Page 74 of Uncoachable

We practice stopping and falling. I exaggerate my movements, wobbling on purpose so the kids don’t feel stupid when they lose their balance. A little boy asks me if I ever get scared when I’m out on the ice.

“Yes,” I tell him honestly, kneeling down. “All the time.”

His eyes widen behind his cage. “Really?”

“Being brave doesn’t mean you aren’t scared,” I add, and I can feel Callahan listening from the sidelines. “It just means you do it anyway, even when your legs are shaking.”

The words feel heavier than I expected them to be. They are too close to the choices I’ve made in my own life, and the ones I keep trying to avoid.

Then, the heavy double doors at the end of the rink creak open. I feel the shift in the room before I even see him.

Dad.

He stands just inside the rink, his coat immaculate and his posture perfect. He is surveying the scene like he is reading data off a screen, his eyes scanning the chaos with a cold, detached efficiency.

He is watching me.

My smile fades and is replaced by something neutral and controlled.

I remember exactly why I am here.

This—the kids, the laughter, the softness—isn’t the path I chose for myself. And even if I wanted it, I wouldn’t take it. I have worked too hard and sacrificed too much to let it go.

I would never disappoint my father that way.

Jenna notices the change in me immediately. Her playful expression vanishes.

I straighten my spine, my movements becoming stiff and professional once again.

“Okay, everyone,” I say evenly, my voice devoid of the warmth from a moment ago. “Line up by the boards. Practice is over.”

The kids obey, sensing the shift in authority even if they don’t understand where it came from.

My father stands there, silhouetted against the bright lights of the lobby. He doesn’t need to say a single word. His presence is a vacuum, sucking the joy and the chaos out of the room until only the cold remains.

Then I glance at Callahan.

He has seen it all; he has watched the light go out of my eyes, and for a split second, I see a flash of pure, unadulterated anger in his expression.

It’s not directed at me.

It is directed at the man standing by the doors.

It’s the first time I have truly realized that Callahan Moore might be the only person in this entire building who isn’t afraid of William St. James.

William approaches me, his footsteps echoing on the rubber matting.

“Iveline,” he says softly.

“William,” I reply.

Jenna steps closer to me—she doesn’t touch me, she just stands there. I am grateful for her presence in a way I can’t put into words.

When the event finally ends, the parents thank us and the kids wave goodbye as they head for the exit. The usual chaos resumes, but I stay back. I shake hands and smile when it is expected of me, but I keep my distance from everyone.

But I don’t miss Callahan’s eyes on me.

He saw exactly how fast I turned back into the Ice Queen, and the look on his face tells me he isn’t going to let it stay that way.