I’m not sure if he’s bringing it up to torture me with the memory or point out that “once a criminal, always a criminal.” Back then, sneaking into rinks wasn’t exactly about skating. It was more about playing ridiculous games, laughing until our stomachs hurt, and then Leo pulling me into his arms to kiss me. Very little actual practicing got done.
“Okay, fine,” I admit. “I stole my dad’s keys.”
I see a flicker of a smile as he slides on his skates. He might use this against me. Or maybe he’s just amused that I’mstillsneaking into ice rinks.
“What are you doing here, then?” I ask. “Trying out for security guard?”
His jaw tightens. “I have a key,” he says, holding it up. “Unlike you.”
“Wow, congratulations. Want a trophy?” I tap my pocket. “Guess what? I have a key, too.”
Leo’s eyes narrow as he joins me on the ice. “How’d you get the code?”
“That’s classified information,” I say, skating a slow circle around him, like a shark sizing up its prey. “What’syourexcuse?”
He sighs, and for the first time, he looks less angry and more annoyed. “On probation for ten weeks. But nobody told me I couldn’t practice on my own.”
“Benched?” I lift my eyebrows. I don’t even have to ask why. Leo’s temper has always been his weakness. “What’s your punishment?”
His gaze flicks to mine, and he hesitates. “Community service.”
I stop short. “Community service? What, are you cleaning the locker rooms?”
His frown deepens, like he’s confused by my question. “No,” he says, then changes the subject. “Why are you here?”
I shrug, trying to pretend this year hasn’t already been a huge disappointment. “My partner blew out his knee, and I’ve got a year left to prep for Nationals. At twenty-five, I’m basically geriatric in competitive skating—which means this is my last chance.”
The corner of his mouth curves. “Geriatric? So, what, you’re like a figure skating grandma now?”
“Watch it,” I warn. “I can still beat you on turns and jumps any day.”
He lets out a low laugh, the sound maddeningly familiar. “Sure you can.”
What I don’t say is that it’s not my skills holding me back—it’s my head. Falling during competitions has become a nightmare for me over the past few years, and it’s sucked the joy right out of skating. I miss what it used to feel like, back when I loved gliding across the ice without the weight of expectations.
Leo shrugs, looking like he has no plans to leave me in peace. “Well, Grandma, if you’re done with your sob story, don’t let me stop you. I’m just here for a quiet practice.”
“You’rehere for a quiet practice?” I repeat, incredulous. “Onmyice?”
He looks up. “Last I checked, it’s yourdad’sice.”
I stop on center ice. “If we’re going to share the ice tonight, I think we should do it civilly.”
Leo glides toward me with an easy confidence that still makes my stomach flip. He stops right in front of me, close enough that I can finally see the stormy blue of his eyes. My breath catches.Why does he still have this effect on me?
He props his stick on the center line and looks me over. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll split the rink—half-and-half.”
“You’re willing to compromise?” I arch a brow. “That’s new.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve changed a lot since we knew each other.” He keeps his eyes pinned on me.
Changed how?I don’t ask, because I doubt he’d answer honestly. We haven’t talked in years. Not since I sent that final, ugly text.
He grips his stick, his knuckles whitening against the tape. “If we agree to share the rink tonight, then nobody loses.”
“You think I only care about winning?”
“Well, you’ve been glaring at me like I’m here to ruin your life. So, yeah, I think compromise isn’t the worst idea.” He turns away, scraping the end of his stick between us—a clear dividing line. “I’ll take this side. And when we leave...” He locks eyes with me. “It’s like it never happened.”
