#skate the program

chapter two

Emmy is spiralling, stuck between a rock and a hard place. a phone call from her parents makes nothing better so she turns to old friends as a source of comfort.

chapter three

FLASHBACK: when Shane got drafted by the NHL, Emmy made the decision to stay with what she knows, the stay in Ottawa, with her friends, at her school. Jena made the move possible, giving Emmy space to carve out a space for herself.

chapter four

Emmy avoids the rink like the plague, no matter how much it keeps calling her back. the ice is like a siren song, drawing her in with no escape. the worst thing: the second she relents, all the uncertainty is lost. her body remembers like she never left.

2014

chapter five

training gets serious, competitions approaching. Emmy gets to live her figure skating dream, her first solo program costume, all hers.

chapter six

Tyler is thriving in hockey, but he’s still Emmy’s biggest hype-man. her first competition alone on the ice reminds her that trying new things doesn't have to be as scary as they seem. and Emmy is reminded that her future is as bright as she can make it.

chapter seven

her competition season continues, with its ups and downs. she trains to fall, trains to get back again. then she gets a phone call, the phone call, that suddenly sent her hurtling to the ice. and this time, it's a lot harder to claw off of the slippery surface.

chapter eight

Jena calls in the reinforcements, David Hollander answers. he doesn't try to fix it all, just show Emmy that she can still live some sense of normalcy despite it all. she finally gets to show her father face-to-face just how far she's come.

2015

chapter nine

Emmy is back to the ice, skating in Tyler’s shadow. to cope, she seeks to have any semblance of control she can. she reaches her breaking point, sick of skating and pushed towards someone she never thought she’d talk to in that way

chapter ten

Emmy can only think to call one person. she’s offered solace in return and finds it far more comforting and recovering than she could’ve ever thought or imagined. Shane does what he can for his sister. Well, he's trying to.

chapter eleven

Shane means well. he tries to talk with his sixteen year old sister, to help her make sense of her feelings. but she almost seems more mature than him, returning to the ice to find and carve her new path.

chapter twelve

her time with Shane comes to an end, but she keeps her promise. she keeps her head up and comes back to ice hockey to watch the most successful night of her brother’s life.

chapter thirteen

a new season begins, and Emmy feels stronger than ever. Shane also keeps his promise and comes to watch his baby sister skate.

chapter fourteen

after her best skating result yet, Emmy’s nightmare suddenly becomes real and she has to figure out what her life holds outside of skating.

It was almost worse for Emmy, mainly because of her family’s own fame. Her elder brother by eight years, the infamous NHL superstar, Shane Hollander. It put an insurmountable amount of pressure on the young girl to succeed and prove that she deserved every win and prize she got in life and that it wasn’t being handed to her. Shane had always been the star of the family and Emmy was left trailing after him like a comet.

It would seem that the Hollanders have everything going for them on the ice.

Their music suddenly clicks off, the only sound left being the echoing breaths from the teenagers across the ice. The intercom crackled into life and their coach’s voice sounded exasperated as he basically begged, “That’s enough for today. Some of us want to go home. Good job kiddos.”

Emmy grinned at the praise, slowly turning to Tyler on the ice, a sly smile forming. “Can we do one more?” She asked, ever the perfectionist.

Emmy skated lazy figure of eights on the ice, shaking the tension from her muscles. In a break from the norm, Tyler skated straight to the edge of the rink, reaching for his water and a jacket. The rink smelled like cold air and sweat but always smelled like safety to her. She could see something was bothering him, something he’d been dragging around with him through all of practise and for a while before.

Naively, she’d thought maybe he just needed a skate to get his mind off it.

He reached for his ice guards, leaning over the boards. “I’m not really up for it Mimi, sorry. You can’t just do it over and over until everything’s perfect. You gotta give me a break at least, you would skate for hours if they let you.” He laughed under his breath after he saw Emmy’s lip pout as she skated around him.

He watched her spin for a while, letting her heart rate come down naturally before she got off the ice for the day. There was always this silly smile on her face when she was on the ice, so casually happy as though she had no other cares in the world. Tyler stood awkwardly, knowing what he was holding apart from her, knowing that it would wreck, that it’s about to wreck her.

When she finally makes her way, he’s got her guards ready for her, like he always did. But as she grew closer, there was the weird look in his eyes again. His smile didn’t meet his eyes, his hand trembling ever so slightly. It was easy to miss out on the ice, where adrenaline ran through the body and made everything calmer, more focused. But afterwards, she could see that something was definitely bothering him.

“Tyler?”

He hums once as a recognition of her words but says nothing.

“Everything alright with you?”

He exhaled slowly, leaning on the baseboards. For a second, she thought he was going to comment on her edgework or tell her that her swizzles were slightly off his. Then he meets her gaze and says, ever so casually, “I’m quitting skating. My mom thinks I’d be better in ice hockey and I kinda agree.” His eyes never left her face, watching and gauging her reaction. Skating was her life, he’d been her skating partner for the best part of five years, since they were kids, and now he was leaving her. “I’m sorry.”

Emmy found herself blinking back tears as her world revolved ten times faster around her. The control she thought she had on skating slipped out of her hands like water.

“What?”

“I’m not skating ice dance anymore.” He mutters the words so quickly and quietly that she almost doesn’t hear them.

The rink felt colder all of a sudden, her energy depleted from hours of training and her mind running at a million miles an hour. She gripped the boards, letting them take her weight as she stared past Tyler instead of at him.

It took her a moment to gather her thoughts before she spoke again. “No. We just beat the Canadian favourites. Coach says we could graduate to seniors as world number one if we keep working. One day we could be good enough to go to the Olympics, we’ve got momentum going.”

Tyler refused to meet her gaze, messing with the zips and tags on his bag instead of facing the consequences. Emmy noticed it all, unable to look away, unable to move on, stuck.

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you been thinking about this?” She has to lick her lips to keep talking, to cover the dryness her mouth suddenly provided.

Tyler hesitated before he answered. That was an answer in and of itself. “A while.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice came out wounded, then turned angry. “Are you quitting just because your Mom said to?”

“No!” He protested. “This isn’t because of my Mom! I just- I can’t wake up at thirty and wonder what-if, you know? Besides, I was always gonna leave for college in a couple years. You can find another partner.” He wrung his hands nervously. “Skating was always yours, maybe ours, but it wasn’t mine. I need to find what’s mine.”

The words hurt in a way she wasn’t expecting them to. She always knew she was destined to skate, finding the love in the curves and blades of ice crystals and the biting cold of winter practises. Skating had never felt like only hers, always something they shared, something they were building together.

“I can’t do pairs without you.”

He smiled, correcting her softly. “You can do anything without me.”

“That’s not true.” Emmy shook her head immediately. “I literally can’t skate pairs alone.”

He leaned across the boards to nudge her shoulder slightly. “You’re way better than you think and you’re way better than me. You’re fourteen Mimi, you can do anything you want, anywhere you want.”

“Don’t call me that now.” She protested the nickname he’d given her a few years into their training together, something no one else called her after she’d made fun of his name and called him Titi. Her throat tightened. “I don’t want another ice dance partner.”

She stared back at the ice, seeing her own skate marks staring back at her, carved like a path she was meant to follow. One set of skate marks, one path on her own.

“You’re really leaving?”

