behind the camera - fake dating sports romance (wlw)

Chapter Forty-Six

HARPER

I am sore in places I didn't know had nerves. My knees ache, my ass is bruised, my elbows are protesting, and my back is staging a slow rebellion. There's a damp chill seeping into my leggings from the last fall, and I think there's actual ice in my sock. I'm pretty sure I pulled something important trying to avoid a four-year-old's flying spin move that looked more like a pirouette and a murder attempt had a baby.

And still—I don't think I've ever been happier.

There's something wild about that. About how joy can slip in through cracked windows, about how warmth can find you even when the grief is still fresh, still sharp. About how this ache in my body doesn't feel like suffering—it feels like proof. That I was here. That I laughed. That I let myself fall, over and over, and every single time, someone reached out a hand and helped me up.

Millie did. Over and over again.

I sit now on one of the benches just off the ice, tying my skates like it's something I've done for years, even though I only learned the difference between inside and outside edges two hours ago and I still don't know how to stop unless I crash into something. Or someone. Preferably Millie. She's a very soft wall when she wants to be.

She's on the rink now with Nico and Fizzy, both of whom have declared themselves her personal trainers-slash-nemeses. She's letting them race her backwards—somehow, backwards—and still not win. Fizzy's yelling something about sabotage, and Nico is just laughing like it's the best day of his life. I think maybe it is.

Lia is curled up beside me on the bench, wearing my beanie now, which is too big on her and keeps slipping over her eyes. I keep tugging it back up for her, and she keeps giggling and letting it fall again. It's a game now. One of dozens we've played today. I lost every single one and I don't even care.

My body is bruised.
My heart is full.

I watch Millie out there—her cheeks flushed, her braid damp with melted snow, the scar on her chin catching the light when she throws her head back laughing. Her hands move when she talks, even when she's skating, and every time she glances over to check on me, something low in my chest sparks to life. Like a lighter flicked in the dark.

God, she's beautiful. But it's not just that. It's the way she is in the world. Loud and soft at the same time. Sharp when she needs to be and impossibly gentle when it matters most. The way she holds space for every single person in her orbit. The way she holds me.

Summer plops down beside me with a dramatic groan, pulling off her gloves and holding her hands over her cheeks. "Okay, no one told me Fizzy's legs were made of actual lightning."

"You didn't know that?" I say, grinning.

"Last time I raced her she was seven and I could still beat her with one skate off. Now I'm pretty sure she lapped me twice."

"She's fast," I say, and she nods solemnly like she's her daughter's official hype woman.

"She's a Bennett," Summer says with a wink, then ruffles Lia's hair before jogging back out onto the ice.

The whole rink is glittering now, soft with overhead lights and the fading orange of early evening sun leaking through the tall windows. Everything's glowing. Everything feels like magic.

I lean back against the wall, close my eyes for just a second, and breathe it in.

When my mom died, it felt like everything went quiet. Like a door slammed shut behind me and I was left in a room I didn't know how to leave. There were days I didn't recognize my own breath. Days I forgot what it felt like to laugh without guilt hanging from my tongue.