“Probably the same reason your lovely but stubborn ass hasn’t contacted him.”
“He’sthe one who didn’t textmeback.” I cradle my face in my hands and let out a groan. I can’t believe I just said that. “Oh, God. I sound like a teenager. Please slam me into the ice. Clearly, my brain needs unscrambling.”
Spencer throws an arm around my shoulders. “Talk to him, Isla. He’s not that scary.”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
He gives me acut-me-a-fucking-breaklook.
“I don’t want to make the wrong decision again,” I explain, casting an arm out to the side. “I can’t be collateral damage of someone else’s choices. I barely recovered last time.”
“Just because something didn’t turn out well doesn’t mean you made the wrong decision.”
It’s hard for me to accept that as true. The regret from my past relationships is so ingrained in me.
Spencer squeezes my shoulder. “Wes is the best person I know. He’ll hurt himself before he hurts you. I trust him with my life, and I’d trust him with yours.”
“Comforting.”
“It should be. You’re my partner, which makes you my family, but you’re also my friend, separate from all that. I’ll always stand by you, and tell you the truth.”
My heart stutters, not used to hearing emotions stated so plainly. “I still can’t figure out what you’re getting out of this. You’d be better off without me.”
“I’m doing my best skating with you. You know how good you are. Stop doubting it all because of some asshole that was beneath your talent.” He claps his hands together. “All right, now that today’s episode ofDays of Our Livesis over, can we practice?”
“That would be a good idea.” Linden’s voice makes us jump, and I spin toward the door of the gym where she leans against the frame. “This is the time for focus, not”—she flicks her wrist rapidly, gesturing from me to Spencer—“whatever this is. Let’s go.”
Spencer flashes a boyish smile, holding one arm out toward the door. “You heard her.”
Three days until competition
Spencer and I nail every element, making Linden so happy that she gives us her version of a smile as we leave the rink.
He knocks into my shoulder. “I told you we were ready.”
“Well,I’vealways had it. It was you who was the question.”
“Oh, is that right?” Spencer seizes my side, and I squirm away, letting out a high-pitched yelp. It grows when my gaze snags on a figure ten feet from us.
Wes.
His forest green Palmer City Wolves T-shirt conforms to his strong frame, a painful reminder of how good he feels beneath my fingertips. And don’t get me started on the gray sweatpants. It’s been too long since I’ve had him beneath me, on top of me, around me. I want to snuggle up beside him as he tells me about the past few days and climb him like a tree in equal measure.
“Oh, hi,” I say, straightening to my full height, an uncharacteristic shyness coming over me.
Wes never responded to my last text, the joke I sent about how he told me to use him. I’ve tried, and failed, not to fixate on it. He’s had a lot going on these past few days. There’s a weariness to his expression, a darkness beneath his eyes that suggests sleep hasn’t soothed his exhaustion.
“You look like shit, brother,” Spencer says. A concern underlies his words despite the wolfish smile on his face. “You just get back?”
“An hour ago.”
“Everything resolved?”
Wes shrugs. “Yes.”
Spencer claps him on the shoulder as he passes, heading toward the locker room. “Glad to have you back. We’ll catch up later.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “See you at the car, Isla.”
Wes runs a hand through his hair, dropping his gaze to the ground.