“You can still call me! I’m not dying.” Tyler tried his best to comfort her. “I don’t even leave Ottawa until college, that’s three years.”

The silence stretched, thick and unfamiliar, something changed between them. Finally, she placed her guards on the edge of the boards and pushed back into the rink. “One more run?” She called over her shoulder, voice more steady than she feels.

“For old time’s sake?”

“For practise.” She corrected with a grin.

He laughed, pulling off his own guards and taking off onto the ice, and it almost sounded normal. She took her starting position, waiting for Tyler to skate behind her. There was no music, no timing telling them when to be where but she could hear it in her mind so easily, every step memorised, every position learned. She pushed up, legs burning, lungs tight and skating harder than she had all evening.

Maybe if she just skated perfectly, maybe things wouldn’t change. Tyler took her hand, spinning her tightly. Maybe if she landed every lift and every edge, it wouldn’t end and she wouldn’t have to get off the ice.

The pair moved in tandem, a perfect mirror of each other and utter perfection for the one night, the last night. Every step pushed through the growing hole in her heart, ignoring the aching pulse that expanded with every breath, taking root. There were tears pouring down her face as she skated alongside him, coming to the end of their routine, ending tucked into his arms, into her home.

She held it a moment longer than she needed to, knowing she would never end a program there again.

Tyler sighed deeply, taking a breath to fill his lungs all the way. “Goodbye Mimi. Anything you need, you just text or call okay?”

She nodded mutely. “Goodbye Titi. Good luck in ice hockey.”

He left the ice silently, leaving her crouched on the ice. The rink is closed to outsiders, her coach gone home, Tyler just left her. High above, one cranky old light flutters and flashes before turning off completely. It leaves Emmy crouched in a shadow in the middle of the ice.

All alone once again.

Jena Hollander picked up her niece from the ice skating rink late into the evening, the young girl swaddled in a hoodie two sizes too big with stained tear tracks down her cheeks. It’s Tyler’s hoodie that she’s wrapped in, not as fluffy as it had been when she’d first stolen it from him, wrapped around her like a safety blanket.

Her Aunt spotted the dried tears on her face as soon as she pulled alongside her, parking the car and jumping out. Emmy couldn’t stop the fresh tears from pouring as Jena bundled her into her arms. “What’s wrong sweet girl? Did you get hurt? Are you okay?”

Emmy shook her head slightly, burrowing further into Jena. “Tyler quit.”

Three words and Jena watched her niece’s world turn upside down, the same niece she took into her home when she was ten years old so she could keep skating at her own rink, stay in the school with all her friends and not have to uproot her life because of her brother.

“His Mom wants him to do ice hockey. He wants to do hockey and I don’t- I don’t know what to do. I can’t skate without him. I can’t-”

Jena gripped her tighter, shushing her, leading her into the car and gently trying to detach the teen’s limbs from hers. Emmy’s lip trembled as Jena rounded the car and got back in. “Oh baby. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

“I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Jena offered a comforting smile. “We can figure it out. You’re fourteen, we’ve got time.”

Emmy didn’t feel like she had time. She felt like the ground was slipping out from under her.

Emmy stared at her hands, her fingers still blushed red from the cold. The words sat heavy in her mind. She didn’t want time. She didn’t need time. She needed-

“He’s been there for you for so long. Maybe you need to find your balance without him on the ice.” Jena was pushing the subject. “You could try singles. You had jumps when you were little, you just never trained them before. You’ve got talent. You can make it work.”

The suggestion landed between them like a stone dropped in water. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much of skating had been Tyler’s hand at the small of her back, Tyler’s steady weight anchoring lifts, Tyler’s voice in her ear counting timing.

“I’d have to be alone out there…”

Jena sighed softly, watching the road slip by. “You wouldn’t be alone. I can find you a singles coach, maybe sign you up for a couple classes?”

But that wasn’t what she meant.

She meant the moment before music starts. The breath you take when the rink is silent. The way your heart pounds and there’s no one else to blame if something goes wrong. She had always had someone to split the fall with.

“Can we talk about this another day?” Emmy turned her gaze out of the window, at the traffic and the glowing streetlights instead of at Jena.

The drive home felt longer than usual. The house was dark when they arrived, but still warmed from the heating. Jena made hot chocolate even though Emmy didn’t ask for it. She cradled the mug in her hands gratefully regardless.

“Do you want to call your parents?”

Emmy hesitated. They’d find out eventually but she almost couldn’t stand the possible lecture and the way her mother would try to do damage control and plan out a new future for her. She always called when she had news, it was basically the only way they stayed in touch.

Ever since Shane got into the NHL, her parents seemed a bit too busy to come and see her, or come to her competitions, or raise her apparently. Aunt Jena had done a fine job of that regardless.

She nodded. Jena slid her phone across the table.

Her father answered on the third ring. “Hi Emmy! How are things with you? Give me one minute and I’ll find your mom and your brother and put you on speaker.”

There was a faint rustling as he wandered around the house to find Yuna and Shane, probably heading towards the living room. A soft click sounded as he placed the phone on a table and her mom shouted a hello to her down the line.

“Hey Mom. Hey Shane.”

Yuna was the first to ask, “Did you just get back from skating? You sound tired. Are you sleeping enough?”

“I sleep just fine Mom. And about skating I-”

“We saw your National Champ video!” David called out. “It was amazing, we’re gutted we couldn’t be there to cheer you on. How’s the boy you skate with? Tyler?”

“Tyler quit.” Emmy blurted out, wanting to get it over with. She pressed her lips together, putting Jena’s phone on speaker and placing it on the kitchen table.

Silence rang down the phone, from both sides, no one knowing what to say.

“He… quit?” Her mother asked. “You just won Junior National Champs and he’s quitting?”

Emmy sunk her head into her hands, answering deadpan. “His mom thinks he’s better at ice hockey.”

“That sucks,” her mother continued. “But these things happen in sports. You’re young Emmy, you’ll find another partner and you can go for Junior Championships again.”

“I don’t want another partner.”

There was another pause, this one thinner. Her father had stopped talking in the background.

David’s voice crackled through the line. “But you’re gonna keep skating right kiddo? You can’t quit, you love figure skating.”

Jena’s eyes flicked up at her from across the table.

“I don’t wanna quit.” Emmy pushed back. “I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can skate with another partner.”

“Have you thought about singles? It would mean less reliance on other people.”

“I don’t know,” Emmy said quietly.

“You’re young! You’ve got time!” Dad said calmly.

Emmy felt anything but calm. “Can people please stop saying that to me? What does it even mean I’ve got time?”

“Well,” her mother continued, distracted now. “We’ll talk more this weekend, okay? Your brother’s just in the middle of something. We’re very proud of you, darling. Remember that.”

The line clicked off. Emmy stared at the phone long after the call ended.

“And the parent of the year award goes to.” she whispered, “They didn’t even ask if I was okay.”

Jena placed a hand on her shoulder, moving a chair to sit opposite her, knees brushing knees. “Are you okay?”

Emmy could only shrug, biting back tears and tightening her jaw. “I don’t know.”

She didn’t say much else, she stayed sat at the table as Jena fussed around the house, making them a meal and pulling her onto the couch to watch TV and eat. The house in Ottawa fell still, ignoring the carnage outside and trying to pretend all is well. Emmy’s mind still felt like the aftermath of a storm, everything knocked over and in the wrong place.

