"I'm sorry, Maeve," my coach said. "But the final roster has been confirmed. There wasn't a mistake." I found out on the last day of the public announcement. My Olympic Training Grant, the one I'd nearly destroyed my body for, had been reassigned. To Lyla Voss. I found Silas in the rink parking lot, leaning against his Porsche, flicking ash off a cigarette like it was any other Tuesday. "Lyla's family is broke," he said, not even looking at me. "Without the grant, she'd have to quit skating and get a job." "You're talented enough to qualify on your own at Sectionals." I stared at him. Silent. Jaw locked. He frowned, pulled a black card from his wallet, and held it out. "Fine. I'll cover your training costs for the next four years. All of it. Consider it me buying your spot. Happy now?" I looked at the card in his hand. So that was it. The spot I'd bled for. The early mornings. The torn ligaments. The hours on ice until I couldn't feel my feet. All of it was just a price tag to him. A charity write-off. I didn't take the card. I turned and walked away. Outside, it started to rain. Silas's voice went cold behind me. "What the hell is your problem now? You bust your knuckles in that pro shop every day for cash. I'm handing you money and you're acting like you're above it?" My steps slowed. I turned my head. Looked at his face through the blur of rain. Fifteen years of loving him. Fifteen years of thinking he was mine. It all rotted through in that single moment. So I smiled. "Sure. Think whatever you want." ... I'd barely made it back to the pro shop when Bree called. "Maeve, did you see the roster? How the hell is Lyla on it? Did Silas do this?" I let out a bitter laugh. "I talked to him." "What did he say?" "He said he bought my spot." Silence on the other end. Then Bree's voice came back, teeth clenched. "He's a piece of shit." I said nothing. "What are you doing right now?" she asked. "Sharpening blades." "Stop sharpening blades! Go to the federation office and raise hell! That spot is yours! Do you not remember what you sacrificed for it?" I shook my head, kept working. "It won't matter." "How can it not matter? It's a federal program!" "If Silas's family can swap it once, they can swap it again." More silence. Finally Bree said, "I just saw Lyla's Instagram. Silas booked the most expensive restaurant in the city to celebrate for her." "Okay." "Maeve..." "I gotta go. Customer just walked in." I hung up. A guy came in with a dull pair of skates. I grabbed them and got to work.
The next morning, I went to the rink to file my paperwork for Sectionals. In the hallway, I ran into Silas and Lyla. Lyla was clinging to his arm. The second she saw me, she ducked behind him like a scared kitten. "Silas, I'm scared." He stepped in front of me, brow furrowed. "Maeve, don't intimidate her." I moved to walk around them. He grabbed my wrist. "What's your attitude? Lyla didn't do anything wrong. She didn't have a choice! Do you have to make a scene and embarrass everyone?" I yanked my hand free. "Move." My voice was sharp. People in the hallway turned to look. Lyla's tears spilled over. "Maeve, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. If you're still angry, you can hit me. I deserve it." She stepped toward me, arms open, like she was offering herself up. Silas yanked her back into his chest, glaring at me. "Look what you've done to her! Maeve, when did you become this cruel?" Whispers started around us. "That's the girl from the pro shop, right?" "I heard she was supposed to get the grant, but Lyla got it instead." "I mean, look at her face. Cold as ice. Who'd want to help her?" "Lyla's so sweet. If I were Silas, I'd pick her too." I ignored them all. Looked only at Silas. "I'll say it one more time. Move." He didn't. He shoved me instead. "You're apologizing to Lyla. Right now." I stumbled back two steps. Hit the wall. Pain shot through my spine. I looked up at him. He looked back. Not a trace of warmth in his eyes. We grew up together. He was twelve when his family sent him from Manhattan to this nowhere town. Got into a fight his first day. I was the one who grabbed a wrench and scared off those older kids. After that, he followed me everywhere. He hated the grease on my hands. But whenever someone mocked my hearing, my dead right ear, he'd throw fists until they were on the ground. He said: "Maeve, I've got you from now on." "You can't hear out of one ear? Fine. I'll be your other ear." "When we get out of here, we'll go to New York together." Now he was shoving me into a wall. For another girl. Lyla sobbed harder in his arms. "Silas, forget it. Let's just go. It's all my fault." He rubbed her back, voice going soft. "It's not your fault." He shot me one last look, pure warning, then walked away with his arm around her. I stood there for a while. Then straightened up and kept walking. On the way to the office, I passed the announcement board. Lyla's photo was pinned in the center. Below it, the grant justification read: *Exceptional talent. Financial hardship. Remarkable perseverance.* I almost laughed. I remembered what it was like, going back to the pro shop. My father, reeking of whiskey, hand already out. "Where's the money?" I ignored him. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head into the wall. "I'm talking to you! You deaf?" My right ear heard nothing. My left ear rang from the impact. "I don't have any." "Bullshit. That Kensington kid is loaded! You're always hanging around him. What's a little cash? You hiding it from me?" He slapped me across the face. Started digging through my pockets. I shoved him off. He kicked me in the stomach. Hard. "You ungrateful bitch!" I curled up on the floor. Felt my organs twist. He was still screaming. "Worthless! Just like your dead mother! Trash, both of you!" He reached for the tire iron. That's when Silas showed up. He kicked my father off me. Pulled me up. Checked my injuries. "Where'd he hit you?" I shook my head. He took off his jacket. Draped it over my shoulders. "Don't be scared. I'm here." That night, he didn't leave. Slept on the busted couch in the shop. The next day, he had my father hauled off by the cops. He said: "Maeve, I'll take care of you from now on." I believed him. I really believed he'd be the one person I could count on forever. Turns out, that kind of thing can just disappear.
