Milli

  By the time the nurse steps in with Jax’s paperwork, it’s morning. The soft grey light spilling through the blinds makes everything look washed-out–even the color of my costume, still faintly dusted with stage powder and glitter.

  Jax looks better now. The color’s back in his face, though he’s clearly fighting the stiffness that comes with being still too long. His leg’s in a cast, propped on a pillow, and there’s that familiar spark of composure returning to him–the same quiet confidence that carried him through every performance–whether on the ice or not–even the one that ended with a broken ankle.

  “You’re cleared to go home,” the nurse says, checking his chart. “Rest, ice, elevation. The doctor will send you instructions.”

  Jax nods, polite and calm as ever, though I catch the tiny flicker of frustration in his eyes. He’s already thinking about how this will affect his training–I can tell.

  When the nurse leaves, I gather my bag from the chair and stretch, feeling the weight of a night spent in a hospital room settle into my shoulders.

  He glances over at me. “You should’ve gone home hours ago.”

  “I wasn’t leaving until you were cleared,” I say, managing a small smile. “Besides, someone had to make sure you didn’t try to walk out on your own.”

  That earns a laugh–quiet, but real. “You think I’d do that?”

  “I know you’d do that.”

  He grins, and for a moment, it feels like everything’s okay again–like we’re back in rehearsal, teasing each other between lines. But then his expression softens.

  “Thanks, Milli. Really.”

  I nod, unsure what to say. The words anytime feel too small, too easy. So I just smile instead.

  A few minutes later, I get a text from my mom: We’re outside.

  I glance back at Jax. The paramedics just arrived with a wheelchair to take him down. I linger by the doorway, one hand on the frame.

  “I’ll check in later, okay?”

  He looks up at me, blue eyes steady. “You don’t have to.”

  “I know.” I hesitate, then add, “But I will.”

  His smile is faint but warm–the kind that stays with you even after you look away.

  Outside, the early morning air hits cold against my skin. My parents’ car waits by the curb, the engine idling softly. I climb into the back seat, the world suddenly too quiet after the chaos of the night.

  As the hospital fades in the rearview mirror, I press my forehead to the window and watch the city drift by–empty streets, pale sunrise, snow beginning to fall again.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  I should feel tired, but instead there’s this strange mix of relief and something else I can’t quite name.

  April speaks up, “How’re you feeling, Milli?”

  “Peachy.” I reply, looking at her skeptical eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  “I have a suspicion that you like him.” She responds, dead serious.

  “What? Like who?” I say carefully, examining her expression.

  “Jax. The guy you stayed with at the hospital for a whole night, just to make sure he’s alright.”

  “Perchance.” I say curtly, ending the discussion.

  The sound of blades cutting across the ice is like music–sharp, clean, and alive. Alice is already spinning loose circles near the center of the rink, while Avery keeps trying to race backward just to show off. Personally, I am gliding backwards circles with my hands behind my head, my personal favorite when skating.

  The late afternoon sun is soft and golden, hanging low over the park trees. Kids are laughing, couples skating hand-in-hand, music echoing faintly from the speakers overhead. The air smells like cold metal and caramel popcorn from the nearby stand.

  “Okay confession,” Avery says, gliding up beside me, cheeks pink from the wind. “I almost fell because I was watching that guy in the red jacket. He’s way too good at this.”

  Alice snorts. “You say that about everyone who can skate without looking like Bambi.”

  “I have standards!” Avery protests, pretending to shove her, and they both laugh, slipping effortlessly into their usual banter.

  I smile, coasting slowly toward the edge of the rink. My legs are burning just enough to remind me I’ve been at it for a while.

  My eyes drift to a lone skater near the far end, gliding in practiced, perfect arcs. The posture, the precision–it reminds me of him.

  Jax.

  I shake the thought away, focusing on unlacing my skates before my friends notice I’ve gone quiet.

  After a while, we trade the cold for warmth–paper cups of cocoa in hand, steam curling into the chilly evening air. The park path is lined with fairy lights, and the first snowflakes of the evening begin to fall, catching in our hair and melting against our coats.

  Avery takes a sip and sighs dramatically. “This is happiness. Forget dating, forget grades–just cocoa and frost.”

  “Agreed,” Alice says. “Except maybe add sleep to that list. I’m still not recovered from last night’s play.”

  I glance down at my cup, fingers tightening around the heat. “Yeah,” I say softly. “Me neither.”

  They exchange a quick look. Alice nudges my arm. “He’s gonna be okay, you know.”

  “I know.” I smile faintly. “I just keep replaying it in my head. One second he was fine, and the next–”

  Avery cuts in gently, “He finished the scene, Milli. That’s kind of legendary.”

  “Yeah,” I say, a small laugh escaping me. “That’s Jax. Can’t even break character with a broken ankle.” He’s had a lot of training in being composed, since he’s a famous ice skater, he has to perform, and has gotten a lot of previous injuries, yet still stayed in character just fine.

  The three of us fall quiet for a moment, walking through the softly falling snow, cocoa warming our hands. The rink lights glow behind us, casting long, soft shadows on the frozen ground.

  “Hey,” Alice says suddenly, her tone lightly. “When he’s healed, we’re dragging him back here. We’ll make him teach us how to skate properly.”

  You mean teach you how to skate properly.

  Avery grins. “You just want an excuse to see him again.”

  Alice rolls her eyes. “Please, Milli’s the one who–”

  I cut her off, laughing. “Don’t even start.”

  Our laughter echoes through the quiet park, mingling with the soft hiss of falling snow. For the first time in days, it feels easy to breathe–easy to just be.

  But still, somewhere between the laughter and the warmth of the cocoa, my thoughts wander back to Jax–wondering if he’s resting, if he’s okay, and if he knows how much his courage left a mark on all of us.