Chapter Text
One year later
Claire skates through the damp London streets, wheels humming softly against the slick pavement as she heads toward the rink to see her girlfriend.
The air smells like rain and cold concrete, the city still glistening from the storm earlier that afternoon. Streetlights reflect off puddles scattered across the sidewalk, turning the road into ribbons of gold and silver as the evening traffic moves past.
Her pink cast feels heavy against her arm, awkward and bright against the dark hoodie she’s wearing. The doctors had been very clear—no skating bowls, no drops, no anything remotely reckless for a while.
Which, unfortunately, described most of Claire’s hobbies.
She knew better than to try dropping into the bowl after it had rained anyway. Wet concrete was basically an invitation to break something else, and she figured one broken bone at a time was probably enough.
Still, the cast makes her feel slow.
Restricted.
Like someone clipped the wings she usually uses to fly through the world.
Some people might say Claire ran away to London.
That she packed up her life and left the moment things got complicated.
That she couldn’t handle everything back home.
But that wasn’t what happened.
Not really.
After years of standing in the background—watching everyone else’s dreams take center ice, watching everyone else’s lives become the priority—Claire finally did something she had never done before.
She chose herself.
She chose the quiet apartment she found tucked above a bakery that smells like cinnamon every morning.
She chose the tiny London skatepark where no one knows her last name.
She chose the rink where her girlfriend trains, where the ice glows soft and white under the lights and no one expects Claire Rozanov-Hollander to be anything except the girl sitting in the stands.
And for the first time in a long time—
That feels like freedom.
Claire pushes harder, picking up speed as the familiar glass walls of the rink come into view at the end of the street.
Inside, she knows the ice will be cold and bright.
Music will echo through the arena.
Blades will carve sharp silver lines into the surface.
And somewhere out there—
her girlfriend will be flying.
Claire spent the last year not talking to her sister or her dads. The way she left the Winter Olympics had been explosive, messy, and painfully public. Cameras, reporters, shouting—too many emotions spilling out at once with nowhere for them to land. It had burned bridges she wasn’t ready to look back at yet.
So she didn’t.
Instead, Parker had taken her in without hesitation. No questions, no pressure, no expectation that Claire needed to explain everything before she was ready. Just a spare key, a quiet place on the couch the first few nights, and the kind of steady presence that made the chaos in Claire’s chest feel a little quieter.
Her new Jiu-Jitsu gym sits only a few blocks from her apartment, tucked between a grocery store and a narrow pub that spills laughter into the street late at night. It’s small, loud, and smells permanently like disinfectant and sweat—exactly the kind of place Claire feels at home.
But most nights she doesn’t end up back at her own place.
Most nights she ends up at Parker’s.
Which makes the walk back in the mornings much longer, her board rolling over the cracked London sidewalks while the city slowly wakes up around her.
But it’s worth it.
Because when Claire wakes up there, tangled in warm blankets with Parker’s arm draped lazily across her waist—
For a few quiet hours before the world starts again—
Everything feels steady.
Claire arrives at the rink just as the late practice session is winding down. The glass doors whoosh open and the familiar chill of the arena wraps around her, cold air smelling faintly of ice shavings and sharpened blades. Music plays softly over the speakers while a small group of young skaters circle the rink.
“Skate to the boards and back and then we are done for the day!” Parker calls out, clapping her hands once as the kids push themselves into one last lap.
Claire leans casually against the boards, her skateboard tucked under one foot, pink cast bright against the dark railing. She watches Parker glide effortlessly across the ice, demonstrating the final drill with the easy confidence of someone who belongs there.
Parker looks up mid-glide and spots her.
Her whole face lights up.
She smiles immediately and skates toward the boards, slowing in a graceful curve before stopping right in front of Claire.
“Hey, baby,” Claire says, her voice warm.
“Hey,” Parker replies, breath still a little foggy in the cold air. Her eyes flick briefly to the cast before returning to Claire’s face. “Your sister texted me again.”
Claire’s shoulders tense slightly.
“You need to text her back,” Parker adds gently.
Claire looks away toward the ice where the last few kids are finishing their laps, blades scratching softly across the surface.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says quietly.
Parker studies her for a moment but doesn’t push. She rarely does. Instead, she rests her forearms on the boards, still balanced easily on her blades.
“Are you coming over to mine tonight?” Parker asks.
Claire doesn’t hesitate this time.
“Yes, please. I can’t go to Jiu-Jitsu until I get this off.” She lifts her arm slightly, the bright pink cast impossible to miss.
Parker laughs softly, shaking her head. “You’re going to lose your mind if you can’t roll for another few weeks.”
“Already am,” Claire mutters.
Parker taps her fingers thoughtfully against the boards, then looks up again.
“Why don’t you just move in with me?” she says casually. “You spend more time at my place than yours anyway.”
Claire blinks.
“I just…”
The words stall in her throat.
She doesn’t actually have a good reason.
Parker’s apartment already feels like home—the worn couch where they fall asleep watching movies, the kitchen where Parker insists on making breakfast even when Claire offers to help, the window that overlooks the street where they sit late at night talking about nothing and everything.
But something tight in Claire’s chest still holds her back.
She doesn’t want to be a burden.
Even though Parker has never once made her feel like one.
