“Only kind of?”
“Don’t push it.”
They stood, and immediately Sloane’s ankles wobbled. The wheels had other ideas about where his feet should go, and none of them aligned with his intentions. He grabbed the wall, steadying himself.
Jamie moved past him with easy confidence, rolling backward with a grin. “Come on, old man. It’s not that hard.”
“Easy for you to say.” Sloane pushed off the wall, managed three feet before his left skate shot forward. His arms windmilled, body tilting at an angle that promised pain.
Jamie caught him, hands firm on Sloane’s forearms, stopping his momentum. “Whoa there. Lean forward slightly, not back. And keep your knees bent.”
Being this close scrambled Sloane’s thoughts. Jamie’s scent wrapped around him, citrus and warmth, familiar and intoxicating. His hands stayed on Sloane’s arms, steadying, and every point of contact sent electricity through Sloane’s system.
“Got it,” Sloane managed. “Forward. Knees bent.”
“Let’s start slow.” Jamie moved beside him, matching his pace. “Just push and glide. Push and glide.”
Sloane tried. Really tried. His feet had apparently forgotten how to cooperate with his brain, each movement jerky and uncertain. When he pushed, his skate went sideways. When he glided, he picked up too much speed and couldn’t stop.
The wall rushed up. Sloane crashed into it, palms smacking the surface, breath huffing out.
“You okay?” Jamie appeared at his elbow, fighting a smile.
“Fantastic. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my afternoon. Becoming intimately acquainted with walls.”
“Here.” Jamie took his hand, fingers threading through Sloane’s. “Skate with me. I’ll keep you upright.”
The touch rewired something fundamental in Sloane’s chest. His mate’s hand in his, warm and sure, guiding him forward. They moved together, Jamie skating backward while Sloane focused on not eating the floor.
“See? Not so bad.” Jamie’s smile could've powered the building. “You’re getting it.”
Sloane wasn’t getting it. His ankles still wobbled, his balance remained questionable, and he was pretty sure he looked ridiculous. But Jamie’s hand in his made everything else irrelevant.
They completed one loop around the rink. Then another. Music shifted to something older, classic rock that echoed off the walls. Other skaters drifted past—a couple holding hands, a group of teenagers showing off, a little kid with a helmet clutching the rail.
“I’m impressed,” Jamie said. “You’re not completely hopeless.”
“High praise.”
“I save my best compliments for special occasions.”
On the third loop, confidence made Sloane reckless. He picked up speed, thinking he could handle it, absolutely wrong about that assumption. His right skate caught on something—nothing, air, his own incompetence—and suddenly he was falling.
The floor rushed up. Sloane’s hip hit first then his shoulder, the impact jarring through his bones. Pain bloomed hot and immediate.
“Sloane!” Jamie dropped beside him, hands hovering. “Are you hurt?”
“Just my pride.” Sloane pushed himself up on one elbow, grimacing. “And possibly my entire right side.”
“Come on.” Jamie gripped his forearms, pulling him upright with surprising strength. “You’re supposed to fall on your butt, not your hip.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.” Rubbing his hip, Sloane tested his weight on each foot. Nothing broken, just bruised. His wolf would heal it within hours, but right now, the ache pulsed with each heartbeat.
“Next time?” Jamie’s eyebrows rose. “You’re planning to subject yourself to this torture again?”
“Maybe.” Definitely, if it meant seeing Jamie smile and forget about the bruise darkening his temple. “After some practice. And protective gear.”
Laughter bubbled from Jamie’s throat, bright and unguarded. The sound hit Sloane square in the solar plexus. His mate’s whole face transformed when he laughed—eyes crinkling, nose scrunching slightly, that careful wariness melting away.
