“Wow, a nicely packed insult, that’s talent,” I deadpanned.
Frank chuckled and handed me a pair of skates in my size. “Go on. Nobody’s judging a little sliding around. Might even clear your head.”
I gasped. Was my head that obviously in the clouds?
A few minutes later, I was stepping onto the ice. Across the rink, someone glided like a graceful penguin. Me? I clung to the rail, still half expecting someone to crash into me. The memory of that fall wasn’t encouraging, but these two-inch bursts forward were strangely freeing. I wasn’t thinking about my parents, or Sadie, or the Sean-shaped tension in my stomach.
I looked ahead, gauging the path in front of me, and froze.
Sean.
No helmet, gloves dangling from one hand, each stride long and liquid smooth, his turns carving the ice with bursts of speed that stole my breath. My pulse skated faster than my feet could ever dream of moving. I told myself it was the surprise of seeinghim, that the hot-and-cool squeeze in my stomach wasn’t from the way he moved—driven, precise, and powerful.
It was impossible to look away.
He was all muscle in motion, the kind of strength that melted your insides before you realized you were a puddle. I was absolutely not going to think about how he made me feel doing it.
I started to turn away, when he slowed, his head snapping toward me.
Crap.
Sean angled in my direction, skating with that maddening smoothness. My hands clamped tighter on the rail. With not a freaking chance of a graceful exit, the rink had me hostage. I was forced to watch his powerful, athletic body glide toward me and feel an entire swarm of whirlwind butterfly flutters in my chest. I might need a defibrillator, a stern lecture about ogling your boss, and a warning about how dangerous that was.
Chapter nine
Sean
The rink had mostly emptied, leaving that after-game hush that settled in your bones. I did a few slow laps, then a burst of speed, then back to slow, trying to skate out the noise in my head. Tonight, it was louder than usual.
Then, a shape along the far boards. Someone clung to the rail, elbows locked, knees wobbling as if it were the only solid thing left in a hurricane. I blinked, half convinced my brain had finally given in to playoff fatigue, but no. It was Mel on skates, glaring at the ice as if it had insulted her.
She spotted me, and I swore I saw the wordcrapmaterialize above her head in a thought bubble. She tried to shrink back, a valiant but futile effort, as if becoming one with the wall would make me unsee her. Her panic was glowing, clear as a puddle, and beautiful.
I changed course, coasting her way in a gentle glide. My blades hissed to a stop when I reached her side.
“Hey, you’re not invisible. I see you,” I said. She looked away, caught. A smile ghosting her lip. “Didn’t peg you for the late-night skate-it-out type,” I added.
She gripped the rail tighter, knuckles white. “Figured the ice already saw me at my worst. I might as well make it a tradition.”
That pulled a laugh out of me. A real one. Not even game stress could filter out her dry, defeated humor.
“Frank gave you the skates?”
“Yeah, he remembered me: wobbly limbs, baby deer on skates.”
“Frank’s not wrong,” I said, glancing at her careful stance. “There was a moment back there I thought the wall might file for harassment.”
She lifted her brows, then laughed. It felt good to hear her laughter echoing in the rink; it released the knot in my chest.
“You’ve got potential, and the wall hasn’t rejected you yet,” I added.
She looked more relaxed than she had in days. Less guarded, tension in the shoulders gone as she laughed. Her showing up despite her wobbliness was remarkable. She had grit and wanted to prove the ice wrong.
I should treat this as any other staff looking for late-night ice and skate away, toasting her a casual “Good luck out there.” But her fingers curled around that rail as if it were the last stable thing in her life, and something off-script was in the air. I couldn’t walk away.
Maybe Asher had seen more than I wanted him to. Hell, maybe the guys already thought there was something here, even if there wasn’t, but staring at Mel, all I saw was someone who needed a minute of steadiness.
“Come on,” I said, reaching for her hand.
