“Good point.”
I barely take three strides in her direction before her legs fly into the air and she wipes out so hard I swear the boards vibrate.
By the time I reach her, she’s swearing under her breath, promising herself she’s not going to cry.
Clearing my throat, I offer out my hand. “Here, let me help you up.”
“Thanks,” she murmurs, slipping her fingers into mine as she flips her dark hair over her shoulder.
When I see who it is, I freeze.
Am I seeing things?
“Laura?” Her name barely makes it past my lips. My grip tightens just enough to steady her but not enough to give away the way my hands are shaking. I can’tbelieve she’s here. After months of giving her space, of waiting for her to reach out…she’s here.
Trying to skate…terribly.
Her expression shifts so fast it’s almost whiplash—gratitude to pure disgust in under a second.
“Scotty.”
She yanks her hand out of mine, and without my support, falls straight onto her ass. The thud echoes over the entire rink, loud enough that even the kids look over.
I wince, knowing she’s going to have a bruise after that one. Then I crouch down, wrap my hands around her ribs, and lift her easily. Her little legs dangle with the heavy skates on, and the second the blades hit the ice, she wriggles out of my hold.
“I don’t need your help,” she snaps, grabbing the boards. Although she thinks she’s got a good hold, I can already see her skates slipping underneath her.
“Ahh!” she cries, her feet falling forward.
I catch her again before she hits the ice, pulling her in until her chest brushes mine and her skates stop slipping.
“Oh, Princess,” I murmur, leaning down just enough to hear her breath hitch. “Pretty sure you do need my help.”
Her hands find my shoulder, her fingers clutching at my hockey jersey as she takes slow, even breaths that I can feel across my jaw. We’re inches apart, close enough that I can count every freckle on her nose, more than sure this is never going to happen again.
“Don’t call me Princess,” she pants out, but there’s no bite to it. It’s not a real pushback. If anything, I think she’s studying my face too.
It’s been a year. An entire year I haven’t seen her. I looked up every single theater production Covey put on, hoping to see her name, but didn’t see it once.
I never saw her in that year, but she looks just as beautiful.
She closes her eyes and pushes off me, or at least I let her pretend she does the work. I guide her toward the boards, my hands firm at her waist until she has something solid to hold onto. Only then do I release her.
She lets out a frustrated breath and tugs her beanie into place, lifting her chin as she straightens, acting. Her chest is heaving, and the hand on her hip is pure performance.
Her body is trembling, her heavy breathing is screwing with her core strength. She’s one wrong move away from falling again.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Her eyes track my body as she takes in my hockey gear. “I could ask you the same thing. I thought you only skated on campus.”
I tilt my head, suppressing my smile because she’s just admitted so much without realizing it. She specifically came to this rink to avoid me, which only means one thing.
She was thinking about me, and fuck, that ignites so many thoughts in my mind.
I want to tell her everything. That I’m sorry. That I didn’t speak to Erik for months because I was so angry with him. That I’ve just been waiting for her call, but I hold myself back. She’s not here because she wants to see me. In fact, she’s here for the exact opposite.
So I settle with answering her question instead.
