Chapter 2 Jon's Request

Selena's POV

Getting the highest score didn't give me much relief.

Once the excitement faded, the pain in my knee came through even sharper.

I changed out of my performance outfit and pressed an ice pack against the injured knee.

The moment it touched my skin, I hissed through my teeth.

Whatever dignity I'd held onto during the audition fell apart completely in that empty locker room.

I looked down at my left knee. It had already swollen up noticeably.

Out on the ice, I'd managed to hold it together — the music, the lights, the adrenaline all helped.

But now everything was quiet, and there was nowhere to hide from the pain.

Pippa pushed the door open and found me repositioning the ice pack, sweat beading on my forehead from the pain.

"Roll up your pants."

Her voice was sharp, her expression serious.

I didn't move.

She walked over and pushed my training pants up above my knee herself, then drew a sharp breath.

My left knee was red and swollen on the outer side — it wasn't minor.

For an athlete, one careless mistake like this could end an entire career.

"When did this start?"

Pippa's voice dropped low, edged with anger.

"A while ago."

I felt guilty and couldn't bring myself to tell the truth.

"How long is a while?"

I said nothing.

Pippa pressed around my knee in a few spots, asking each time if it hurt.

I nodded yes every time. The last one I barely managed to squeeze out through clenched teeth.

She pulled her hand back, took off her glasses, and frowned at me. "Selena, tell me the truth. What have you been doing lately? This is chronic overuse damage from long-term fatigue, on top of repeated impact causing ongoing inflammation."

I stared at the anti-slip mat on the locker room floor. One corner of the rubber had peeled up. I'd never noticed it before.

"I've been working night shifts at a convenience store."

As I said it, Jon's face flashed through my mind.

The painful memories wrapped around me until I could barely breathe.

"Night shifts?"

"Yes. Four nights a week. Eleven at night to seven in the morning."

Pippa was quiet for a long time.

I waited for her to yell at me. To tell me I didn't care about my career. To call me the most foolish athlete she'd ever coached.

But she didn't.

She just let out a slow breath and asked, with a furrowed brow, "Selena, do you really need money that badly?"

I nodded. Then shook my head.

How was I supposed to explain that three months ago, Jon had mentioned he'd been eyeing a limited-edition watch? His eyes had lit up when he said it, like a little boy hoping for a reward.

I couldn't say no to that look.

So I picked up shifts at three different convenience stores and started living a double life — training during the day, working through the night.

Two months of it.

Sixty days.

The constant sleep deprivation made my legs feel like lead during practice. My jump height dropped nearly three inches below normal, and the impact on my knee when I landed was twice what it should've been.

I knew it was wrong. I just didn't know how to tell Jon I couldn't afford that watch.

In my mind, he was still that boy standing outside the rink waiting for me, holding a cup of hot cocoa, ears red from the cold.

I didn't want to let him down.

Pippa pulled a roll of elastic bandage from the cabinet and crouched down to wrap my knee.

"No more night shifts."

She kept working as she spoke. "Starting today, you come to me for forty minutes of rehab after every training session. Not a minute less."

"Coach Olsen, rehab costs money. I don't have it."

"I'll get you into a fully funded rehab program. It won't cost you anything."

I froze.

Fully funded? A rehab program? I'd never heard anyone mention that before.

Pippa seemed to read my confusion. She stood up and gave my shoulder a pat.

"I noticed a while ago. I was just waiting to see when you'd say something."

Another sigh. "You can't carry this alone."

Then her tone went firm. "You need to put every bit of your energy and time into training and recovery. Otherwise you're really going to have to walk away from figure skating. You have real talent. Don't waste it."

I didn't say anything.

She cut the bandage and clipped it in place, then stood up and gathered her things.

At the door, she paused. Didn't turn around. Said something that made my eyes sting.

"That Jon. He's not worth it."

Back at the apartment, I put away my skate bag and dug a cardboard box out of the closet.

Jon hadn't given me much. A scarf. A pair of gloves. A mug with a figure skating print on it. A birthday card covered in his handwriting.

I placed them in the box one by one.

Then I opened my banking app and closed the joint account Jon and I had shared. I'd been the one to open it, transferring a portion of my training stipend into it every month — money we were supposed to spend together someday.

Jon knew the password. He'd never put a single dollar in.

The balance was $320. I moved it to my own account, took a screenshot, and sent it to Jon.

"I closed the account. Your things are on their way to your apartment."

My finger hovered over the send button.

The tears came without asking.

But I bit down, and pressed send.

I didn't want to see anything he sent back.

Didn't want to watch him play the victim. Didn't want to hear him lay on the guilt. Didn't want to listen to that soft, wheedling voice saying "Selena, I'm sorry."

He always did this. He'd mess up, apologize, then do it again — like a kid who never grew up.

I used to think it was endearing. Now it just made me tired.

Sure enough, the messages came.

One after another.

Jon: [Where are you? Can we talk?]

Jon: [Are you leaving me?]

……

I forced myself to flip the phone face-down on the table and stop looking.

The next afternoon, Jon showed up at the rink.

I was coming out of the rehab room, my left knee wrapped in the fresh bandage I'd put on that morning.

He was standing at the end of the hallway in a black jacket, hair neatly done.

When he saw me, his eyes went red almost immediately.

"Selena."

He walked toward me, voice rough. "Can we talk?"

I turned my head away, pushing down my irritation. "About what?"

"About us."

Jon reached for my wrist. I stepped back. His hand caught nothing, hung in the air for a moment, then dropped. His expression shifted — from hurt to something careful and pleading.

"Selena, I know I was wrong."

He looked down. "That night I'd had too much to drink, I'd just lost a game, and my friends were egging me on. I just lost control for a second."

Sometimes I really didn't understand him.

I couldn't wrap my head around how someone could kiss another woman and then show up asking to get back together.

How could he keep taking advantage of my feelings like that?

I really had been so naive.

Looking at the person I used to love, I felt nothing but the certainty that whatever this had been was unrecognizable now. There was nothing left worth holding onto.

"Jon, there's nothing to talk about."

I cut him off. My voice was quiet, but cold.

"I saw exactly how tightly you held Eleanor when you kissed her. I saw the whole thing."

Jon's eyes went redder.

"Eleanor made the first move. I was drunk. It was just a game I lost."

His voice shook. "Selena, we've been together for three years. Since high school. Are you really going to throw all of that away over one mistake?"

I stood there and didn't answer right away.

The hot cocoa at the rink entrance in high school. The lopsided cream letters on a birthday cake. The way he'd stood under my apartment building late at night, waving his phone flashlight up at my window. It all moved through my mind like a film reel.

I'll admit — for just a moment, I wavered.

But only a moment.

The good times were real. So was the hurt.

"Jon, I'm not giving you an answer right now."

I pulled my hand back from his.

"If you really mean it, show me. Whether we can go back to what we were — I need time to figure that out."

He grabbed onto that like it was a lifeline, nodding quickly.

"Okay. I'll show you."

I didn't respond. I just turned and walked away.

I didn't know then that his idea of showing me would be destroying my training data with his own hands.