“Well, there’s no backing out now despite how nerve-wracking it is.” I brushed my hair in the mirror. “I have to do this.”
“Yesoh, babe, I say this with all due respect, but you don’t know the first thing about balance. Be it on ice or in your real life, it’s the one thing you’ve never quite mastered.” Sydney sighed, placing her sleeping mask back on.
“Okay ouch.” I scoffed but swallowed her words regardless. “That’s where Wynter and I have always differed I guess.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, he knows everything about balance and being still. I’ve been turbulent my whole life.” I grabbed my bag.
“Then maybe this will be good for you, Soh,” Sydney pondered in a sleepy haze. “Maybe Wynter can teach you how to be still.”
I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck, the cold biting through my layers as I stepped into the rink. The air was sharp, with that unmistakable, metallic chill of ice, and my breath curled out in soft clouds. It was barely dawn, the soft pink of early morning just beginning to creep through the high windows. I’d thought I’d have a moment alone, a chance to steady myself and breathe. But he was already there.
Wynter.
He moved across the ice as if gravity barely applied to him, each glide a smooth, silent stroke that made it seem like the rink was his and I was just…a visitor. It was unnerving to watchhim—someone so completely at ease, so at home, while I felt like I was about to fall over with each step closer to the ice. It felt overpowering to witness him like this, in his frosty secluded domain. Here on the ice he was a master of his own craft. I glanced away, I couldn’t watch. It felt too personal. This was the world he was locked in and I’d never truly be invited in.
Be it in the woes of our youth of braces and dewy freckled skin or in our adulthood with his sharp jawline and calloused palms. He was impenetrable. And it was anintentionaleffort to be so.
When he noticed me, he slowed and skated over, wearing all black that cradled his body in all the right places. His gaze was cool and assessing. Standing in front of me, he crossed his arms, and the way he looked down at my skates made my cheeks burn. I felt as though he could decipher every miniscule detail I’d fumbled with that morning—every uneven lace, every awkward knot.
“Those are your skates?” His voice was quiet, but there was an unmistakable smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. I looked down, cheeks warm despite the chill, at my admittedly unimpressive rental skates. I opened my mouth to defend them, or maybe just to come up with something witty, but he moved before I could get the words out.
His silence spoke volumes;you are not like me, out there you may be in control but here, on the ice, in my domain—I own you.
“Your laces,” he pointed out.
With a smooth, effortless grace, he knelt down in front of me, his fingers working over my laces. His hands moved with this careful, practised confidence, tightening each strand, checking the fit, adjusting the tension around my ankles.
“It’s too tight,” I complained in discomfort.
“It’ssupposedto be,” he assured me, “if they’re loose you’re going to find it difficult to have direction.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Therefore,” he tightened them even more, and I sucked in a sharp breath, “tighter is better.”
I could feel the heat radiating from his hands even through the layers of fabric, and the closeness was…unexpected. I held my breath, caught between nervousness and an odd, tingling awareness of how close he was.
“There,” he said softly, standing up in one fluid motion, his face hovering a little too close to mine. His eyes lingered on me, calm and unreadable, like he was sizing me up. He extended a hand, his fingers outstretched. “Ready?”
Ready? Not in the slightest. But his hand was there, warm and steady, and something about the way he looked at me—like he was daring me—made it impossible to say no. I swallowed and nodded, not quite slipping my gloved hand into his yet.
“Before we start I need to know why,” he insisted.
“Why what?”
“Why you want to learn how to skate.”
“Because it looks…fun,” I lied through my teeth. “And I need some fun in my life right now.”
“Then go out to a club like most university students do, don’t put blades under your feet and hope to balance.”
“I’m not a drinker and neither are you,” I reminded him, and he paused.
“You remember that?” he queried in surprise.
“I haven’t forgottenanything,” I assured him as a beat of silence lingered between us. “So just…teach me I want to learn.”