“You should text your friends, see if they want to come over this weekend.” Jena suggested lightly from the armchair.

Emmy blinked. “Yeah.”

“Or call that girl you had over a bunch last year, Alex?”

“Aleksandrina.” Emmy corrected automatically. “Why?”

Jena shrugged, sipping her tea. “She always made you laugh. It’s a shame she had to move back to Europe. She was really good friend.”

Emmy reached to the table and flipped open her phone, staring at the blank screen.

Aleksandrina had gone back to Ukraine the year before, her exchange program finished. They’d been so close when she was in Canada and still messaged sometimes, mostly stupid things, pictures and gossip and complaints about their old teachers.

Aleksandrina had always been more than just a friend.

She hesitated before typing and then regretted the message as soon as she sent it.

Emmy: Tyler quit skating.

The response came just under an hour later, the time difference always made late replies inevitable.

Aleks: I will come back to Canada and fight him

Emmy let out a broken laugh, Jena watching her carefully. The sky outside had turned dark, the time far later than either of them would admit. Tonight wasn’t necessarily for sleeping. It was much better spent in front of a crappy show with a tub of ice cream balanced between them.

Emmy: I think Tyler would win

Aleks: I am Ukrainian. I don’t lose fights

Emmy: He just chose hockey. I’ll get over it.

Aleks: So what? You want to quit too?

Emmy curled further into the couch, tugging Tyler’s hoodie sleeves over her hands. The house was quiet now. Jena had gone upstairs, ice cream mainly finished and the remnants all melted anyway. The television flickered muted light across the living room walls.

She imagined Aleksandrina in her old bedroom across the ocean, probably wrapped in one of those thick knitted blankets her grandmother made, dirty blonde hair braided over her shoulder, staring at her phone with that sharp, intense focus Emmy loved.

Emmy: Everyone keeps asking me that. I don’t know

Aleks: Don’t quit skating because a man gave up. Skate better or do better without him. Make him regret

That made her laugh.

Emmy: Dramatic

Aleks: You are dramatic one

Another message came through.

Aleks: You would be good at jumps. You could soar like eagle, not fall like rock

Emmy: You’re supposed to making me feel better, not worse

Aleks: Sucks to suck

Aleks: And I am. Do you not feel better?

She stared at the message until her vision blurred out of focus.

Emmy: Thank you

Aleks: Do not thank me. You should skate alone. Everyone was only watching you anyway

Emmy: We’re you watching me?

Aleks: I always watch you. You shine

Emmy squeezed her eyes shut.

Emmy: You’re biased.

She took over a minute to answer and Emmy got the feeling she was using google translate on the new word.

Aleks: Yes. I like you more than others

Emmy: I miss you

She let her fingers type the words before she let her mind cast back to last year. It was almost something. They knew it wouldn’t last. Emmy’s pulse was suddenly everywhere. In her throat. In her fingertips. In her ears.

Aleks: If I can’t fight Tyler I will fight for you

Emmy: What do you mean?

Aleks: If you skate singles I will find a way to watch every video and I will tell you when your jumps look stupid.

Aleks: And when you get on podium I will say ‘I told you so’

Emmy typed carefully.

Emmy: Okay.

Aleks: Okay what?

Emmy: I will think about singles.

Aleks: Good

Aleks: One day you will be so good that you skate in Europe, maybe Ukraine or Russia or anywhere. And I will travel just to watch and cheer you on. And then tell you I told you so

Emmy: Passionate

Aleks: Just for you. x

She smiled at that, small but genuine. It reached her eyes this time.

“Are you coming back if we make it to the finals?” he added, like it was casual, like it didn’t matter either way.

It was an open invitation to watch his play hockey. One she hadn’t taken up yet despite the three games that occurred while she was staying with him. He’d even travelled away for two or three days but she’d been content to have them playing on the TV in his apartment.

His seats would be good, too. He could probably snag some box tickets for Emmy and Jena if they wanted to come. Their parents were coming to three of the games, but there were plenty more to pick from.

Emmy glanced away, nudging the toe of her trainer against the pavement. “In June, right?”

“Yeah.”

She hummed, thinking it over in that quiet, careful way she did now. “That’d be nice.” Non-committal. But not dismissive.

Shane nodded once, accepting it for what it was.

“How many games are you gonna let it get to?” she asked, a flicker of her old teasing tone slipping through.

He huffed a laugh. “Ideally? Five. Realistically? Six if they make it difficult. Mom and Dad will be there.”

She nodded again, like she was filing that information away for later.

Jena called her name from the driver’s seat, a gentle reminder that they had a long drive ahead.

Emmy reached for the door, then paused. “I’ll keep an eye out for the playoffs.” she said, glancing back at him. “I’ll text.”

Shane didn’t miss it, the shift, the maybe turning into something a little more solid. “Yeah,” he said easily. “No worries.”

She nodded once, then slipped into the car. As they pulled away, she glanced back once, lifting her hand in a small wave. Shane returned it, watching until the car disappeared around the corner. For the first time in a while, he wasn’t worried about her.

Not completely, anyway.

★ || May 2015

The playoffs moved fast. Too fast for Emmy to keep up with properly, but that didn’t stop her from trying. At first, it was just background noise, the TV on in the living room while she did homework, Jena half-watching while cooking dinner. Commentary voices blending into the rhythm of everyday life.

Then it became… intentional. She started keeping track.

Game days pencilled loosely into the margins of her school planner. Scores checked between classes. Highlights watched late at night when she couldn’t sleep anyway.

She told herself it was just because Shane asked. That she was just being a good sister. But it was more than that.

It gave her something to follow that wasn’t skating. Something that didn’t sit heavy in her chest or twist her stomach into knots. Hockey was loud, fast, messy in a way that didn’t demand perfection.

You could mess up and keep going. She liked that.

“Are you actually watching this?” Jena asked one evening, pausing in the doorway as Emmy sat cross-legged on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen.

Emmy shrugged, not looking away. “It’s kind of interesting.”

“They’re no Centaurs.” Jena, ever an Ottawa faithful smiled to herself and left Emmy to it.

Shane texted her sometimes after games.

shane: We won 4-2. Our defense played like shit in the second period though.

She’d reply more often than not.

emmy: you still won, that’s what matters

Their conversations stayed easy. Light. But consistent. And slowly, without really noticing it, Emmy started to feel… steadier.

She went back to the rink once. Just once. No music. No program. No pressure. No coaches, no one watching. She laced up her skates slowly, hands careful and deliberate, like she was relearning something fragile. And when she stepped onto the ice, it didn’t feel like before.

It wasn’t effortless. It wasn’t joyful. But it also wasn’t unbearable.

She pushed off gently, gliding along the boards, letting the familiar feeling settle back into her bones piece by piece.

No jumps. Not yet. Just skating.

And for the first time in months, she didn’t hate it.

★ || June 2015

The arena was deafening, buzzing with adrenaline and almost-celebrations. People spilled out of their seats, jerseys everywhere, voices overlapping, everyone talking at once about the same thing, waiting for the game to begin.

Emmy stuck close to Jena as they moved through the crowd, her fingers loosely hooked in the sleeve of her jacket so she wouldn’t lose her.

