“Mars!” I bark, crossing the gym towards the row of exercise bikes.
He’s sitting on the bike at the end, phone in hand, sweat pouring down his face. He glances up sharply at the sound of my voice. “What?”
“Where’s Jake?” I say, trying to control the hint of panic in my voice. I haven’t found Rachel and her mystery man either.
“No idea,” he mutters, eyes back on his phone.
“Well, where’s Rachel then?”
“Office,” he replies.
“No, the fuck she isn’t. Apparently, she’s been spotted around the facility arm-in-arm with a handsome, dark-haired, tattooed man.”
The asshole has the audacity to smirk, his gaze dropping from my face to my tatted arm. “Is it not possible they’re gossiping about you? They’re all talking about your jersey trick from last night—”
“How can I be the hot guy she’s hanging on when I’m right here, trapped in this time loop of a conversation with you,” I growl. “Are you not the least bit curious to know why our girl is flirting with another guy?”
His brows lower over his blue eyes as he glares at me. “Why don’t you speak louder. I don’t think they heard you at the beach.”
“Fine. I’ll go find her myself!” I stomp off, determined to do another circuit of the practice facility when he calls out.
“Caleb, wait!”
I turn to see him unfolding himself from his exercise bike, grabbing a sweat towel to dab at his face. “You’re coming?”
“Only to keep you from trouble,” he replies. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for what Rachel is doing. And she won’t like this jealousy,” he adds, looking me solemnly up and down. “Pack it away.”
I take a deep breath, my frustration simmering. But fuck, he’s right. I know he’s right. I don’t like this feeling. I’m not this guy. I don’t get jealous. I take another breath.
“Better?”
Slowly, I nod.
“I would check the coffee cart,” he says, slinging the sweat towel over his shoulder.
“She was already spotted there,” I reply, turning on my heel to head for the doors. It’s an odd sensation, but my limp suddenly feels worse, as if my body is betraying me, trying to slow me down before I make a total ass of myself.
But I’m not worried. I have Mars to hold me back. He’ll keep me from doing anything truly embarrassing, like dropping to my bad knee and begging Rachel not to leave us for a broodier, sexier man.
We make our way through the practice facility, out of the Rays-only area into the large, glass-walled atrium. The coffee cart is hopping with a long line of figure skating moms all sporting their matching hairdos, little puffy vests zipped over their designer sweaters.
I may as well be invisible as all eyes focus on Mars. A few eager kids come rushing over. He runs interference, saying hello and shaking some hands as I peer around the room. I don’t see her anywhere. And we’ve got to get out of here before we get swarmed by fans all wanting a piece of Mars.
“She likes to watch the figure skating,” he says over the heads of the kids. “She’ll take breaks and sit up in the stands with a coffee.”
“How do you know that?” I say with a raised brow.
“Because I like to watch her,” he replies with a shrug.
I laugh, grabbing him by the arm. “Okay, Mr. Kinnunen, time to go. It’s time for your Swedish seaweed wrap and hot stone massage. Say bye, kids. Wish him luck against Toronto.”
“Bye, Mr. Kinnunen!” they call.
“Later, Mars!”
He lets me pull him away, both of us moving towards the open doors that lead into the main practice arena. The rink is packed. Kids run drills while a few adults with whistles try to control the chaos.
“She’s not here,” Mars says before I even get the chance to look.
“You’re sure?”
“Do you see her?” he replies with a frown.
“Well, not yet, but—”
“Do you feel her?”
I blink up at him. “What—feel her? Like telekinesis or something?”
With a sigh, he grabs me by the shoulders and turns me to face him.
“Mars, what—”
“Close your eyes and breathe,” he mutters. “Do it.”
I close my eyes, but my breath sits like a rock in my chest.
“Stop overthinking all the time,” he soothes. “Stop thinking. Just stop…and breathe.” He exaggerates a big inhale letting it out.
I take a shallow breath, letting it out.
“Again.”
I take another deeper breath.
“Good. Now, open your eyes.”
I open them, looking up into his serious face.
“You know Rachel,” he mutters. “You love Rachel. She’s part of you, yes?”
I nod.
“Yes?” he presses.
“Yes,” I repeat.
“Then tell me if you feel her here. Don’t think. Don’t look. Just feel. Is she here?”
I keep my eyes on him as I take another breath, letting myself sink into a quieter headspace. I think of how I feel in those lazy moments on the couch and she’s in my arms, the way I feel when she enters the kitchen. I’m not a touchy person, but I try for her. I want her touches. I think of the way my body lights up where she looks at me. It’s pulled to her.
I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “Well, that’s a neat little magic trick.”
“Is she here?” he repeats.
I roll my eyes. “No, Mars. She’s not here.”
“Then we keep looking,” he says, turning on his heel. “The figure skaters are at the next rink anyway.”
Now he’s in the lead, moving down the hall to the smaller rink. This one doesn’t have the plexiglass up. The moment I step into the room, my gaze turns sharply left, drawn to her.
And there she is, sitting in the stands about a third of the way down, snuggled in next to a dark-haired guy in a black t-shirt and jeans with tatted forearms. They’re sipping on coffees, their bodies turned in towards one another, wholly oblivious to the pair of teenagers skating on the ice.
Yeah, this guy has to go. I growl low in my throat, stomping forward.
“Caleb,” Mars says in that warning voice.
As if she can sense us too, Rachel’s head pops up. Her eyes look pink and puffy, like she’s been crying.
Oh, what the fuck. Whoever this guy is, he’s fucking dead.
She murmurs something to him, and he sits back on the bench with a cocky smirk, watching us approach. And because he has a death wish, he slings his arm over her shoulder and gives me a wink.
“Rachel, who the fuck is this guy?”
Well, shit. The words are apparently out of my mouth before I’ve even had a chance to finish thinking them. And she’s already turned to him, shoving him off, saying something I can’t hear. Mars is right behind me, his big hand on my shoulder.
The cooler, slimmer version of me has the nerve to laugh, elbowing her in the side as he leans forward and says, “I’m her husband. Who the fuck are you?”
