Not crying.
Just...worn.
“You’re scaring me,” she whispers.
The words hit like a puck to the chest.
“Not you,” she adds quickly.“Everything.All of this.”
I swallow the surge of emotion that rises way too quickly.
“You don’t have to be scared around me,” I say.“I swear it.”
Her breath stumbles.
I want to go around the boards.
I want to pull her against me.
I want to tell her that if someone touched her, I’d ruin their entire life.
But I stay put.
Because if I push too hard right now, she’ll shut down.
So I lift one glove, palm up, offering—not insisting.
After a moment...she sets her hand in mine.
Just for a second.
Just enough.
Her fingers tremble.
I wrap gently.
Warmth to warmth.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur.
“Cold,” she whispers.
Lie.
But I don’t call it that.
I rub my thumb over her knuckles, slow and grounding.“You want me to stay close today?”
Her breath catches.“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
Something flickers across her face—fear, conflict, longing.
Then she squeezes my hand once and lets go.
Coach shouts for us to line up.