“Stay with me,” Jena murmured, glancing back to make sure she was still there.

“I am,” Emmy replied, a little breathless but smiling.

That was when Jena slowed.

Emmy almost walked straight into her.

“What-?” she started, before following Jena’s line of sight.

Her parents stood a few feet ahead. It wasn’t dramatic. No big moment. No music swelling in the background. Just… them. Her mom, her dad, both turned slightly away mid-conversation until something, instinct, maybe, made her dad look up.

David Hollander froze.

For a second, he didn’t move at all. His eyes landed on Emmy and stayed there, like he was trying to reconcile what he was seeing with what he expected.

Because this wasn’t the girl he’d seen a few months ago, the girl over the phone. This wasn’t the version of Emmy he’d built in his head over the last few months.

She was smiling. Not forced. Not polite. Real. She was practically glowing with excitement, wearing her brother’s jersey proudly and sticking by Jena’s side.

“Emmy?” he said, like he wasn’t entirely sure.

Emmy shifted her weight slightly, suddenly aware of herself again. “Hi.”

Awkward. Too formal. She hated how it sounded the second it left her mouth.

Her mom stepped in first, closing the distance quickly and pulling her into a hug. “Oh my god, sweetheart.”

Emmy stiffened for half a second, just out of habit, before relaxing into it. “Hi, Mom.”

David followed a second later, a little slower, like he didn’t want to overwhelm her. He rested a hand briefly on her shoulder before pulling her into a hug of his own.

“You look-” he started, then stopped himself. Good. He’d been about to say good. Instead, he settled on, “It’s really good to see you.”

Emmy pulled back, giving him a small smile. “You too.”

There was a beat of silence after that. Not uncomfortable exactly, but… unfamiliar.

Jena cleared her throat lightly, stepping forward. “You guys excited for the game? They could take the cup if they win this.”

Yuna turned to her immediately. “Jena, thank you for bringing her. We’ve been waiting sixteen years for a Stanley Cup win again. I’d love Shane to bring it home.”

“Of course,” Jena replied, easy but measured.

“We weren’t going to miss this.” Emmy continued her thought seamlessly.

David nodded in agreement, though his attention kept drifting back to Emmy. Taking her in. The way she stood a little straighter. The way her eyes weren’t dulled with exhaustion in the same way they had been when he last saw her.

“When did you get so interested in hockey?” he asked, almost cautiously.

Emmy shrugged, but there was a lightness to it. “Shane doesn’t talk about anything else. I stayed with him for nearly a fortnight, you can’t help but pick some things up.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Then David tilted his head slightly. “You staying the night? Or heading back with Jena?”

“Back to Shane’s apartment,” Emmy answered. “I told Shane he’s not allowed to come back until tomorrow if he wins. He’s got to enjoy it.”

That got a proper laugh out of him. “Yeah? You laying down the law now?”

“Someone has to,” she replied lightly.

And there it was again, that ease. That flicker of personality that had been missing for months. David glanced at Jena briefly, something unspoken passing between them. Gratitude. Relief.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, just for her.

Jena shook her head. “She did the hard part.”

Emmy pretended not to hear that, moving towards her mother and heading towards their seats.

“What happened with skating?” her mom asked, turning back to her.

“I’m in singles, taking a break right now from comps,” Emmy said, the same careful non-commitment as before, but softer now. “I start a new program during summer.”

“That’s nice honey.”

“Yeah.”

They watched the game in near-silence, no further discussion about the world outside this rink.

Shane lifted the cup and even Emmy felt it, the surge of something bright and overwhelming, pride blooming in her chest so suddenly it almost caught her off guard. The smile on his face was impossible not to mirror, the entire team collapsing into each other in celebration.

Out there in the middle of it all, laughing, shouting, pulling his teammates into him as they crowded around the cup like it was something sacred. Like it was everything they’d worked for.

For a second, she just… watched. Let it sink in, the way he fit into it so naturally, like this was always where he was meant to be. The cup was passed to him and he lifted it, arms steady despite everything, the metal catching the arena lights and throwing them back out into the crowd. His smile was blinding, wide and unguarded and so, so happy.

“I can do better.” She begged once more. “Let me do better.”

Marc could see the determination on her face, mingling with self depreciation and a fear of failing. He nodded once and let her try again.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect.” Marc called out after she attempted the same jump for the fourth time, she’d landed it each time but something in her made her keep going.

“Yes it does.”

It was Jena who finally stepped in. After one particularly rough practice, she’d spoken quietly with Marc at the boards before finding Emmy halfway through peeling off her layers.

“You should talk to someone.” Marc had told her very plainly.

Emmy frowned, reaching down to untie her skates. “Someone?”

“The family.” Jena clarified, trying to be gentle. “You were so happy when your Dad was here-”

“But he’s not here anymore.” She replied shortly. “He’s busy with Shane and work and life outside of his hormonal and bratty sixteen year old daughter.”

Jena’s jaw tightened, but her voice stayed even. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”

Emmy didn’t respond, focusing instead on yanking her skate free.

Marc exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. “Okay. So maybe not your parents.”

That got her attention, just slightly.

“What about your brother?” he continued. “He’s having a good season now, sure, but he’s had bad ones too. He’d get it.”

“Shane?” Emmy let out a short, disbelieving breath. “Shane doesn’t care about skating. He cares about hockey. That’s it. What’s there to even get? We were never even that close, he was basically my age when they left.”

Marc just raised an eyebrow. “You need to think about something other than skating and performance for a while. Maybe start caring about hockey, anything.”

Jena continued, “Maybe you could reunite. You’ve seen each other at Christmas’ and that’s it. I’m sure you two have a lot more in common than you think.”

“Right.” She sarcastically agreed. “Wonderboy Shane will know all the solutions to my problems. He’ll fix all my jumps and I’ll be unbeatable next season.”

Marc didn’t rise to it. He just watched her for a second, arms still crossed, expression unreadable. Jena, on the other hand, gave her a look. Not annoyed. Not disappointed. Just… waiting.

Emmy huffed, dragging her skate bag closer and shoving her things into it with more force than necessary. “Will you cancel harness training if I text him?”

It was his turn to hide a smile, nodding once. “Sure kiddo.”

Emmy narrowed her eyes slightly, like she didn’t quite trust how easy that had been, before digging her phone out of her bag.

“Once,” she said, more to herself than to them. “I’m texting him once.”

Jena softened instantly. “That’s all we’re asking.”

emmy (draft) : hi

She glanced at her phone, unlocking it and scrolling to Shane’s contact.

It was digitally dusty from how little the two siblings talked to each other.

She undid her typing, thinking of something less stupid to send him.

emmy: well done on your season so far.

She sends it before she can think about it even more. And then immediately regrets it.

She’s basically home, when her phone chimes with a reply.

shane: Emmy?

emmy: last time I checked…

shane: Since when did you watch hockey? Is everything alright?

The question sent a stab to her heart as she pocketed her phone as Jena unlocked the front door.

emmy: yeah

emmy: just bored ig

shane: You never text when you’re ‘just bored’

emmy: geez, didn’t realise I needed a reason.

