Chapter 11
Something More
The days of awkward exchanges and forced cooperation started to feel more like a distant memory. With each passing practice, Emery and Ryder began to carve out a rhythm, a tentative dance of understanding. What had once been a fierce rivalry was slowly shifting into something deeper, though neither of them was ready to admit it just yet.
As Emery practiced her routine one afternoon, her body moving in a fluid, controlled manner, she couldn't help but glance toward Ryder. He was at the other end of the rink, skating with raw power, weaving through drills with the kind of focus she rarely saw in anyone. His strong, fast movements were the antithesis of her precision, but there was something compelling about the way he carried himself. He was like a storm on the ice—untamed, relentless, but always moving forward.
"Nice form," she said, almost absentmindedly, as he passed by her during a break.
Ryder raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into that confident, yet surprisingly humble, smirk. "You're not so bad yourself," he said, but there was something in his voice that sounded different—less cocky, more genuine.
Emery's brows furrowed in curiosity. It wasn't the usual arrogance she'd come to expect from him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He skated toward her, slowing down as he came close enough to talk without raising his voice. "I've been watching you. The way you move—there's something... graceful about it. You make it look effortless."
She blinked, surprised by the compliment, and couldn't suppress the small smile that tugged at the corner of her lips. "Well, I've been training for a long time. But thanks... I guess."
Ryder nodded. "You've got determination. I can see it in the way you practice. You're always pushing yourself, even when it's hard." He paused for a moment, looking over at her with a softer gaze. "I get that."
Emery felt a strange warmth spread through her chest, an unfamiliar feeling. She wasn't sure what to say, but she simply nodded, appreciating his words. In that moment, the walls she had built between them started to crumble, piece by piece.
Later that week, they had a break between sessions, and instead of retreating to their usual corners of the rink, they found themselves sitting on the edge, both catching their breath. There was something oddly comfortable about the silence that hung between them.
Ryder leaned back on his hands, looking up at the ceiling. "You know, I always thought figure skating was just... I don't know, about spinning and jumping in the air. Never realized how much focus it takes to land those jumps." He chuckled, shaking his head. "It's insane how you make it look so easy."
Emery laughed lightly, not quite used to having this kind of conversation with him. "It's not easy, trust me. It's a lot of work. It's about control—every little movement has to be precise."
He turned toward her, his expression thoughtful. "Sounds like a lot of pressure. You ever get... exhausted from it?"
Emery met his gaze, surprised by the question. For a moment, she felt vulnerable, like Ryder could see right through her. "Yeah. All the time," she admitted. "Sometimes, I feel like if I slip up just once, I'll lose everything. But I can't stop. I can't quit." She paused, her voice quieter. "This is everything I've ever wanted."
Ryder nodded slowly, absorbing her words. "I get that," he said, voice quieter than usual. "When I play, it's not just about the game for me—it's about proving something. To myself. To my team. To everyone who thinks I can't do it."
She looked at him more closely now, seeing him in a different light. She'd always thought of Ryder as a cocky, arrogant jock, but there was more to him than that. Underneath the bravado, there was a depth—a layer of vulnerability he rarely allowed people to see.
"You have a lot of pressure on your shoulders, don't you?" Emery said softly, her tone not mocking, but understanding. She wasn't sure where the words came from, but it felt important to acknowledge the weight he carried.
Ryder's gaze softened. "Yeah, it's like, the second I think I've earned my place, someone's waiting to knock me down. I can't let my guard down, not even for a second." He hesitated before adding, "But I think... I think it's the same for you, isn't it?"
Emery didn't immediately respond. Instead, she looked out over the ice, feeling the truth of his words settle into her chest. It's the same for me. The pressure to be perfect, to never show weakness, to always be the best. It was exhausting, but she'd never known how to do anything else.
"I guess we're more alike than I thought," she finally said, a small smile forming on her lips.
Ryder smirked in return, but there was no arrogance in it—just a flicker of something that felt oddly... real. "Guess so."
The more they shared their struggles, the more their bond deepened. They began to understand each other in ways they hadn't before. Ryder started seeing the way Emery pushed herself to the limit, always striving for perfection. He understood now that her drive wasn't just about winning—it was about proving to herself that she could overcome her fears and doubts.
Emery, in turn, began to recognize the pressure Ryder faced as a captain, the weight of expectations placed on him both by his team and by the people who watched him from the sidelines. His overconfidence wasn't arrogance; it was a defense mechanism, a way to protect himself from the vulnerability he didn't want to show.
One evening, after a grueling session where they had both given their all, they sat in the locker room, exhausted but content. There was no need for words at first—they simply shared the silence, the kind that only comes after a day of hard work.
"Ryder?" Emery said, her voice a little uncertain.
"Yeah?" he responded, his tone open and calm.
"I'm... I'm glad you're not as annoying as I thought."
Ryder chuckled, a low, genuine laugh that made her smile. "I'm glad you don't think I'm a complete disaster on the ice anymore."
They shared a brief laugh, and for the first time, Emery felt like they were more than just teammates forced to work together. They were two people who, despite their differences, understood each other in a way no one else could.
"You know, I didn't expect you to be this... decent," she teased, feeling a lightness in her chest.
"Well," he said, his voice more serious now, "I didn't expect you to be so... tough. But I guess we both have our reasons for pushing ourselves."
And for the first time, Emery realized that their connection wasn't just built on rivalry anymore. There was respect there. Maybe even something more.
They still had their work cut out for them. They were still two athletes with different dreams and different goals. But for now, they were skating on the same ice, learning from each other, and moving forward together—whether they were ready to admit it or not.