Even though Parker is the one offering.
Claire rubs the back of her neck awkwardly with her good hand, glancing down at the ice again.
“I just don’t want to… take over your space,” she says finally, quieter now. “You’ve already done a lot for me.”
Parker studies her for a moment, clearly understanding more than Claire actually says.
“We’ll talk about it later when little ears aren’t around,” Parker says with a small smile.
Then she leans over the boards and presses a quick kiss to Claire’s lips, the cold from the rink clinging to her skin.
Claire smiles despite herself.
Behind Parker, a few of the younger skaters are still wobbling toward the boards, untied laces trailing and cheeks pink from the cold.
Claire pulls her phone out of her pocket while Parker turns back to her students.
The screen lights up immediately.
More messages.
Anya.
Dad.
Papa.
Her jaw tightens slightly.
She ignores them.
But when her phone suddenly rings and the name Grandpa flashes across the screen, Claire answers without hesitation.
“Hey, Grandpa,” she says.
“Claire-bear!” David’s voice booms through the speaker, warm and full of life. “How’s London?”
Claire glances out across the rink where Parker is helping one of the kids adjust their stance.
“Wet,” she says dryly.
David laughs loudly. “That sounds about right.”
“How’s the broken arm?” he asks.
Claire lifts the cast again, like he can somehow see it through the phone.
“I’m so over it,” she says, laughing.
“I know,” David replies. “You’ve never been able to sit still.”
Claire grins, leaning her shoulder against the boards as she watches Parker glide effortlessly across the ice again.
“Still true,” she admits.
“And how’s the skating girlfriend?” David adds casually.
Claire’s smile softens as Parker spins cleanly in the center of the rink, the ice flashing under her blades.
“She’s good,” Claire says quietly.
“Good,” David says, sounding satisfied. “Someone’s gotta keep you out of trouble.”
“I stay out of trouble,” Claire says with a small laugh.
“Suuure,” David replies, dragging the word out in a way that makes her roll her eyes automatically. “You? The kid who broke her arm skateboarding in the rain?”
Claire snorts softly. “Okay, that one doesn’t count.”
David chuckles on the other end of the line. The sound is warm and familiar, the kind of laugh that always made Claire feel like she was still ten years old sitting on his porch swing.
“I miss you,” he says after a moment. “Are you going to be at Worlds?”
Claire’s smile fades slightly.
Her gaze drifts back out onto the ice. Parker is kneeling near the boards now, tying one of the little girl’s skates while the rest of the kids wobble around nearby, laughing and bumping into each other.
“I don’t think so…” Claire says quietly.
There’s a pause on the line.
“I just can’t face Dad and Papa,” she admits.
The words feel heavier once they’re said out loud.
The arena suddenly feels colder around her.
“Claire,” David says gently, though there’s a firmness beneath it, “you can’t keep running away.”
Claire lets out a quiet breath, watching Parker glide across the rink as she demonstrates a turn for the kids.
“I’m not running,” Claire mutters.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line.
“I can’t lie to Anya,” Claire continues, her voice tighter now. “I know the truth, and she doesn’t want to know. She wants everything to stay the way it was. I can’t pretend with her.”
Her fingers tighten slightly around the phone.
“I can’t lie to her.”
David sighs softly.
“You’re punishing your sister,” he says.
Claire’s head snaps up slightly, frustration flashing across her face.
“You think I’m happy about this?” she says, her voice rising before she catches herself and lowers it again. “I miss my sister. I miss her every single day.”
On the ice, Parker glances toward the boards briefly, noticing the tension in Claire’s posture.
“But I’m not going to lie to her,” Claire finishes quietly. “I can’t pretend everything is fine when it isn’t.”
“Claire,” David says softly.
Just her name.
The way he says it makes her chest tighten a little.
Claire swallows and stares out across the ice, watching Parker guide one of the younger skaters through a careful spin, steady hands hovering nearby in case the girl loses her balance.
“You can tell my dad and Papa that I’m alive and I’m fine,” Claire says after a moment. “They can stop transferring money to me. I’m okay.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the phone.
“You think that’s why they’re sending it?” David asks gently.
Claire doesn’t answer right away.
She already knows the truth.
It isn’t about the money.
It’s about the silence.
About the empty space between phone calls.
About the words that were said that night and the ones that never got taken back.
“Money won’t fix how Dad told me to leave,” Claire says quietly.
There’s a breath on the other end of the line.
“You two are so much alike,” David says.
Claire lets out a sharp, humorless laugh.
“Don’t you think I know?” she snaps. “He’s my fucking biological dad, and I never even wanted to know!”
The words come out harsher than she meant, the anger rising before she can push it back down.
A few of the kids near the boards glance over, and Claire turns slightly away from the rink, lowering her voice.
Her chest feels tight.
Too tight.
“I gotta go,” she mutters. “I’m not having this conversation.”
David is quiet for a moment.
“Claire—”
But she ends the call before he can finish.
The screen goes dark in her hand.
For a few seconds, Claire just stands there, staring at her reflection faintly mirrored in the rink glass while the sound of skates carving into ice echoes behind her.
Out on the ice, Parker finishes the lesson and sends the kids toward the locker rooms, her eyes flicking back to Claire with quiet concern.