The read receipt comes through but Shane doesn’t type a reply. Emmy huffed.

emmy: training and comps have been shit

Understatement of the century. He’d asked her politely about it at Christmas, but she’d been too shellshocked and unfocused over the holidays that she didn’t give him anything more than basic information. She thinks Jena showed them all some training videos at some point but she doesn’t remember.

shane: Yeah?

emmy: yeah.

emmy: the season just feels hopeless. I keep falling on stuff I used to do in my sleep

shane: That sucks.

emmy: thrilling advice

shane: What do you want me to say?

That was just it. She didn’t know what she wanted to hear or what she needed to hear. She didn’t really expect Shane to text her back this much. Part of her had hoped he’d changed numbers since Christmas so she could say she’d tried and get out of harness trading at the same time.

emmy: idk

shane: I had a couple games like that, couldn’t get my passes to connect. Coach had to sit me down and have a talk to get my head back in the game.

emmy: you?

emmy: not sure if I believe that, you’re literally perfect on the ice this season

shane: This season, yeah.

emmy: how did you do it? come back stronger?

shane: I kept playing.

His bubble disappears and Emmy hopes that’s not all the advice he’s got to offer.

emmy: that’s it? you just played again and again until you were good again?

shane: Pretty much. I got my cottage built that year, that probably helped, just to get away from it for a while.

shane: I was also really grumpy for a couple weeks. My coaches hated it.

Emmy grinned behind her phone. From the living room, Jena caught sight of her still glued to her phone and smiled herself, glad the pair seemed to be connecting.

emmy: i’ll warn marc

shane: You’re good, Emmy.

shane: You’ll get past it.

Her throat tightened without her expecting it, blinking hard to keep the screen in focus.

emmy: don’t get so sappy on me now

shane: I’m not being sappy

emmy: whatever

Something warm settled in her chest, her lungs fully inhaled for the first time in weeks.

emmy: I’ve got one more comp and then marc gave me a couple months off before I start competing my new program

emmy: thank you

shane: Anytime. Let me know how it goes?

“Eat something,” Jena said, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve got your competition tomorrow.”

Emmy forced a smile. “I had a really big lunch. I’m probably gonna grab a little snack later and then load up breakfast in the morning.”

She hadn’t eaten lunch. She’d had a banana and a skinny protein smoothie for breakfast that basically had no calories in it. She wasn’t going to eat a snack later, she’d go to bed nursing the hunger pains that dulled day by day and comforted her in the darkness.

Jena hesitated, then nodded. “Alright.”

She’d woken up early, itching to do something before her competition, to busy her mind and body and distract. Jena made her breakfast and she’d choked it down while talking about anything and everything, school, friends, summer plans.

The competition rink sent shivers down her spine, and not the good kind. She stood at the boards, arms folded tightly around her chest as she watched the other skaters finish their programs, clean, confident.

Her name is called, Marc offering a smile and small reassurance before she’s pushing off the edge and into the centre as her music begins.

The first few seconds were fine. Good, even. Her opening steps were clean, her edges sharp. Muscle memory carried her through the choreography, through the turns and transitions she’d drilled into her body a thousand times over.

Then the first jump came. She set up, took off, and fell. Hard.

The impact rattled through her bones, sharp and jarring. A ripple of sound moved through the crowd, quiet, but enough. She scrambled back to her feet almost immediately. Keep going.

She pushed into the next element too quickly. The timing was off. Another mistake. Not a full fall this time, but messy. Sloppy. Wrong. Her chest tightened.

The program kept going. But she didn’t feel like she was inside it anymore.

Every movement felt half a second too late, every jump rushed or overthought. Her spins lost speed, her landings lost control. By the time she reached the halfway mark, she already knew.

It was gone. Another fall on the second jump pass. This one worse. She hit the ice and for a split second she didn’t want to get up. The music kept playing. The lights felt too bright. Her lungs wouldn’t fill properly.

Emmy forced herself up, legs shaky beneath her, and stumbled through the rest of the program on instinct alone. When the music finally cut, she didn’t hold her ending pose for long. Didn’t wait for the applause. Didn’t look at the judges. She just pushed off and skated straight for the exit.

Backstage, she ripped her guards out of her bag with shaking hands, nearly dropping one as she forced it onto her blade.

“Emmy-”

“I know,” she snapped, not looking at Marc. “You don’t have to say it.”

“I wasn’t going to-”

“Well don’t,” she cut in, her voice sharper than intended. “I don’t even know why I bothered showing up. What was the point?”

Jena hovered a few steps back, unsure whether to step in or give space.

Emmy shoved her skates into her bag, fingers clumsy and uncoordinated.

“Hey.” Marc’s tone firmed slightly. “We don’t talk like that.”

“Why not?” she shot back, finally looking at him. “It’s true. I can’t land anything. I can’t get through a program without falling apart halfway through. I’m-” Her voice caught. She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. “I’m getting worse,” she finished quietly.

The words hung there.

Jena stepped closer then, gentle but present. “Emmy-”

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

The words came out flat. Final. All the anger and frustration previously woven into her tone now replaced with numb acceptance, maybe something adjacent to sadness.

Both of them stilled.

“I don’t want to skate,” she continued, quieter now. “It’s not fun. It’s not even… anything. It just-” she pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “It just feels awful all the time.”

No one spoke. Because there wasn’t a quick answer to that. Emmy slung her bag over her shoulder, not waiting for a response, already turning toward the exit.

The car ride home was silent. Jena tried, once or twice, to start a conversation. Emmy shut it down both times with one-word answers. By the time they got home, the exhaustion had settled deep into her bones. She dropped her bag by the door, muttered a quiet “night,” and headed straight upstairs.

Her room felt the same. Too still. Too quiet.

She can’t breathe. She can’t think. She can’t feel.

Her skates are staring at her from their dark corner, waiting for her to return, taunting her to pick them back up. They sit beside Tyler’s, taunting, reminding her of how much she’d failed.

Her chest felt tight again. Too tight. She dragged a hand down her face, breath catching slightly. She couldn’t do this again. Another competition. Another failure. Another cycle of trying and falling and trying and falling until there was nothing left.

She reached for her phone, wanting to stare at older videos and pictures of when it was all so easy. But a lone notification stopped her in her tracks. Shane’s message from earlier, a simple request that finally sent the tears springing into her vision and the pain to burrow even deeper.

Let me know how it goes?

Emmy stared at it, her vision blurring slightly. Her thumb hovered over the screen. She pressed the phone tighter to her ear, her breath hitching as everything she’d been holding in all day finally started to crack.

“Please pick up,” she whispered.

Marc was far nicer. “You let one mistake ruin the whole routine. It’s normal. We’ll try again.”

“Yeah, until I fuck it up next time too.”

Marc was having none of it. “Then when we get back we’ll start training you to make mistakes.”

“Huh?”

Marc clarified, “You gotta make mistakes and learn how to keep going after. You train everything, even failure.”

She trained harder, she practised more, she found the joy in the sweat and the hard work and the bruises that occasionally mottled her skin. She did better at competitions, she didn’t let an early fall ruin it all.

Marc would find more and more elaborate ways to scare her during practise, to throw her off her rhythm. Not limited to, shouting random words, stopping her music suddenly and playing something else, throwing stuffed animals at her and even getting on the ice to chase her around.

Her results were a mixed bag, but she’d gotten her first win at a regional Ontario competition. She’s even invited her parents to come and watch her, but they’d had one of Shane’s matches on the same day that they’d promised to go to. Jena recorded her performance for them anyway and sent it along.

