"Oh, honey. You're a pup." Mavis squeezed my arm. "They've added a new age category—"
She was interrupted by the screech of a guitar riff at stadium-level volume. The unmistakable opener of Thunderstruck blasted through the arena speakers.
Mavis covered her ears. "Gee-whiz," she shouted. "Let's tell Donnie to turn that down."
A wall of arctic air met us as we stepped into the main part of the rink. Chance Rapids had always been one of the coldest barns. I put on my hat and blew hot breath onto my hands. "The new facility won't give the kids frostbite." I yelled over the music.
Mavis didn't acknowledge my bad joke and strode ahead.
A skater flashed by, and I recognized the silhouette right away. She used to wear a skating skirt, brown tights, and a turtleneck. Now she glided past in black leggings, a tight T-shirt, and black gloves. Which in itself was hot as hell, but seeing the curve of her neck and the hollowed spot above her collarbone, made that uncomfortable feeling in my chest come back.
Clara transitioned to backwards crossovers, gathering speed. I knew she was setting up for a jump. How was she still doing this fifteen years later? I'd hung up my skates ages ago.
Her focus was sharp as she dug in her toe pick. But instead of squeezing everything in tightly, her arms and legs flailed as she started to rotate, then she crashed onto the ice.
"Ouch. Right on her ass. That's going to leave a bruise." Rob winced, but with a smile on his face.
I stiffened. He was right, she would be bruised, but my body bristled at the sleazy tone in his voice.
"Honey, are you okay?" Mavis called out. "Donnie, turn down that racket."
Donnie turned down the music. Clara stared at the goalie crease lines in front of her.
"She's fine," I said. "The lutz always gave her trouble. She fell more times than she landed it." But in the past she'd jump up and try again. I didn't care if she hurt herself, at least that's whatI told myself, but the relief that flooded through me when she stood told me that wasn't exactly true.
Clara skated to the exit without a glance in our direction. The metal latch clanked as she left the ice and disappeared into the hallway to the dressing rooms.
Rob turned to me. “Tell me again? What did you do to her?"
"Me? Nothing."
“Bullshit. I know a jaded woman when I see one."
I knew exactly what I did, but I didn't owe this asshole an explanation. I was a dumb kid, but unlike this rink, I couldn't stay frozen in time. Clara and I were high school sweethearts, and our relationship ended the way most in this town did. I left. Apparently, one of us wasn't over it.
Donnie cleared his throat.
"We dated when we were teenagers. Kid stuff." Did I owe Rob an explanation? Hell, no. But I respected Mavis, and the animosity between Clara and me required some form of explanation.
"Donnie, do you remember Beckett Shepherd?" Mavis clapped her gloves together, a non-response more unnerving than if she'd said something.
"Of course I do." Donnie's voice was flat, and he crossed his arms.
"And you know Rob Cooper." Mavis gestured to Rob, who was scanning the ceiling. He snapped his focus back to the conversation and held out his hand.
"We haven't officially met." Donnie made no move to shake Rob's hand.
Rob's hand clenched into a fist before he dropped his arm to his side. "I was hoping you could walk me through the facility. I'm putting together a report for the town about the arena's condition."
"Condition?" Donnie's arms stayed crossed. "This place runs as good as the day it was built."
Right on cue, a piece of plastic trim fell from the boards and clattered on the concrete.
Rob picked it up, eyebrows raised, and slapped it back into place. "Condition like this?"
I tried not to wince.
"Around here, we fix things. We don't throw them out and replace them with something shiny and new that has no character,” Donnie said.
