“Why do you do this to yourself? Huh?” he asked me. My chest stuttered, a hiccup, a compressed choke that hurt me more than I already was. “You know how good you are. You know how rare that is. You know how much work you put in to everything. You know how strong you are,” he whispered, his arms crossed over my shoulder blades. “Your dad doesn’t know anything about figure skating, Jasmine. From the sound of it, he doesn’t know you at all. You know better than to let what he thinks get to you. You know better.”
