Dean stayed quiet.
“People were harder.” I looked down at the glass in my hands. “On the ice, I always knew what was expected.”
“And off it?”
I flashed him a humorless smile. “Nobody seemed especially interested.”
Something shifted in Dean’s expression then, softer and sadder at the same time.
“By eight, I was training seriously,” I told him. “By twelve, the federation identified me as a national prospect. That is when everything became… intentional.”
Dean leaned back on both hands now, listening closely.
“They taught me precision.” I stared at him. “How to hold still under pressure. How to follow structure. How to give over control when it produced results. “And I was very good at it.”
“I know.” He smiled. “Research, remember?” Then he swallowed. “But I didn’t know any of this.”
I looked down at the water in my hands. “There is not much else to know.”
“That’s bullshit.” The words came out immediately, without hesitation.
I jerked my head up.
Dean shook his head. “You’re talking like the only thing that mattered about you was what you could do.”
Another long sigh. “In Velkarya, thatiswhat matters.”
“That can’t be true.”
“But it is.”
Dean’s jaw tightened, and for a moment neither of us spoke.
Then he straightened with a sigh. “I started at six.”
I blinked. “That is late.”
He snorted. “Trust me, my coaches never stopped reminding me.”
I smiled before I could stop myself.
“I wasn’t some skating prodigy,” he said after a moment. “I was stubborn. My parents took me to a rink after I saw Nationals on TV and lost my mind about wanting to try it.”
“You begged?”
That grin again. “Oh, relentlessly.”
“That also… tracks.”
Dean pointed at me. “Hey, you don’t get to use my own phrases against me.”
“I am… improvising.”
He groaned. “You’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?”
I couldn’t resist smiling. “Yes.”
Warmth settled between us, easier now.