Her dad had rang her that evening, congratulating her and promising to come and see her skate soon, he sounded genuinely upset that he couldn’t come and watch her but she understood. It was nice of him to call.

“She’s a good skater!” One of the other coaches mentioned to Marc after a competition. It had been a bit jarring, considering that Emmy was stood less than four feet away, well within hearing distance. “Could probably stand to lose a bit of weight. It would make her jumps higher, you know.”

She tried to block it out, hurriedly scrambling through her bag to find her headphones.

Marc scowled. “Her jumps are plenty high. No point jumping if you haven’t got the muscles to protect you when you land.”

They tittered as he finished. “Still... come on. Look at her compared to that little girl from Newfoundland way.”

The girl from Newfoundland who was two years younger and still a foot smaller than Emmy. The girl who fell on all her jumps today and was currently crying in her mother’s arms. The girl who looked about one fall away from snapping in half and had permanent dark circles under her eyes at the age of thirteen.

“The young kid’s gonna crash and burn, pushing too hard too fast. My Emmy’s gonna go all the way, just watch her.”

Marc’s words didn’t do everything to absolve Emmy from the nagging guilt in her gut, but it was enough that she could ignore it for now. She’d liked her body, it had carried her and managed through training sessions and dance and gym for all these years.

It had done her well, very well.

The phone rang late that night. Emmy barely noticed it at first. She was sprawled across her bed, half-reading something while on the verge of falling asleep. The screen lit up.

Kate Mercer, Tyler’s mom.

Emmy smiled slightly and answered.

“Hello?”

There was a pause. Then a voice she barely recognized.

“Can you hear me?”

Something in the tone made Emmy sit up. “Yeah Kate, everything okay?”

There was a strange ringing in her ears.

“Emmy? Emmeline?”

Mrs Mercer sounded fragile. Frightened. Emmy swallowed.

“Yes?”

The silence stretched. Then the words finally came.

Tyler was dead.

Killed by a drunk driver just outside his school. He was only sixteen years old, barely out in the world and living his life, barely lived yet. And now he was gone.

“I’m so sorry for your loss Kate. Thanks for letting me know. Can you send me the details for the funer-” Emmy feels her lips choke out a sob as her legs lose their ability to hold her weight. Emmy tried to keep it together as she hangs up the phone but can’t stop the torrent of emotions that grow with every second as she loses all sense of feeling in her body.

She must have screamed at some point, maybe before or after she started hysterically sobbing because Jena rushes into her room, terrified that she’s hurt herself.

Jena just sees Emmy folded in on herself, arms wrapped tightly around her stomach as the grief ripped through her. She has no idea what’s happened, no idea what Emmy’s been told.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

Emmy clutched her shirt desperately. Her words came out broken. “Tyler-” Her breath hitched violently. “Tyler’s dead. Tyl-”

Jena didn’t think. She pulled Emmy closer, further into her chest as though an embrace could take away the pain, to quench the ache Emmy wouldn’t be able to ignore from now on.

They stayed like that for hours. Hours until the tears dried up and Emmy cried until she couldn’t breathe anymore. Neither wanted to be alone, Emmy didn’t think she could stay standing if she was alone. Jena stayed wherever Emmy needed her.

The days after the phone call blurred together. Emmy slept very little.

When she did sleep, she dreamed about skating with Tyler again, the way they used to when they were kids, racing across empty ice at the end of practice while their coaches yelled at them to get off.

The the hollow feeling was always there when she woke, sitting like rot in her stomach. It made it harder to stomach a full meal, the thought made her sick. Jena noticed when Emmy started pushing food around her plate instead of actually eating it.

“Sweetheart,” she said gently one evening, leaning her elbows on the kitchen table. “You’ve barely touched anything.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t been hungry in three days.”

Emmy shrugged. Most days the hollow feeling in her stomach felt almost comforting. The hunger was something she could focus on. Something simple. Something she could control.

She tried training even more to get her mind off it, with Marc and whenever the rink was empty. Her hair was damp with sweat and her breathing was uneven. It was the only time she actually kept food down, when her body was begging for it to keep going.

She knew it was bad, she knew it was harmful. But it was the only way she could function at this point. She’d take what she could get.

The day of the funeral felt like it was laughing at them, the winter sun beaming from above, held at a small church near the Mercer home.

Emmy almost didn’t go, she’d been staring at her hung-up dress all morning and hated having to put it on. Something about going today made it all feel even more final. Jena insisted.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t,” she said softly. She promised not to leave Emmy’s side. Emmy wanted to hold her hand and never let go.

The church was packed, hockey teammates, classmates, family. Tyler’s parents sat in the front row looking ten years older than they had the last time Emmy saw them. Kate spotted Emmy when she arrived, offering a nod as she took her seat.

She didn’t trust her legs to carry her any closer.

The casket sat at the front of the room. Closed. The sight of it made her chest tighten painfully. Tyler wasn’t supposed to be inside a box. He was supposed to be on the ice. Laughing. Yelling at her for falling on jumps. Calling her Mimi.

The service blurred past her. Stories about Tyler as a kid. Someone mentioned how he used to wake up at five in the morning to drive to hockey practice. Another talked about how competitive he was. Someone else mentioned skating.

Emmy stopped breathing for a moment.

They talked about how Tyler used to skate with a girl when he was younger. A girl he pushed to be better. A girl that pushed him to be better. A girl he believed in.

Emmy stared down at her hands. She couldn’t stop the tears, a steady stream down her face as she held her composure steady. People paid their respects and then trickled out. Emmy stayed sitting in her pew, scared to stand, scared to stay, scared to move, scared to go.

The church was almost empty when she stood on shaky legs, taking it step by step towards the altar. Kate Mercer pulled her into a tight hug the moment she reached the front, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, holding it together better than Emmy was seeming to.

“Oh Emmy,” she whispered.

And that was it. The composure crumbled. Kate held her through all of it.

“He loved skating with you,” she said softly when Emmy finally pulled away.

His dad reached for a box that had been set under a pew. “He talked about you all the time.”

Emmy wiped her eyes. “I should’ve visited more, after we stopped.”

Kate shook her head immediately. “No.” She squeezed Emmy’s hands gently. “You were always important to him.”

His dad cleared his throat, holding out the box to her. “You had something special with him, anyone could see. It was only right that these belong to you now.” He had tears of his own falling but his hands stood firm, not shaking.

Emmy took the box carefully, not wanting to disturb whatever was inside. She lifted the lid, peeling back the tissue paper inside and almost losing her balance as she caught sight of the gift.

Tyler’s skates.

But not his hockey skates, no. His figure skating skates, the ones he’d worn with her, the ones she’d skated alongside, the ones that had held him while he lifted her into the air with such grace, the ones that had been as familiar as her own. His skates. Their skates. Her skates.

She couldn’t hide how choked up she was, “Thank you.”

They offered a hand to her shoulder, a kiss to her cheek before moving on, moving away, leaving Emmy standing at the front of the church cradling a pair of skates that would never see the ice again.

Emmy tried to act inconspicuous. “Tyler?”

Jena just laughed at her. “I know you’ve been texting him, you tell that boy everything. Besides, you forget that his mom and I go out for wine nights once or so a month. We talk.”

