Somehow, she got here before me, which makes me rush to get on the ice like an overeager kid for his first real game.
I don’t even bother to try to wipe off the cheesy smile that hangs off my face almost constantly around her. She turns every hesitancy into excitement, every anxiety back into near bliss in the way it used to be for me on this ice.
I wonder if I could convince her to She’s the Man herself onto the hockey team so I never have to be on the ice without her.
God, I’ve got to get it together if I’m going to be “Captain Rhys” again by next month.
Trying not to disturb her mid-routine—because I can tell it’s full out from the intensity of her movements, the artistry woven between so beautifully, it makes my chest ache. I clench my fists to trap the anxious monster in my head that’s so desperate for more of her, worried if I even stare too long at her, I won’t be able to stop myself from doing something insane—like pin her to the boards again.
Or see how light she is in my hands. Could I hold her up with my hand while the other presses—
A loud crunch and hard bang rip me from replaying my inappropriate dreams, shooting the head in my body away with an ice cold plunge of terror as I watch Sadie slide on her stomach into the boards, hard.
She doesn’t move.
She’s on her goddamn stomach on the ice and she isn’t moving.
Fuck.
I think I’m going to be sick.
I’m shouting for her in a blind panic, jumping the boards still in my sneakers and racing to her sprawled figure. Briefly, I wonder how in the world she stayed calm that day she found me lying on the ice, because I’m losing my mind at just the image of her here now.
When I make it to her side, she’s shaking.
“Sadie?” My voice is quiet as I kneel down to pull her up. She’s like water in my hands, boneless and slipping through as I try to at least prop her back against the boards.
My hands hover in the air over her body, desperate to check that she’s unharmed, but too scared that I’ll frighten her or expand her anxiety.
She’s crying, near to sobs like she can’t take a breath. Panic is still racing through my veins, but I try to concentrate on her.
“Hey, breathe—remember?” My hand presses the tangled loose pieces of her hair that have escaped her ponytail back. “I know it feels like you can’t, like you’re dying, but focus on my hands.”
I reach down and press her hands into mine. For how flushed her cheeks and neck are, her hands feel like the ice we’re sitting on.
“Try the three’s method,” I say, whisper-quiet in the vastness of the rink. “My therapist tells me to think of three things you can hear, three things you can see, and three things you can feel.”
“Okay,” she huffs, her voice catching in the sob.
“Start with what you can hear.”
“My music.” She pauses and closes her eyes tightly. “Your breathing. The air conditioning.”
“Something you can see.”
Her eyes blink open again, tinged red but only with a few tears escaping. “You.”
I can’t help the smile that slips. “Try to be specific.”
“Your dimples when you smile. The pink cap on my skate laces. An old Bruins logo flag.”
“Good, last one. What can you feel?”
“The ice under my legs, the boards behind me.” She keeps her eyes locked on mine. “You holding my hand.”
“Good girl.” I squeeze her hands in mine. “Okay, Gray?”
The question makes her smile as she calms further and she nods, tears only slightly leaking down her cheeks. I hate the sight of it, unable to stop myself from bunching my sleeve and wiping beneath her eyes.
“Gray?”
“It’s your eyes.” I smile.
She giggles but it turns into a sob. “Sorry,” she says.
“Nope. Not doing that apology thing.” I wince as my mouth opens again. “I know we said no questions—”
“Rhys—”
“But, I have to ask because this is new.”
She starts to stand, climbing me like my body is purely there to support her—a thought that intrigues me more than it should. I help her, still towering over her, even without my skates on, while she steadies on her blades.
Finally releasing her lip from between her teeth, she huffs a breath and lets the words fall from her mouth like a waterfall.
“They’re cutting the concession area hours for the rest of the summer, which means I’m losing that job. And I can’t do coaching on the schedule they offered so I won’t have that to replace it. Not to mention, I wouldn’t be like this if I could just get laid, but apparently that’s not happening for me right now. So I’m trying to just work all the time. But, my job near campus only has so many hours right now until the semester starts. And Oliver needs new skates—”
Her chest starts to heave. I press a hand down firm on her sternum, trying to bring her back.
“Stop for a second.” She nods at me appreciatively. “Let’s go somewhere else today.”
She’s already shaking her head.
“I need to practice. You need the ice time—”
“One day won’t kill us.”
If Bennett or any of the team could hear me now they’d think they’d entered an alternate universe.
Instead of waiting for her to acquiesce, I slip my hands under her legs and pick her up in a bridal carry. She squeals lightly but doesn’t complain as I walk slowly back to the gate and all the way into the locker room.
“Do what you need to do and then come out to the car. I’ll go wait there.”
And without thinking, I drop a kiss to her forehead and pick up my gear bag, turning to leave the room before I can think about how ridiculous that move might have been.
“Extra cream cheese?” I ask, faking a gag that’s quickly rewarded by an angry little push.
“No cream cheese?” She fakes a gag, eyeing my savory breakfast sandwich. “Sweet over savory every time.”
We’re in my car, parked by a lake near town that Sadie had—reluctantly—suggested. It’s gorgeous, and busy, and even with the golden morning light shining like a halo over the painting-esque view, I’m distracted.
By her.
She’s so beautiful; dark lips and thick lashes over her darting, intense eyes. That little patch of freckles that I want to touch almost constantly. Silk brown hair that I imagine feels just like that if I ran my fingers through it.
“I’m glad you seem better.”
“Thanks for the food. I think I was just hungry.”
I don’t think it’s that simple at all. But I can’t help the warm feeling that just feeding her has given me.
“Sure.” I nod. “But, I mean, I’m great at listening. If you want to talk about anything.”
Especially the part about getting laid.
I bite my tongue.
“I need another job, I guess, is the main point.” She blushes, but it quickly disappears as she turns away from me. “And usually, I’m not so… sensitive. I have a better handle on things when I’m not so… amped up.”
“Amped up?”
She rolls her eyes, gulping down another sip of her iced coffee.
“I just need to work out my stuff… get laid, you know. Athletes do it all the time.”
“I don’t,” I blurt out, immediately wishing I could take it back. I bite down a little harder on my tongue to keep from asking her if she wants me to help with that.
If she wanted you, she would’ve asked. Fucking look at her—she’s not afraid of anything.
But the image of her vulnerable, on the ice, looking up at me flashes. I don’t want anyone else to see her that way.
“Serial dater?” she snorts.
“More like serial monogamous. But, not anymore. I don’t—” I shrug, trailing off because I’m not sure what to stay.
“Maybe you need to get laid too.”
My face burns, turning red and my hand fumbles to turn my side of the A/C colder, before scratching at the back of my neck.
“I— What—”
“I wasn’t offering, hotshot.” She smiles but turns away just as quickly. “Trust me. That’s just… Not a good idea.”
“Right.” I try to laugh with her. But, I can’t help the singe of embarrassment staining my cheeks.
Of course not. Look at her and look at you.
Pathetic.
“For the record,” I say, looking out along the lake across all the life around us. “I am offering.”
She’s silent. But she’s smiling and shaking her head, avoiding every ounce of the eye contact I’m directing towards her.
But I can’t bring myself to regret it.
