Despite his obvious discomfort, he does what I tell him, taking a few small, waddling steps a penguin would be proud of.
“This is not what you look like on the ice,” he grumbles while continuing down the edge of the rink.
I slowly skate beside him, doing my best to choke back a laugh at his huffiness.
“How quickly you forget I’ve been doing this longer than I could read,” I joke in an attempt to lighten the mood. Or at the very least, get him to crack a smile.
It doesn’t work.
“I look stupid.”
“You’d look more stupid lying flat on your ass,” I point out. “And to prevent that, you need to learn to walk before you learn to run. Or glide, in this case.”
He penguin-walks ten more feet down along the wall, and I continue at his side, acting as a shield against any skaters passing by who could accidentally collide with him. Once he’s made a bit of progress like that, I offer my next instruction.
“Now, the next few steps you take, you’re going to keep your lifted foot in the air for an extra second. And then do the same thing with the other foot so you start to glide.”
Without breaking step, he does as I ask, leaving his right foot in the air a little longer, allowing his left to move smoothly over the ice. Then he does the same thing with the opposite foot, starting to move at a little quicker pace.
I smile, unable to stop myself. “I know you’re gonna hate hearing this, but you’re a natural.”
“Genetics, I guess,” he mutters under his breath. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips through the annoyance, though, before he schools his features again. “Okay, what’s next?”
“Instead of just lifting, we’re gonna start pushing with your back foot so you can go a little faster. The trick is to use the inside edge of the blade, not the tip of it.” I demonstrate what I want him to do a couple times, skating a good eight feet away with a gentle push. Then I do the same thing back toward him, and stop at his side. “Make sense, or do you want me to do it again?”
“I think I’m good.”
I nod. “Okay. Then you just repeat that process to keep going.”
Surprisingly, he does relatively well with the first attempt, pushing with his right foot, then his left. Granted, his hand is still skimming along the top of the rink wall, offering him the illusion of balance, but it’s a start.
We skate around the entire rink like that, and once we pass the rink entrance, I decide it’s time we put his new skating abilities to the test.
“Okay, time to take off the training wheels.”
Logan grabs the wall to stop and looks at me, frowning. “That’s a really poor analogy when I have blades on my feet, not wheels.”
“Well, poor analogy or not, you’re letting go of the wall.”
“Already?”
I nod. “Yeah. Hence the training wheels comment.”
His gaze shifts, moving past me to look out at the rink, and all the color drains from his face. I visibly watch him have a mental crash out, trying to find a way to talk himself up—or maybe evenoutof this—before his focus moves back to me.
“Camden, I don’t—”
“Do you trust me?” I ask, cutting him off before he can ask to call it quits.
Not that I’d let him when we’ve already come this far. All that’s left is to put it to the test, and even if he’s not confident, I have enough faith for both of us.
Aware that he hasn’t answered, I hold out my hand, and gently ask him the question again. His eyes dance between mine, as if he’s searching for a way to tell me no, and I’d try not to be offended if that’s the case.
But, thankfully, he nods briskly instead before whispering a soft “yes.”
My chest swells with pride as I say, “Then let go of the wall and take my hand.”
Despite his hesitation, he releases the wall and places his palm into mine. I’m hyperaware of the connection, and it takes everything in me to focus on Logan beside me, watching his form and giving small critiques, instead of his skin heating mine through his glove again.