“So?” She rolled her eyes.

“He was your best friend for so long, stuff like that doesn’t just end. He’ll be there.”

Emmy folded the paper in half, the crease feeling final. Her room is a mess of clothes strewn on the floor and her school work in big piles now that it’s finally over. She flops onto her bed, pulling open the competition flyer again just to stare.

Her phone chimes from her pocket, a text from Jena. Ring him! Emmy sighs, running a hand down her face as she rings the number before she can think about it, holding the phone to her ear.

Tyler picks up on the second ring, the buzz of a hockey changing room in the background. She can practically hear him smiling through the phone as he greets her, “Hey Mimi. What’s up?”

Emmy lets her own smile grow at the sound of his voice. “I’ve signed up for my first competition.”

“What? That’s awesome!”

Her voice went quieter, softened, “Really?”

“Yeah!” He encouraged. “I told you you could do anything, especially without me.”

She would never admit he was right of course, but it was almost comforting to know that Tyler had believed in her from the start, before she’d starting believing in herself or even entertaining the possibility. It should sting, she thinks, but it just feels like a warm hug.

“It’s kinda cool.”

“Kinda cool?” Tyler gasped. “You’re jumping, that’s fucking badass.”

They talk for longer than she meant to, twenty or so minutes more slipping by easily. He asks about her jumps, she downplays the difficulty of them but he knows the sport, he knows how impressive she is. She asks about his hockey, he’s just been promoted to the seniors team at his club.

It’s comfortable.

“You better text me the date, time and place Mimi. You can’t get away with me not coming.”

She huffs a laugh. “Alright, calm down. I’ll text them to you.”

“Good.” There’s a shuffle at his end, someone calling his name. “I gotta go, I got practise pretty soon.”

She hopes he doesn’t feel the hesitation through the phone. He does, he notices everything. “Okay.”

“Good luck. We’ll call soon and I’ll see you at your comp. Bye Mimi.”

“Bye Titi. See you soon.”

The line clicks off and the phone drops onto her duvet, her head lighter than before.

The boutique smelled faintly of starch and perfume and something metallic from the racks of rhinestones catching light.

Emmy stood just inside the doorway, arms folded loosely across her middle.

“I don’t need anything dramatic,” she said quickly. “It’s just Novice.”

Jena made a soft noise that meant she was already ignoring that.

“It’s your first singles competition,” she replied. “You absolutely need something dramatic.”

A woman emerged from the back, older with sharp eyes and a tape measure draped around her neck like a necklace of authority. She watched Emmy twitch nervously, shifting from foot to foot and Jena’s abundant enthusiasm.

“Ladies, what are we looking for today?”

Emmy hesitated and Jena answered. “It’s her first singles competition. Definitely something a little dramatic, something that’s… her.”

The woman nodded once, a small smile seeming to light up her whole face as she looked Emmy up and down once more.

“You’re a very pretty girl. You don’t need clutter to distract from you. I’ll pull some things, feel free to choose some of your own.”

Emmy was pushed into the changing room with an armful of dresses and a whole lot of regret for accepting Jena’s offer to go shopping with her. The woman was obsessed with finding the best clothes for her and Emmy, always wanting her niece for feel and look her best.

She shimmies the first dress on, already knowing she hated it, too pink, too sweet. It was like a recreation of something she’d worn at six. The second was covered in sequins and glitter, Emmy was sure she inhaled some of it just trying it on, never mind skating with it. She stepped out of the dressing room in each one, already shaking her head at Jena before she could comment.

The third dress was what the shop owner had pulled for her, a deeper blue with ruching down to the skirt. The fabric was sheer at the sleeves, looping around a fingertip, high at the neck. There were still rhinestones, but meticulously placed as not to offend but blinding the audience and the judges, subtle and sparkling as she moved.

Emmy stepped out slowly, saying nothing as Jena took in the sight. Jena stayed silent, a tear collecting in her lashes as she blinked it away. The boutique lights caught the stones and reflected as she turned, not screaming in your face but answering a call.

“Do you like it?” Emmy asked quietly, catching sight of herself in the mirror. Suddenly it wasn’t present Emmy she was staring at, but the Emmy that practised secretly at ten pm staring back.

Jena swallowed heavily. “What matters is that you like it.”

“It’s not too much?”

The shop owner shook her head. “It looks perfect on you.”

Emmy lifted one arm experimentally. The sleeve stretched cleanly, no restriction. She turned. The skirt whispered around her thighs. She imagined the opening note of her music. The silence before it. The first glide. She didn’t feel like half of something. She didn’t feel like she was waiting to be lifted. She felt professional.

Jena blinked rapidly, “Oh sweet girl.”

Emmy rolled her eyes to hide her own sudden tightness. “Don’t.”

“I’m not crying.”

“You are absolutely crying.”

Jena watched her watching herself. “You look like you belong out there,” she said gently.

Emmy stepped closer to the mirror. The blue wasn’t loud. It wasn’t childish. It didn’t scream for attention. It shimmered when she moved, like it was waiting for motion. She imagined the rink. The boards. The faint smell of cold air and sharpened blades. The judges staring over clipboards. A crowd that didn’t know her yet.

“I love it.”

That night, she hung the garment bag carefully on the back of her wardrobe door instead of stuffing it inside. She left it there on purpose. Visible. Present. A quiet reminder.

Marc noticed the difference the next morning before she even stepped on the ice.

She warmed up sharper. Quieter. Focused.

Her edges were deeper. Her transitions cleaner.

He didn’t comment at first. He just watched.

“Music from the top,” he called.

She nodded, pushing off.

The opening glide felt different now that she’d seen the dress. Now that she knew she would wear it. Now that she had a date circled in ink. Six weeks. Something real.

She landed her flip. Clean. Marc grunted in approval. She went for the lutz. Slight under-rotation, but she held it.

“Again,” he said.

She didn’t argue. She reset. Again. This time she checked the landing tighter. Rode the edge longer. Marc’s arms folded over his chest. There it is. She wasn’t skating for fun anymore. She was skating toward something. Toward judges. Toward a program. Toward Tyler in the stands, whether she wanted to think about that or not.

When practice ended, she stayed back for one more run-through. Marc didn’t stop her. As she stepped off the ice, breath clouding around her face, he handed her a water bottle without looking at her.

“You nervous?” he asked.

She shrugged, wiping sweat from her temple. “A little.”

“Good.”

She frowned.

“If you weren’t nervous, I’d be worried.” He paused, then added gruffly, “You’re ready.”

The words hit harder than Jena’s had.

Because Marc didn’t say things he didn’t mean.

“You think so?” she asked before she could stop herself.

He gave her a long look.

“You landed your first double axel without me telling you how,” he said evenly. “You’ve built triples in harness in under a month.” He paused as she fake gagged at the sound of the harness. It drove her crazy to be held back as she jumped, only practising long enough to be rid of it. “Your skating skills are stronger than half the girls already competing.”

He stepped closer, voice lower.

“The only thing you’re missing is belief. That’s your job. Not mine.”

Emmy swallowed, sharply nodding once as she packed all her things into her bag. Marc believed in her, Jena believed in her, Alex believed in her, Tyler believed in her. How hard would it really be to believe in herself?

“Why are you talking about ice hockey again?” She’d asked it so quietly, almost already knowing the answer. Ice hockey was practically the number one topic in this house.

