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Gen didn’t think she would ever be welcome back here.
In hindsight, it was stupid to think that her mom would never forgive her, that all Gen was to her was a replacement for a dream she couldn’t complete on her own, but here she is, in the same rink she spent most of her life in, sitting on the sidelines and not on the ice, and she’s happy.
Casey looks best in blue.
Even better when there’s gold around her neck.
If there was anyone in this world ever born to skate, it was Casey, not her.
But Gen doesn’t hate it.
There are things she can do to make herself useful, contracts to scan with a fox’s eye and accounts to monitor because even if Casey is smart enough to do it all on her own, it’s nice to know she doesn’t have to.
There are ugly parts of the skating world that Gen knows first hand, and she’s the one who’s experienced in putting up the appropriate walls between the skater and the ice picks in the shadows, and getting to stay in this world but in a way that lets her breathe is satisfying in more ways than she can explain.
“That’s enough, Carlyle,” she calls out, and Casey’s head whips around like a startled teenager caught on stolen ice, and immediately a warm smile stretches across her face before she skates towards her.
“I was thinking if I extended my toe by three millimeters after the initial jump, I could get an extra one point seven seconds into my rotation, which should result in a cleaner landing after my second triple.”
“Really,” Gen says, with a pointed tilt of her head. “I’ve been in meetings all day with your new sponsor, and this is how you decide to greet me?”
“Sorry, Gen, you know how I get when I–,” she says before her eyes widen in surprise. “My new sponsor?!”
Gen smiles, and Casey’s face lights up, all joy and excitement, and even though this is her fifth year formally on the ice, it’s still just like it was when they were in high school.
This hasn’t once gotten old for her.
Has never once become a burden or a regret.
Well, good, considering Gen threw all her chips into becoming her manager, and it would really suck if Casey decided she didn’t want to do this anymore.
What? Was she supposed to let her mother keep a close eye on her girlfriend for the rest of their lives? Absolutely not.
Boundaries.
They need boundaries.
Tina still lets Casey skate here though, of course, although her fee is significantly more reasonable now, according to Casey.
Gen isn’t sure how having dinner with her three times a week can be called reasonable, but it is nice that even though Casey is one of the most famous skaters in the world, they have somewhere private to train, one where the owner would absolutely kill someone for sneaking in without a warrant.
“So who was it,” Casey asks, her arms resting above the wall. “Please tell me it wasn’t Vitamin Water, my mother will kill me.”
Gen shakes her head. “It’s not Vitamin Water. I learned my lesson from the Powerade incident.”
“Oh god,” she grimaces. “I had almost forgotten about that…”
“I’m sure your mom will approve of this one,” she says, and Casey raises her eyebrows with interest. “It’s a company that recycles old but fine skates, fixes them up, and donates them to youth centers with rinks. They want you to be the spokesperson, because, well.”
“And it’s legit, right? It’s not a weird scam to sell shoes or pack sketchy landfills?”
“It absolutely, one hundred percent, is not a scam,” she says. “This program has been around for about ten years now for other sports, but you’ll be the first figure skater because the skates part is new. Listen, don’t worry about it, I checked everything out. You’re going to love it, your mom won’t have an aneurysm, you’ll get to do something good for the world, and your costume fees will be covered next season.”
Casey smiles. “What would I do without you?”
“Go a whole night without kicking someone in your sleep?”
“I’m sure I’ve done that before.”
“You haven’t actually,” she says. “How much longer do you plan to train tonight?”
The corner of Casey’s mouth twitches.
“Oh, I think I’m probably good here for the day,” she says. “Did you bring your skates?”
Gen sighs and raises the backpack resting like a ton of bricks at her feet. “Yes, I brought them.”
“Good,” she says and reaches over for a kiss, which Gen grants her, because by god she needed this too. Contract negotiations for nonprofits are almost as ruthless as her own mother with a hockey stick. “I’ll meet you on the ice.”
“Okay, I’m going to work on my jumps while you warm up.”
“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” she says.
Casey leaves, and Gen focuses on getting her skates on, a pair of boots she thought she was supposed to give up when she gave up.
But then this became a ritual for them.
They skate together, not as athletes, but as two people who know how to move on the ice as easily as breathing and who could skate around each other with their eyes closed without crashing into each other or the walls.
A part of Gen will always belong here.
The competition left her before she realized she didn’t care anymore, but without it, Gen gets to do something she never imagined possible.
She gets to love skating.
Casey loves skating.
She always has.
For one of them it was a privilege, and for the other, it was an obligation, and they traded places willingly, meeting again in the middle, not as rivals, but as…
Well, that’s obvious isn’t it?
“Hey, do you think we could sign up as a pair next year?”
Gen laughs as she glides towards her, moving into Casey’s arms for the first time in what feels like years. (It’s been fourteen hours, not that she’s counting).
“Oh, you can kiss that idea goodbye, Carlyle,” she says. “I would rather shave my head than compete again.”
“For fun then,” she says.
Gen raises an eyebrow. “For fun.”
“Yes,” she says. “Here.”
“Here?”
“Skate with me.”
She takes her hand and glides backwards, urging her to follow, and Gen does, letting herself be moved in ways she hasn’t moved in years.
No, she never moved this way before.
Because back when it was her turn on the ice, Gen was always completely and entirely alone.
It isn’t like that anymore.
She’ll never feel that way ever again, not here on the ice, nor anywhere else.
That’s what it means to have Casey.
That’s what it’s always meant.
“Dinner’s on you, by the way,” Gen says.
“Nope,” Casey says. “That would be Tina.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Right. It’s Wednesday.
How could she forget?
“Do you want to try a dip?”
“Don’t you have to write the equation first,” Gen teases.
“Oh, no, I already did.”
Gen’s eyes widen in shock, but why should she even be surprised? What else should she expect from her?
“Maybe we’ll save that for next time,” she says. “I’m good like this.”
“Oh, she says, all warm and soft. “Me too.”
And so they skate.
And when they do, Gen smiles.