At the last mock competition before Sectionals, I placed first overall. Silas scored dead last. He crumpled his score sheet into a ball and tossed it in the trash. "Doesn't matter. I'm not competing at Sectionals anyway." Lyla was right there, gazing up at him with worship in her eyes. "Silas, you're so amazing." He grinned, pinched her cheek. "Obviously. I'm going home to run the family business." I walked past them. Silas called out. "Maeve." I stopped. "Still pissed about the grant?" I didn't answer. "I know it sucked for you. But you saw Lyla's situation. He needed it more than you did." He walked up to me, voice softening. "Take the card. The PIN is your birthday. Whatever you need for training, just tell me." He actually believed money could fix everything. Could erase what he did to me. Could buy back what I lost. "I don't need it," I said flatly. "Here we go again." Irritation crept into his voice. "When are you going to drop this pathetic pride thing? You make, what, minimum wage at the shop? I'm offering you more than you'd earn in a lifetime." Lyla walked over, tugging at his sleeve. "Silas, don't say that to her. She's just... not used to it yet." She turned to me, pity dripping from her eyes. "Maeve, I know you resent me. But I was truly desperate. My stepmom, she's... she's not human." Her eyes went red again. I watched the performance. All year, I'd watched it. Over and over. She always played the victim in front of Silas. And I was always cast as the villain. "Silas promised he'd make it up to you," Lyla said, like she was the lady of the house making an announcement. "Whatever you want, just tell us." I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. I actually laughed. First time in days. Silas blinked. "What's funny?" "I'm laughing because you two deserve each other. A match made in hell." I said it, turned, and walked away. Silas shouted behind me. "Maeve! Get back here!" I didn't look back. That night, Bree sent me a photo. Silas and Lyla at a karaoke bar. He was singing into a mic. She was curled up against him, beaming. In the background, their friends held up a banner: *Congrats Lyla on the Grant! Silas + Lyla Forever!* Bree texted: *Don't look at this. She's not worth it.* I turned off my phone. Tossed it aside. Picked up my training journal. Started reviewing my jumps, one by one. Drowning in the work was the only way to stop thinking.
A week before Sectionals, the rink closed for the holiday break. Everyone else was out celebrating. Or cramming in last-minute practice at private facilities. I was still at the pro shop. One afternoon, Silas showed up. He pulled his Porsche right up to the front door, music blasting so loud the windows rattled. He got out, leaned against the door, and waved me over. "Maeve, come here." I didn't look up. He frowned, walked over. "I'm talking to you." He reached for my hand, saw the grease, and pulled back. "Go wash up. You're coming with me." "Where?" "Lyla wants to go to the coast. You're coming too." I straightened up. "I'm not going." "Throwing a tantrum again?" He clicked his tongue. "I came all the way here to get you. Don't be ungrateful." "I said no." "Why?" "I need to train." "Train?" He laughed like I'd told the funniest joke he'd ever heard. "You could sleepwalk through Sectionals and still medal." He paused, then added, "Come on. Think of it as a break. Lyla said she wants to make peace with you." "There's nothing to make peace over." Silas ran out of patience. "Maeve, I'm asking you one last time. Are you coming or not?" "No." He stared at me for a few seconds. Then he smiled. "Fine. Have it your way." He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and threw it at my feet. Bills scattered across the dirty floor. "That's your paycheck for the month. I already paid your boss. Take it and stay out of my sight." I looked at the money on the ground. Didn't move. "Not enough?" He pulled out another wad. "How about now?" Frank, the shop owner, came out from the back. He saw the scene and rushed over. "Mr. Kensington, what's going on here? Let's all calm down." Silas didn't even glance at him. He kept his eyes locked on me. "Pick it up." I still didn't move. Lyla got out of the car. She hurried to Silas's side, tugging his arm. "Silas, stop. You're scaring her." She crouched down, picking up the bills one by one. "Maeve, please don't be mad at Silas. He's just doing this for me." She held the money out to me, tears shining in her eyes. "Please come with us. I don't want to be the reason you two are fighting." I looked at her. Then at Silas. There was no guilt on Silas's face. Not even a flicker. He thought he was doing me a favor. He thought he had the right to decide everything for me. Including my dignity. I stepped around them both and walked into the back room. Silas's voice followed me, dripping with contempt. "See? That's her problem. Give her an inch and she spits in your face." Then the roar of the Porsche engine. Tires on gravel. Gone. Frank came in, sighing. "Kid, don't take it to heart. That's just how he is." He picked up the bills from the floor and pressed them into my hand. "Keep it. Your situation at home, you need the money." I held the cash. It still smelled like Lyla's perfume. I walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, and scrubbed my hands over and over. Until my skin turned raw and red. Then I stopped. That night, my father showed up again. He took the money. Smashed up some of the shop equipment. I called the cops. They took him away. Again. On his way out, he jabbed his finger in my face. "You ungrateful little bitch! Calling the cops on your own father! You'll rot in hell!" I watched the police car disappear down the road. My heart was perfectly still. So this is what it feels like. When everyone in your life turns their back on you.
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