When I’d had the chance to go to a competition without her because she couldn’t take the time away from my sisters to go to Asia or Europe, I’d let loose.

But I’d moved to LA to train with Mr. Webber when I was twenty-one. Yeah, I’d had some fun there, but I’d calmed down a lot compared to when I was a teenager.

In skating, reputations were hard to shake, and I was the party boy to some people no matter what. I’d been training in Toronto more than a month now, and I’d gone nowhere and hooked up with no one.

“I’ll be there!” I told Maggie.

“Do you want a lift? I’m sleeping at my girlfriend’s tonight, and she’s in the condo next to yours. I assume you won’t want to ride with Henry.”

Oh.

Obviously word had spread about what a jackass I’d been, because of course it had. There were zero secrets at a training rink. “Sure. You’re going? I didn’t think you skated.”

“I barely do, but I’m trying to learn. It helps me help you if I can understand the sport better. Now let’s do some burpees.”

Groaning, I did as I was told even though burpees were created by the devil.

Obviously Henry was going tomorrow since an edge class by Natalia Platova was probably his wet dream. Not that I was still thinking about what turned him on. I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking at all about Henry and how much he did or didn’t hate me.

Everyone came for the class even though it was meant for kids. This was Natalia Platova, so you showed up no matter how good you were.

The arena pulsed with skaters, parents, and coaches, the row of bleachers full. In his usual all black, Henry watched Natalia intently, carving out beautiful edges and following her instructions perfectly.

“Hey!” A sharp finger jabbed my hip, and I tore my gaze from Henry. A little girl grumbled, “Watch where you’re going.” Then she looked up and apparently realized who I was, her freckled face paling. “Oh my God. Theo Sullivan.”

I grinned. “Good morning. What’s your name? Sorry I was in your way.”

She forgave me. During the break, she produced a Sharpie, and I signed her skating club jacket. Her parents were thrilled, and I chatted with them and a bunch of the other parents who gathered. The elite skaters didn’t usually share the ice with the club kids, but it was fun to answer their questions.

It was on the second break that morning when I blinked at my phone, the letters in the text from my sister Veronica suddenly unreadable. I rubbed my eyes and looked at it again, blinking forcefully. But my vision wouldn’t clear, and the screen seemed too bright, the words obscured like there was some kind of filter—

The horrible sinking sensation hammered me. I closed my eyes, and there it was on the left in my field of vision—the aura warning of an impending migraine. It only happened every month or two, so I shouldn’t have complained, but it was the worst.