Silver didn't remember the specific mechanics of how she'd escaped Ingalls that night—whether she'd walked or stumbled or simply dematerialized through sheer force of mortification.
The applause from the skating exhibition continued ringing in her ears like tinnitus, a phantom soundtrack that followed her long after she'd fled the rink with her figure skates remaining untouched in their bag. She'd hidden in the women's bathroom until the final performer had taken their bows and the audience had begun dispersing into the November night, then slipped out through a side exit before Americus or Riley could corner her with well-intentioned questions about her spectacular failure to perform.
But apparently, someone else had been waiting for exactly that moment of vulnerability.
"Rough evening?"
