by Alice Reeds
“It’s just a neighbor,” I said softly to Fiona, her body tense against mine, and I smiled kindly at her, though it was accompanied by a tinge of worry. “We’re safe.”
“I know,” she said, and yet it took a moment for her to relax again. Despite being away from everything and everyone, shielded from the press and what connected us to our lives before Briola, I knew it would take a while for our paranoia to fade, or maybe it never truly would.
“Hey, kids,” Leon said, coming to a halt in front of us a little while later. I’d been so caught up in my thoughts I hadn’t even noticed him approaching. I’d forgotten that he’d left the house earlier to go for a run, his method of choice to calm and clear his head. “Be safe, yeah?”
“Always,” I said and lightly rolled my eyes, a small smile still creeping onto my face. A moment later, Leon was gone again.
“How’s he doing?” Fiona asked.
“All things considered, pretty well.” I shrugged. “The injury is healing, his arm almost back to full functionality, and he was cleared of all charges after they managed to convince the judge and jury that he really wasn’t on Gail’s side. He goes to see a psychologist twice a month now, I think.”
“I thought I’d seen him leaving the office last week, but I wasn’t sure.”
When my mother first suggested I go to a psychologist to talk and work my way through my trauma, I wasn’t too sure about the idea, the whole concept reminding me far too much of Doc Bowie somehow. But, after a week of nightmares, barely any sleep at all, and what my psychologist later would explain as a form of separation anxiety, I’d given in. As had Fiona.
We reached the Palladium de Champéry after a fifteen-minute walk. The parking lot was half empty, most cars with license plates from different cantons—the member states Switzerland was made up of—or even countries, since most of the locals just walked everywhere. The sports complex was big and modern, shades of brown and white on the outside with a clean and sleek interior. Some of the best skaters trained right at this very rink.
“Welcome to the rink and happy holidays?” Fiona said and pointed at a banner hanging in the entrance hall written out in French.
I smiled, pleasantly surprised. “Very good! See, you’re making progress.”
Soon we were in the locker room, which was empty and quiet for the most part. Chuckling, I watched as Fiona put on her rental skates while complaining about how uncomfortable they were, at the same time revealing she’d never actually been skating before. Apparently, her father simply refused to allow her to go, too much risk of an injury.
“Did he try to get in contact?” I wasn’t sure if I should ask, if she wanted to talk about it beyond just that comment, but part of me was curious. We’d mostly avoided the topic in the past few months.
“Nothing beyond the email I told you about,” she admitted truthfully. “Mom gave me the choice if I wanted to talk to him or not. There’s no reason why I should, though.”
I could remember how torn and almost a little lost she sounded when she mentioned it in the middle of the night some time ago. “Have you read it yet?”
“Just the preview. I don’t need or want his apology.” She sighed. “Anyway, we’re supposed to be on a cute date, and my father doesn’t qualify as something to be discussed right now.”
“Okay,” I said and smiled at her before taking her hand and pulling her toward the rink.
Amused, I watched her eye the ice warily. It wasn’t particularly crowded, just a few kids with their parents, some of the competitive skaters keeping to themselves as they practiced spins and jumps, and the occasional elderly man or woman skating quiet circles.
Once Fiona finally followed me onto the ice, she reminded me a bit of a young fawn taking its first steps, a little clumsy and off-balance. Cute. Eventually, hand in hand, we made slow circles along the boards while trying our best to avoid everyone else. Despite Fiona’s fear of someone laughing at her lack of skill, no one really paid any attention to us.
“This is actually kind of fun,” Fiona admitted about forty minutes later. By now she could skate forward mostly on her own, though she preferred to hold on to me at least with one hand, just to be sure.
“We should take a picture,” I said and before Fiona could stop me, I approached an elderly couple about to skate past us and asked if they could take it. The woman looked at us with a sweet smile while the man took my phone after I quickly explained how to take the picture.
Together we posed for what sounded like a burst of pictures instead, Fiona snuggled against my side, smiles on both our faces.
“Merci,” I said and quickly took back my phone, the elderly couple swiftly skating away hand in hand, and then turned to Fiona to show her the picture. It looked nice, both of us with red-tipped noses but looking happy, genuinely, something I used to doubt was a concept we’d truly be able to experience again after everything that happened on the island and then at the Villa.
It was crazy to think that just over half a year ago I would’ve sooner been caught dead than take a picture with her. How things had changed. Despite the reasons why, life was far better now than they used to be. We weren’t Echo and Wolf anymore, both of us leaving our names behind in Florida, taking our mothers’ last names instead, our addresses different, but our futures bright once more.
“Did you have a good time?” I asked, hopeful, after we stepped off the ice and made our way over to the locker. While I’d gone many times before, I’d never taken anyone on a date to a rink, and right in that moment, I couldn’t imagine having more fun with anyone than I did with her.
“Yes,” she said and smiled, her face lighting up beautifully. “Thank you.”
With her hand on my neck she pulled me closer for a kiss, quick but sweet.
“I’m glad, because I had a good time as well.”
