I had put an end to it, didn’t I?
The man was impossible to argue with. Logan had an answer for everything. It was as if he knew what I’d say before I did. Too nimble with his rebuttal.
Dove.
The fucking nerve.
It was just after ten when I pulled up to a screeching halt in front of the youth hockey center.
Lights still on. Lights still on.
I rushed out and pulled on the open-door handle. Score. I let myself in to the eerily quiet arena—enough to hear a pin drop. Someone had to be here. It was still open. I wasnotbreaking and entering.
Right?
The lights were minimal. Mostly around the rink. Everything surrounding it though, the vendor carts, benches, even the aisles were dark. There was a light coming from the back office, but it could have just been left on overnight.
My eyes wandered, gleaming over the freshly resurfaced ice.
I smiled, remembering my skating days. Scraping against the pristine, flawless, freshly paved ice, marking every move. Then turning to admire my work. It came far and few, the days when I could be alone at the rink.
Just me and my blades.
Instead of searching the lost and found box for a missing phone, I’d somehow managed to find myself in a pair of faded dark blue rental skates.
What on earth am I doing?
Sam was always saying I never did anything daring. I was too moral or too predictable.
I bet she wouldn’t have predictedthis.
I inhaled the crisp icy freshness as I stood at the entrance of the rink, my hands balancing against the glass over the sideboard.
Recognition settled in once I took the first step onto the sleet. There were good memories. And plenty of bad ones too. Some that didn’t seem bad at the time, yet now made me nauseous.
Like game nights when Max would find me, high off his win and I’d still be in my cheer uniform. Which I hated. I loved skating. I loved cheering for my team. But heavens did I loathe those outfits, the crowd and the attention.
But tonight it was just me. No jealous cheerleaders to slow me down. No crowd, no judgments. Just me, in my cozy sweater, leggings and rentals that would never fit me like my own pair had.
The corner of my mouth lifted when I took that first glide across the width of the rink, thinking of Jax.
It was no wonder the kid was drawn to the ice. Apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
Despite the brisk chill icing through me, I pushed on, the cold only charging me up rather than slowing me down. I didn’t need music to fall into the rhythm in my head.
I spin.
And again.
Not as flawless as I used to—eight or so years ago, but at least I didn’t fall. Without moving my legs, I kept an even glide across the ice, imprinting the slickness with my tracks.
I frowned and froze. There was another scrape against the ice. Faint. Not mine. My eyes flew open and I turned in the direction of the sound.
Logan stood on the long end of the rink. His muscular arms crossed, head cocked and watching me.
Face completely flushed, I skated to the nearest sideboard a few feet from him, clutching it. What the hell was he doing here?
“Thought you might know more than you led on,” he said accusingly, as he slipped behind me.
