Grayson’s gaze holds mine for a beat. “No. You didn’t.”
And there’s something in his tone that makes my throat tighten, like he’s heard this kind of sharpness before, and he isn’t threatened by it.
I glance at the ice, then back at him. “Are you…coming to skate?”
He lifts one shoulder. “Maybe. Mostly needed air.”
Air. Right.
Grayson’s gaze flicks to my skates. “I didn’t know you were a figure skater.”
It’s not a question.
“I’m not,” I say automatically.
He raises a brow. “You don’t skate?”
I swallow and correct myself. “I…yes. I skate.”
He looks faintly amused. “But you’re not a figure skater?”
If I say no, he might ask questions. And questions have answers. And answers often have a sneaky way of revealing the truth, even if you don’t want them to.
I could tell him that I used to love to skate and started when I was just four years old. I could tell him that I used to practice just as hard, if not harder, than Kai. I could tell him that I was good, very good. I could tell him that I let a boy convince me that I wasn’t good enough, and that I let the poison he spewed spread through my body, ultimately putting an end to my skating.
I shrug instead. “I used to be.”
Grayson nods like that makes sense.
“I didn’t know PCU had open ice this early,” he says, glancing around. “It’s kind of…peaceful.”
“It’s only peaceful because no one’s here,” I tell him. “Give it an hour.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Noted.”
Silence stretches between us. Not awkward. Not uncomfortable.
Just…there.
My fingers tighten around the boards without me meaning to. I can feel my pulse in my wrists.
Grayson shifts, his gaze flicking to the far end. “I won’t get in your way.”
“I’m not—” I start, then stop because I don’t know what I’m trying to say.I’m not scared of you. I’m not uncomfortable.
Well, I am a little, but not because he’s done anything wrong.
Because he’s an athlete, and my brain has a long memory.
Because he’s Kai’s teammate, and Kai’s rules sit on my shoulders like weights.
Because he’s been…normal. And normal is dangerous when you’re used to people being unpredictable.
And most importantly, because a small part of me doesn’t want him to leave.
“You’re fine,” I settle on, because my default is alwaysfine.
Grayson’s eyes narrow just slightly, like he can hear the lie. But he doesn’t call it out. He just says, “Okay.” And then he does something that shouldn’t feel like respect, but it does. He steps back. Gives me space.