David rocked her slightly. “Shane’s been signed to the Montreal Metros next year. He’s going to go and play hockey with them.”

“Wow!” She’d heard enough about the Metros, her mother’s favourite team. She knew basically everything about them by heart at this point.

Yuna nodded, already somewhere else in her head. “We could all move up to Montreal to support him. Not forever. Just until he’s settled. We’ll keep the cottage. It’s quieter out there anyway.” The words were meant for David but Emmy heard them nonetheless.

Emmy twisted to look at her father’s face as he talked, as her mother kept talking and planning, orbiting around the future. They asked her nothing, and she didn’t interrupt to disagree.

She was only nine. She knew how to execute a perfect twizzle in exact tandem with Tyler. She knew the way the ice sounded at seven in the morning when the rink was empty and she was the first one on it. She knew that Ottawa felt like something solid under her feet.

Montreal sounded like noise. It sounded scary, like change that would hurt more than help.

“Em?” David said finally, as if remembering she existed in the room. “You’ll love it there. Big city. New rink.”

She tightened her fingers around her sweater. “What about Tyler?” she asked.

Yuna glanced across the room at her “You’ll make new friends.”

That wasn’t what she meant. “But-”

She crossed the kitchen in two quick steps and crouched in front of Emmy. “Sweetheart, this is a huge opportunity for your brother. You know that.”

Emmy did know that. She had known it for years. Ever since scouts started appearing at games. Ever since dinner conversations became about stats and contracts and what age was too young to move away from home.

She loved her brother. She did. She’d learned to skate by copying him at the boards. She’d cried the first time he scored a hat trick.

But she loved the rink in Ottawa too. She loved the exact crack in the ceiling tile above the far end. She loved the woman at the front desk who always let her borrow a hair tie when she forgot hers. She loved the way Tyler would count under his breath before lifts.

Montreal didn’t have those things.

“Why do I have to go?” she asked quietly.

The kitchen went still.

David blinked at her. “What?”

Yuna’s smile faltered for half a second. “Of course you’re coming. We’re a family.”

David ran a hand over his mouth. “It’s complicated to split up, Em.”

It wasn’t complicated. It was impossible. She could see that on their faces.

She looked at Shane who had been silent up until this point, watching the excitement from a distance and letting himself enjoy it. He looked back at her like he couldn’t understand why this was even a problem.

“You could come back to visit,” he offered. “Montreal’s not that far.”

Visit. The word lodged somewhere behind her ribs. That night she lay in bed staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling and thought about what disappearing might feel like. If she went, she would be Shane’s sister in a new city. She would be the little add-on. The extra hockey bag.

If she stayed, she would still be Emmy.

She didn’t know how to explain that. She only knew it was true.

It was Aunt Jena who made it possible, David’s sister who had called Ottawa her home all her life. Jena who understood how much the city meant to a young Emmy, because it had meant the same to her.

Her aunt arrived two days later with coffee for Yuna and takeout for everyone else, as if she’d already decided she was staying long enough to matter. Her mother had laid out the plan, complaining slightly at Emmy’s reluctance to accept the move and just make it easy for them.

“I’ve got the spare room,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not like I use it.”

David laughed nervously, widening his eyes at his sister’s subtle suggestion. “Jena.”

“I’m serious.” She looked at Emmy, not her brother. “She’s got school. She’s got skating. Ottawa isn’t going anywhere. Montreal isn’t either. What’s the harm?”

David hesitated. “That’s a lot to take on.”

Jena shrugged. “She’s not a burden.”

Emmy already spent every Thursday evening at Jena’s house. It was closer to the skating rink and her parents always picked Shane up from his games and training first. Jena had started walking to the rink and bringing Emmy back to hers. They’d do whatever Emmy wanted, watch TV, play games, read books, talk about friends.

Yuna turned to Emmy pointedly. “Do you really want to stay in Ottawa?”

Emmy nodded, already imagining it.

“You can stay with Aunt Jena but me and Dad won’t be able to come down to see you all the time. Sometimes we’ll be busy and you’ll have to be very grown up.”

“I want to stay in Ottawa. With Aunt Jena.” The words landed softly and hard at the same time. Emmy kept her eyes on the table.

She heard her father sigh heavily, chairs scraping as both her parents wandered out of the room, probably to the hallway to argue and discuss it out of earshot.

As the house was quieter, Jena slid next to her on the couch.

Emmy swallowed. “Will Mom be mad?”

“Of course not!” Jena said carefully. “They’re going to miss you a lot but she’s got tunnel vision right now. It’s not easy, there’s a lot going on.”

That was kinder than the truth.

Emmy picked at a thread on the cushion in her lap. “If I stay… will they forget me?”

Jena’s expression softened in a way that made something in Emmy’s chest ache. “No,” she said. “They love you so much. But it’s going to be tricky to be there for you and Shane, they might have to miss some things.”

Emmy nodded. They’d had already been missing things for years.

“But if you want to stay I promise I’ll be there for everything your mom and dad can’t make it to, okay?”

“Okay!”

It was settled not long after that, Emmy slowly transitioning to more and more nights a week at Jena’s house while the other Hollanders prepared for their move.

She watched them pack up the house, wave off Shane to his new apartment and then get ready for their own move to the city and then out to the cabin. Emmy packed up her own room, slowly moving box by box over to Jena’s house. It was strange to see her life in boxes when it wasn’t going to change that much.

Shane returned to help their parents drive the last couple things up to Montreal and watches Emmy sat on the front steps in her rink jacket. She looked even smaller than before.

Yuna and David had to keep wiping their eyes as they watched their daughter wait for Jena to pick her up and take her to her new home. “You’ll be good for Aunt Jena. And we’ll call every week and come down as often as we can okay?”

“Okay.”

They hug her tightly, scared to let go but knowing they have to. It’s for Shane’s future. It’s just for a little bit. The distance will hurt but Emmy will be alright. Shane wandered over to hug her goodbye too.

“Don’t get better than me,” he said into her hair.

She smiled against his shoulder. “I’m not promising that.”

When the car pulled away, Yuna cried. David waved long after the taillights disappeared.

Emmy felt something else. Space growing around her that was hers.

That afternoon, she carried her final overnight bag into Jena’s townhouse. It wasn’t far. She could still see the top of her old roof if she pressed her face into the highest window on the stairs and craned her neck.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Welcome home I guess.”

Emmy stepped inside. The spare room had clean sheets. A small desk by the window. A framed photo of Jena, Tyler and her at a skating recital two years ago. Her parents hadn’t been able to make it but they’d come in first place overall.

She let herself unpack all her small skating trophies, placing them gently on shelves and wiping off the smudges from their metal. Her skates sat by the door, her very first pair tucked onto a shelf with her books. Finally, she pulled her pile of posters from a box, smoothing out the edges and tacking them securely.

Her poster pride and joy was a signed poster of her ice dance idols, Virtue-Moir, that Shane and her mom had gifted her after meeting them at a sponsor event. It was the best gift she’d ever gotten and always had pride of place in whatever room she made her own.

That night, lying in a different bed, she listened to the unfamiliar hum of Jena’s fridge and the distant sound of traffic. She thought about Montreal. She thought about Tyler. She thought about the ice waiting for her in the morning.