His mouth twitches.Victory, quiet and smug.
“Deal.”
He helps me layer up without comment, hands steady and deliberate. Hoodie first, swallowing me in warmth and familiar scent. Then the jacket, zipped all the way up to my chin. Headjusts my beanie with a gentle tug, knuckles brushing my temple.
“Cold?” he asks.
“A little.”
He nods, like that’s something he can fix.
“Sit,” he says quietly.
I do.
He drops to one knee in front of me, pulling my skates closer.
“You don’t have to—” I start.
“I know,” he says, not looking up. “I want to.”
That lands harder than it should.
His fingers work the laces with practiced ease, tightening them just right—not too snug, not loose enough to wobble. He checks each one twice, thumb pressing into the tongue and making sure I’m secure.
When he’s done, he braces a hand on my calf and looks up at me, blue eyes steady.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
“I will.”
When I stand, he offers his hand without hesitation. His grip is firm and warm even through the gloves, anchoring me as I step onto the ice. The cold sings up my legs, sharp and exhilarating, and I wobble—just a little.
His arm slides around my waist immediately, solid and sure.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs near my ear.
The bond hums in agreement, and I believe him.
We don’t go far: just to the edge of the rink, slow and careful. He moves with me, matching my pace, guiding without taking over. Every time I falter, he’s there; steady, patient, and present.
A far cry from the alpha who once could barely even look at me.
“This okay?” he asks.
I glance up at him, at the softened lines of his face, the quiet pride in his eyes, the alpha who has learned how to offer instead of brace.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “It’s… actually perfect.”
We glide like that for a while, slow loops along the boards, his arm a constant at my waist, my gloved hand braced against his chest. It’s not as though I haven’t skated before, but it’s not something that I do regularly, by any means. Just because I work with players doesn’t mean I’m the one out here, but I start to trust the ice under my feet, my weight shifting more confidently with each pass.
Beau eases back just enough to give me room, then steps in again when I wobble, still not making a big deal out of it.
“Okay,” he murmurs after I manage a clean push-off without clinging to him. “You’re getting it.”
I grin, breath puffing white in the cold air.
“I have a very good teacher, apparently.”
