“Alycia,” I say, voice lower than I meant it to come out.
She exhales like the sound of my name costs her something. “Hendrix.”
The tech clears his throat and excuses himself. The door to the tunnel clicks behind him, and suddenly, it is just us in this pocket of cold air. The lights buzz overhead. Somewhere in the distance, the Zamboni rumbles.
“You look…” The word snags in my throat, but I swallow it down and try again. “Overworked.”
“It’s fine, just a long day.” She says it dryly, like anything else would be too close to the truth.
“Longer than most?”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“You shouldn’t have to handle it alone,” I whisper.
Her gaze flicks to the empty stands, then back to me. “I don’t have another option, Kyle.”
There is that version of her she gives the world. Capable. Controlled. The one who never asks for anything. And I am suddenly so tired of being kept on the surface with her when I know what it feels like underneath.
“You know, you didn’t answer my text last night.” I shift closer, enough that I can see the reflection of the rink lights in her eyes.
“I thoughtI did.”
“And ignored it?” I ask, even though I already know the truth.
She’s going to give me some half-ass answer about her dress color, but the question she sidestepped—Are you okay?—is the only one that matters.
“I didn’t know what to say.” Panic, longing, guilt all flash through her in the space of one breath. “I told you emerald photographs better.”
“By pretending the only part of my message that mattered was the dress?”
Her knuckles go white around the tablet, and that tiny, involuntary flinch is my answer.
“No,” she says finally, voice unsteady at the edges. “I ignored the part where you… acted like you actually cared.”
“Alycia.” Her name comes out rough. “I wasn’t acting.”
Her voice betrays her—raw, frayed, unguarded—before she clamps it down again.
“They’re already going to be watching us at the gala.” Her jaw tightens like she is trying to guard every word. “Media. Sponsors. PR. If you look at me like that, they will believe it is real.”
She sees the confusion hit me, so she pushes on.
“I need this to be nothing more than astory, Kyle. Not… real. If any real feelings get involved and this goes badly, I’m the one who will pay for it.”
“It feels real,” I say, because I’m done pretending it doesn't.
My skates whisper as I shift, gravity tugging me oneinch closer. Every instinct in me wants to close the rest of the distance. To see if she breaks for me—not apart, just open.
I’ve played overtime in packed arenas with seasons on the line, but none of that demanded this much control. I know she wants me. I can see it in the tremor in her jaw and the way she can’t quite look away. I am one wrong move from either her mouth or goodbye, and I have no idea which one I would take if she gave me the choice.
“Don’t. Please don’t say that,” she whispers, her eyes darting to my mouth before she forces them away again.
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t…” She swallows hard, throat trembling. “I can’t go into that room knowing you’ll look at me like we’re something.”
“Wearesomething.”
