at my lips despite myself. His support, though unexpected, was... nice. But I couldn't get distracted. I had to focus.
I exhaled sharply and set up for another triple lutz. I'd done this jump a thousand times before. But this time, just like every other attempt today, I blew it. My body hit the ice again, harder than before.
What is happening to me?
Yesterday's practice had been rough, but today was a disaster. I couldn't understand it. This was supposed to be my time to shine. I had less than two months before I would be competing on the world stage, and I couldn't even land the jumps that had once been second nature to me.
My chest rose and fell rapidly, my breaths growing shallow as panic began to creep in. I forced myself to stand, trying to ignore the eyes on me. But the weight of my own expectations and the pressure to succeed were suffocating.
"Nola, you okay?" Coach Laurel's voice reached me, concern laced in her tone.
I nodded, but my throat felt tight. I wasn't okay, and we both knew it. My hands rested on my hips as I tried to control my erratic breathing. No panic attacks today, Nola. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
I moved without thinking, gliding across the ice as if muscle memory alone would save me. I set up for a triple salchow, one of the first jumps I ever learned. It should've been easy. But when my body hit the ice yet again, something inside me broke.
I couldn't get up. My breathing became shallow, my heart raced out of control. The ice felt like it was pulling me under, and I was helpless to stop it. I was drowning in my own failure.
Before I knew it, Miles was squatting in front of me, his face etched with worry. His voice sounded distant, like he was speaking to me from another world.
"Nola, hey, you're okay. Breathe."
His words barely registered. Everything felt too far away, too overwhelming. My chest heaved as I gasped for air, but nothing was helping. I was spiraling, and I didn't know how to stop.
"Fuck," he cursed under his breath, pulling his hoodie off and slipping it beneath me, lifting me just enough to get me off the freezing ice. His hands were gentle, his touch grounding me in a way that almost brought me back.
"Nola, hey," he said again, more insistent this time. Nola. Not Scott, not some flippant nickname. Just... Nola.
I tried to respond, but all that came out was a garbled mess. I could see Coach Laurel behind him, her face lined with concern, but I couldn't focus on her. My heart was racing too fast, and all I could think about was how I hadn't told my parents I loved them, or said goodbye to my brothers and sister.
It's just a panic attack, Nola. You're not dying. Calm down.
But the panic attack didn't care about logic. It was all-consuming, tearing through me with no mercy.
"Nola! Look. Right at me, yeah? Come on." Miles' voice cut through the haze as he grabbed my chin gently but firmly, forcing me to meet his eyes. His gray eyes were wide with worry, and for some reason, that scared me more than anything.
He was worried. About me.
"You're fine, just breathe. Please. You're okay, Scott," he said, his tone softer now. He pushed the stray hairs that had fallen from my ponytail away from my face, his touch steady and calm.
I stared into his eyes, feeling something strange flicker in my chest. It wasn't just worry I saw in his gaze. It was something... familiar. Something that made me feel like I could trust him. Like he had been there all along, waiting for this moment.
And for the first time in what felt like hours, my breathing started to slow. My heart stopped pounding so violently in my chest.
"Miles," I managed to whisper, my voice hoarse and shaky.
He nodded, his fingers still brushing my hair out of my face. "Yeah, I'm right here. You okay now?"
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. But I nodded anyway, even though I wasn't sure if it was true.
"You sure?" he asked again, his voice still soft.
"Mhm," I mumbled, my throat dry and scratchy. Everything about me felt fragile, like I might shatter at any moment.
Coach Laurel stepped in beside Miles, her expression still full of concern. "Honey, take the rest of the day off," she said, her voice gentle but firm.
I shook my head immediately. "No, I can't," I croaked. "I need to—"
"Scott," Miles interrupted, giving me a look that told me not to argue. "That's a good idea