“Maybe I’ll get a matching one on my right cheek of your name,” I continue, unable to help chuckling. The idea of getting someone’s fucking name tattooed on my ass is so preposterous I can’t believe Dylan is even joking about it.
“What?” Al asks, tipping her head up, a confused expression forming on her face.
“You just told me which ass cheek Dylan should get a tattoo of your dad’s name on,” I say, my chest shaking with silent laughter, and a choked sound escapes her.
“Did you just say which ass cheek?” she asks, sputtering.
“I want to say he’s joking, but I’ve been proven wrong before.”
I know I should move my arm from her shoulders, but it seems like more work than it’s worth when I’ll just take it off once we reach my truck in a minute.
Alondra laughs next to me, and I know I’ll happily make a fool of myself if it makes her laugh again.
CHAPTER 9
Alondra
My hands aresteady despite my heart hammering in my chest as I pull the laces tight on my skates, the muscle memory coming back to me like I never stopped.
Dad mentioned last night how he gave the team the morning off to rest before their first game tonight, but even then I didn’t want to risk someone walking in on me, so here I am at five o’clock in the morning, staring at the ice again.
I take a few steps closer to the crystal-clear ice, free of any imperfections, but I falter once I reach the gate, and now my hands are shaking as I take off the skate guards, and my side aches from the memory of the last time I skated.
It isn’t real,I remind myself, trying to shake the nerves.
I pull the edges of my long sleeves over my hands, fisting the soft fabric as my breathing quickens.
God, I’m nervous, and there’s no reason to be.
Jack was nervous during tutoring yesterday, but he’s trying, which is more than I can say. I’ve spent nine months staring at the thing I love most, too afraid of someone who doesn’t have the power to inflict any more pain on me to do a damn thing. It’s been a year since I skated, but I didn’t let myself even look at the ice while I was still with Bradley.
I reach forward to grab the top of the boards, and I don’t give myself a chance to second guess it, forcing my feet onto the slick surface.
“I did it,” I whisper, feeling tears well up in my eyes, and I let them fall.
I push off the ice, gliding forward as the cool air stings my cheeks. Tension I didn’t even realize I was still carrying seems to melt away as I relax, losing myself in the moment.
I know I can never be who I once was—the innocence of not knowing what it felt like for someone I love to lay a hand on me is gone—but this feels like one step closer to finding myself again.
I’ve been going through the motions, purely existing because I had to and not because I wanted to.
Right now, I don’t want to go through the motions. I want to be unpredictable like a kite dancing in the wind, free of any responsibilities tying it down.
I spin. I laugh. I smile.
I spread my arms out to pretend I’m an airplane when I follow the wide curves of the rink.
I skate.
Minnesota might not be where I wanted to stay, but maybe it’s where I need to be. I’ll never admit it to my parents, though. All I’d hear is anI told you so.
I pick up speed until I feel like I’m flying. The flyaways that have escaped from my braid are fluttering around my face, but I feel alive. Eyeing the exact spot where I want to land, I use my speed and toe pick to propel myself into the air and spin twice to see if I can still land a double toe. I used to spend hours working on my jumps to execute them flawlessly when I was competing, both on ice and off ice.
Except it’s been a while.
I haven’t kept up with the proper training to get the height I need to complete both turns, and I land hard, busting my ass on the ice. I’m quick to push myself up again, continuing to try despite falling repeatedly. It’s comical how out of shape I am, but my face hurts from smiling.
I go again and again, the scraping sound of my blades on the ice is music to my ears, and I’ve finally escaped the black hole I’ve been trapped in, letting me feel everything.
