Sloane loosened his grip marginally, focusing on the rhythm Jamie had shown him. Push, glide, push, glide. His body started to remember how to cooperate, muscle memory building with each lap.
By the fifth circuit, he could manage short stretches without Jamie’s support. Not graceful, not even competent, but upright. Progress.
“Look at you go,” Jamie teased, but pride colored his tone. “Almost like a real skater.”
“Your faith in me is overwhelming.”
“Would you prefer lies? 'Oh Sloane, you’re amazing, a natural, you should go pro—'“
Sloane reached for him, trying to catch his arm, but Jamie darted away laughing. The sound echoed off the walls, bright and genuine, and Sloane would’ve chased him around this rink forever just to hear it again.
Challenge sparked in his mate’s hazel eyes. “Come on. You can make it to me.”
Trust. His mate was asking him to trust, just as Sloane had asked earlier. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Pushing off, Sloane rolled forward, arms out for balance, probably looking ridiculous but not caring. Jamie stayed just ahead, matching his pace, drawing him forward with that smile.
Pushing off hard, Jamie built speed, weaving between other skaters with fluid grace. At the far turn, he dropped low, one leg extended in a move that shouldn’t have been possible on wheels. Then he sprang up, spinning twice before landing smoothly, never breaking stride.
Sloane’s mouth went dry. His mate moved with an easy confidence that transformed him, all that careful guardedness replaced by pure joy. Jamie on skates was poetry, physics, and temptation rolled into one.
Beautiful. Alive. Mine.
The thought slammed into Sloane with enough force to make him stumble. His skate caught wrong, sending him careening toward the wall again. This time, he managed to catch himself before impact, palms slapping the surface, but he stayed upright.
“Impressed?” Jamie asked, rolling up beside him, barely breathing hard.
“Very.” The word came out rougher than intended, weighted with want.
Pink bloomed across Jamie’s cheekbones. “It’s just muscle memory.”
“Still impressive.”
They completed another circuit, Jamie’s hand finding Sloane’s whenever he wobbled. Each touch sparked through Sloane’s system, his wolf practically vibrating with the need to claim, to protect, to keep Jamie close enough that nothing could hurt him again.
By the time they turned in their skates, Sloane’s hip protested with every step. He tried to hide the limp, but Jamie noticed immediately.
“You’re limping,” Jamie observed as they headed for the exit.
“I’m walking with character.”
“You’re walking like you got your ass kicked by a children’s activity.” Jamie’s voice carried gentle teasing, but his hand found Sloane’s elbow, offering support without making it obvious. “Next time we’re getting you hip pads.”
He went for the jugular but with a velvet glove.
His wolf growled, “Mate happy. Mate smiling. Need more. Must give mate universe.”
“Skating is not just for children.” Sloane held the door for Jamie. “Besides, you had fun.”
Jamie stopped on the sidewalk, turning to face him fully. Something shifted in his expression, vulnerability cracking through the sass. “I did. I really did.”
The words were simple, but emotion weighed them. After the day Jamie had endured, after violence and fear, Sloane had given him this—laughter and terrible pizza and the chance to just exist without looking over his shoulder.
“Anytime,” Sloane said, meaning it.
I will break myself, my hip, the rink, the city, the earth itself if it means making you laugh again.
Outside, late afternoon had shifted toward evening. Clouds pressed lower, heavy with the threat of rain. The parking lot sat mostly empty, just their car and a few others scattered across cracked asphalt.
Wind ruffled Jamie’s hair, messing it worse than before. Without thinking, Sloane reached up, smoothing it down. His fingers lingered against Jamie’s temple, careful around the bruise.
