“Why would he be at your family dinner?”
“He’s the heir apparent for Randolph-Covington Transportation,” I say, every word coated with bitterness.
Spencer’s eyebrows shoot sky high, but he keeps silent, waiting for me to explain.
“Brooks and I had no interest in the business, so my father took my then-husband under his wing so he could eventually run it. You’d think that our divorce would change the plan, but my father doubled down. Maybe to punish me for bringing ‘shame’ on our family, or he agrees with my mother that we’ll get back together.”
Spencer shifts on his skates. “Why’d you break up?”
I push down the instinct to side-step the question.It’s part of building trust, of making this a true partnership.“He didn’t support my skating. Well, he did at first, or at least he pretended to. I loved him, so I ignored the subtle signs through the years that he didn’t.Until he stated flat out that it was time for me to grow up, and if I loved him, I would retire and focus on growing our family.”
“That’s bullshit, Isla.”
“Yeah, but I’m glad it happened. I might still be with him if it didn’t. Giving me that ultimatum made the choice to leave so obvious. I’m mad at myself for not doing it sooner.”
Spencer throws an arm around my shoulder. “Selfishly, I’m glad you didn’t give up on skating. I worried about finding the right partner.”
I glance up at him. “There are other skaters that would be easier to deal with.”
He shrugs. “But you keep me on my toes. I’ve never skated like this with anyone else.”
“Like what?”
“With an aggressiveness and an I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude. I’ve always been so by-the-book and buttoned up, but with you…I think we’re going to make a statement, Isla.”
The sentiment is so foreign that it takes a moment for his words to settle in my mind. No one has embraced my preferred brand of skating. Instead, my coaches and partners tried to rein me in because they thought that’s what we needed to succeed.
Figure skating culture has long expected a certain kind of woman on the ice, one that’s graceful, controlled, and demure. Fitting myself into that mold did bring me success, but I always wondered what would happen if I embraced my natural style. Now, I’m paired with someone who doesn’t want me to dim myself for the sake of anyone else.
“Do you want to take our practice off-ice?”
“Not unless you want to toss me over your shoulder and drag me out of here.” I continue to glide along beside him as we drift slowly toward center ice.
“Not my style,” he says with another grin. I wonder what, if anything, could bring this ray of sunshine down to earth. We’ve been busting our asses, struggling to get onto the same page and learning to trust each other, and not once has he ever lost his joy. “Is that what you’re used to?”
I shrug.
“Isla.” Spencer’s gentle command draws me to a stop. “This”—he motions between us with one hand—“is how we learn to skate better.”
“By sharing sob stories?” I scoff. “Doubtful.”
He belts out a genuine laugh. “Damn, sometimes you remind me so much of him.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who?”
“My brother.”
I point at him. “You take that back.”
Spencer sticks out his tongue and begins skating backwards away from me. He opens his mouth and pauses dramatically before his quick, “No.”
I take off in his direction, accelerating as quickly as I can to reach him. But Spencer picks up the pace, beating me to the end of the rink before he speeds along the curve and heads to the other side. We take turns chasing after each other, and eventually, stop at center ice.
“You must be pretty happy with yourself.”
He winks at me. “I usually am.”
I roll my eyes, but swallow down the retorts at the ready on my tongue. The smile lines bracketing his mouth vanish from his face as it slips into somberness. My muscles brace for bad news.
