old air curls into my lungs as I stand on the ice in the middle of the empty rink mapping things out in my head. We’ve been rehearsing in the rink the last few rehearsals, and it’s time to make sure everything is finalized and ready for Pucks and Props night.
It’s in four days. The hockey team has a game tomorrow night, and then we have one more rehearsal before the final dress rehearsal. This night has to be perfect and I’m going to make sure it is.
Fifteen minutes later, the rink is full. Skates scrape softly across the ice as the hockey students warm up. They glide through the opening formation of the dance number. Just weeks ago, they could barely keep a rhythm without tripping over eachother, and now it seems like they could do this in their sleep. To be fair, we kept the dance pretty simple, so they didn’t have to learn too many steps. Plus, they are on skates, so it couldn’t be super complicated anyway.
I look over to the bleachers where my students are bundled in their coats and gloves running lines as the tech crew tests portable lighting rigs aimed toward center ice. Set pieces on wheels wait near the Zamboni entrance, ready to roll into place during transitions.
It’s coming together better than I imagined it would. It was definitely rough at first, getting these two groups to work together peacefully, but we did it. Jamie and I, we did it.
It’s been strange working so closely with Jamie while simultaneously screwing occasionally. Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying the screwing. It was unexpected, but maybe it was inevitable. Living together, working together… there was no hope for us. This was going to happen no matter how hard I tried to pretend that he didn’t affect me the way he used to. But that’s the thing about old feelings. They die hard.
Clutching my notebook close to my chest, I take a deep breath before calling out, “Full run in five!” Everyone pauses where they are before heading off the ice and going to their separate corners of the large arena.
Jamie stands near the players’ bench, talking quietly with two of his forwards. He came in slightly late, but I think he was at a physical therapy appointment. We haven’t really seen each other since last night. He was gone when I awoke, andthen I came here. Something about his posture looks loose, like nothing seems to be holding him down. The weight he’d been carrying for weeks, gone. And then I see why.
Where is his brace? He’s always wearing it, especially on the ice.
Everything inside me stills, the air suddenly feeling heavier. For a short moment, the entire rink fades to background noise. I watch him put pressure on the leg that he’s been working so hard to heal, and a selfish thought becomes very clear in my mind.
If he’s better, he can leave. Leave Ellington, leave the Wolves, leave me.
I don’t notice I’ve started walking toward him until he looks up and catches me staring. The players beside him go quiet before walking off, talking about how they’re going to kick ass at tomorrow’s game.
I smile, trying to act as if this isn’t going to hurt like hell.
“How was PT?” I ask. He shrugs, like it was no big deal.
“Good. Really good,” he tells me, a small smile on his lips. There’s a gleam in his eyes, something I haven’t seen in a long time. Hope.
“You’re not wearing it,” I say.
His gaze flicks down to his knee, understanding what I’m referencing. “Yeah,” he chuckles.
“How?” The word slips out before I can stop it. How? Seriously, Ellie?
“Jared says we’re almost done,” he explains. “A couple more weeks and I’ll be cleared to skate. Not sure at what level, but I’ll be back on the ice.”
Suddenly, I feel like I could sink into the ground, and I kind of wish I would.
Cleared to skate, meaning cleared to go back, cleared to leave me behind again. It’s selfish, I know. I should be incredibly happy for him. That’s what he’s wanted since he got here. I knew he wasn’t going to stick around forever, which is why I didn’t want to get feelings involved, but my stupid heart just had to go and fall in love with him, again.
Shit. I’m in love with him.
Forcing a smile, I say, “That’s amazing, Jamie. You’ve worked really hard.”
His eyes seem to search my face as if he’s trying to read between the lines.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I did.”
Silence stretches between us, filled with everything we’re not saying.
“Ellie, I’m not—” he begins, but I don’t let him finish.
“Well, I’m happy for you, Jamie,” I say quickly. “I really am. Now let’s get back to rehearsal.”
His jaw tightens. He knows what I’m doing. What I always do. I’m avoiding. Pretending that whatever just happened between us doesn’t matter, that my feelings for him don’t matter.
“Ellie, wait—”
