“Hovering at five, flirting with six.”
“Means we swap ice every quarter-hour until it stays below five.”
“Dictator.”
“Efficient dictator.”I arranged the pack.“Food?”
“Stomach’s on strike.”
“Oat bar?”
He shook his head.“Later.”
I opened his nightstand drawer, retrieved the bottle of over-the-counter painkillers.“Two now.”
He swallowed them dry.
When I straightened, his gaze followed me—uncertain, apologetic.“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low.“For everything.”
The words nudged every nerve that had hummed all week.I perched on the mattress edge again, leaving inches between us but no more.
“I’m not mad,” I said.“I’m… confused.”
“I thought keeping distance would stabilize things.”
“Constants by subtraction?”
He grimaced.“Right.You warned me math jokes are dangerous.”
I shrugged.“Dangerous only if misapplied.”
Silence stretched.I picked at a loose thread on the blanket.
He cleared his throat.“The shoulder isn’t the only thing that hurts.”
I waited.
“Every time I tried to pull back, it felt like I was dimming the rink lights on myself.Thought that meant I was weak.”
I traced the stitching, kept my tone neutral.“Maybe it means you’re human.”
His mouth twitched.“Terrifying prospect.”
I looked up.He wasn’t hiding behind sarcasm; the line was simple truth and it rattled me more than the bruise.
“Why do you do it?”I asked.“The extra lifts.The hours.You’re the starter.You’re good.”
Luke looked away, toward the dark window.“Good isn’t safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“From becoming average.”He said the word like a slur.“My dad… he was great.For two seasons.Then he got hurt, and he became an average guy.Then he got bitter.”He turned back to me, his eyes dark.“I can’t be average, Austen.Average gets cut.Average ends up sitting in a big house with nothing but old trophies and a bad knee.”
My heart ached for him.For the little boy who must have learned that love was conditional on performance stats.
“Luke, you’re not average,” I said.“And you’re not him.”I touched the blanket near his knee, not him.“If you need space, say it.Don’t vanish.”
“Don’t want space.”He swallowed.“I need balance.I don’t know how to skate that angle.”
