I grabbed my helmet and waddled out to the rink, forcing the thoughts out of my head. They didn’t belong on the ice. But I did.
I hit the ice and lost myself in the movements. This icy, cold surface was home. No matter the town or arena, the ice was my haven. Belonging washed over me as cool air blew across my skin, cooling my face until it stung. I continued pushing, the sound of my skates and stick scraping across the ice becoming music to my ears.
Moving from warm-ups to drills, the sounds changed from steady scratches as I settled into drills I could do in my sleep—edge work and puck handling. All the things I’d done for…
“Tuck the puck.”
As if shot, I rose to my full height, my head swiveling toward the voice that echoed through the arena.
Alex.
Crap. No. Not Alex. He couldn’t be anything other than Sasha here.
“Hey, Coach.”
His mouth, the one I dreamed of kissing day and night, turned down, his eyes drifting closed for a moment before he crossedhis arms. Hawk stood beside him. Sasha stepped onto the ice, giving Hawk the command to stay. The dog obeyed without hesitation, sliding to the floor and laying his head on the step into the arena.
Sasha skated toward me, his movements graceful, fluid, as if he had never left the sport. My eyes drifted over the man’s stunning physique, undressing him with my eyes—the memory of what his clothes hid from the world playing on a loop in my brain.
He stopped next to me, his eyes sweeping my body before shaking his head.
“Not happening.”
“I didn’t ask…”
“I didn’t say you did. It was a reminder to myself.”
A flush of satisfaction burst within, and I ducked my chin in hopes of hiding the grin I couldn’t keep from my face. Following his lead to erase the awkwardness, I shook off the haze the man put me in.
“So…” he said, clearing his throat. “Tuck the puck?”
“I thought I was.”
His chin swung from side to side slightly. “Not good enough,” he said, skating backwards, placing himself before me on the ice. He pulled his phone out. “Do it again. The exact same way.”
Following his order, I did the move again, hiding the puck as I deked toward the goal.
“Stop.”
I did. He held out his phone, his hand stretching across the distance between us. “Switch me,” he said, gesturing to my stick.
I traded my stick for his phone, pulling up the video camera. He scooped up the puck, skating backwards again. When he stopped, he looked at me, and I pressed the record button with a nod. Watching in awe as he showed me what he meant, twisting his hips and stopping before he ran into me. He handed the stick back to me, and I stared at him, the camera still running.
Yeah, I didn’t do it nearly that well. “Holy shit.”
He laughed, taking his phone. “I’m not sure if I should take that curse of yours as an insult or a compliment.”
“Definitely a compliment.”
“Well, I did play professionally, you know.”
“Believe me, I’m well aware.”
My eyes met his, and if this were a movie, a cinematic crescendo of theme music would lead us into an epic, award-winning moment, but that wouldn’t, couldn’t happen, for the two of us. I cleared my throat and broke the connection between us.
“Fuck…” he growled, and I couldn’t have agreed more.
He pivoted away from me. I knew and understood why, but knowing didn’t help lessen the pain from the heart-dropping disappointment. It also didn’t keep the tears at bay. The salty drops ran down my face, leaving warm trails across my cheeks in their wake.