“If we ever do this again, we should get our own skates beforehand,” Fiona said with a groan as she took off her skates, her face a grimace of relief. I shouldn’t laugh, yet I couldn’t stop a small chuckle from escaping me. She was so full of contradictions, used to one type of discomfort, yet so sensitive to another. But, considering where we lived, getting proper skates sounded like a worthwhile investment. I could see us doing this more often.
“Would you look at that, and here you didn’t even want to get on the ice at first.”
Fiona shrugged.
“With a little luck I could scratch together just enough money to hire Stéphane Lambiel to give us a lesson or two.”
I was only half joking while she rolled her eyes at me.
Surrounded by a slowly forming crowd we changed into our shoes and coats again, gave back our skates, and made our way toward the exit. Halfway there a vending machine caught my eye, mainly because of the unusually large number of people lining up to it. It took ten minutes but eventually it was our turn and really, the hot chocolate was certainly worth the wait, Fiona’s eyes lighting up with joy while I managed to burn my tongue. Of course.
“Oh my God,” Fiona said as we stepped outside. It’d gotten dark while we were inside, the town now illuminated by leftover Christmas decorations and streetlamps. At some point snow had begun to fall, fluffy snowflakes drifting idly through the air coating everything in a slowly forming layer of white.
I barely paid attention to the snow, though, my eyes focusing on Fiona instead, her face the purest vision of joy and awe. It was our very first snow together, our first winter, the perfect time to make a wish. Pulling out my phone, I took a picture of her and then opened Instagram. Quickly I typed out a caption and tagged her, my eyes on her as I pressed post. A moment later her phone chimed in her purse.
“What is this?” she asked and held up her phone as though I’d actually be able to read whatever was on the screen from a few feet away.
“No idea what you mean,” I said innocently, and then took a small
sip of my hot chocolate. Fiona squinted her eyes at me, obviously unconvinced by my words and actions, before turning her attention to her phone. Soon, she was smiling, a faint rosy blush blooming on her cheeks while a lovely warmth spread itself around my heart.
miles_joubert First snow of the winter. make a wish (mine already came true).
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
After almost a decade—wow—the end has come. I still can’t quite believe it. I’ve spent so much time, so many words and rewrites and edits on Miles and Fiona’s story, and now it’s over. Really over. Writing that final THE END, it was bizarre. And yet I’m also really happy. I’m endlessly thankful that I got the chance to tell this story, to share it with anyone willing to give it a try. Thank you, my dearest readers, for picking up this book and spending hours reading it. I’ll never find the proper words to describe this feeling and my gratitude.
I hope this was as adventurous an experience for you as it was for me.
A big thank-you goes, as always, to my mother, who gave me the time and space to throw plot ideas at her and bounce some back and forth with me when I couldn’t figure something out or needed someone to tell me if any of it even made sense. Thank you for encouraging me and cheering me on when I needed it, and even when I didn’t know that it was what I needed. This also goes for my best friend, Anthony Z. David, who somehow hasn’t blocked my number just yet. You’re a real one.
Fractures also wouldn’t be here without the outstanding work and input from my editor extraordinaire, Lydia Sharp. Thank you for helping me shape Miles and Fiona’s story into what it is today and elevating it into becoming something far more and far bigger than I originally thought possible. You made all the challenges seem a little more manageable and doable. Thank you.
Furthermore, a big thank you also goes to Elizabeth Pelletier and Entangled Teen for believing in Echoes and Fractures, for the wonderful designers in the art department who created this gorgeous cover that still takes my breath away whenever I look at it, to Heather Riccio for her work when it comes to marketing, and everyone else involved in the process in whichever way, small or big. Readers wouldn’t be able to hold Fractures in their hands if it weren’t for all of you. Thank you!
Another thank-you also goes to my friend Marta S. who cheered me on restlessly whenever I faltered or wondered if I could do this. Thank you for never doubting me and for being there for me. This also goes to Judi Lauren, my wonderful (former) mentor and close friend whose feedback and encouragements have helped me more than I can express with words, as well as Mia Siegert, my first author friend and author/critique partner extraordinaire.
And, lastly, am I really about to thank a group of people who will never even know this book exists, or that I as the author do? Yes, because that’s simply who I am. Also, it’s not like I didn’t literally thank a city last time, so what else would anyone expect from me.
Thank you to Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Jeon Jungkook, better known as BTS, for being there for me with your music and additional content when I needed it most. When I didn’t think I could write another sentence or even another word, you gave me strength, hope, and the courage to believe in myself.
감사합니다!보라해!
Thank you.
About the Author
Alice Reeds was born in a small town in Germany but spent her first eight years in Florida, USA. Later on, she moved back to Europe, where her family moved around a lot. She was raised trilingual and has a basic understanding of Russian, read and spoken. After getting her International Baccalaureate Diploma, Alice is studying English Language and Literature at University. In her free time Alice mostly writes, reads, figure and/or roller skates, or watches countless Let’s Plays and figure skating videos.
alicereeds.com
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