Page 114 of Pucking Daddy

“It’s not,” I say. “I’ve got you.”

She snorts. “Famous last words.”

I grab a pair of skates for her.

She eyes them like they might attack. “If I die, I’m haunting you.”

“You won’t die.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” I say simply.

She rolls her eyes but takes the skates.

A few minutes later, we’re on the ice.

Or rather—I’m on the ice.

She’s clinging to the barrier like her life depends on it.

“Jaxon,” she says through clenched teeth, “this is a terrible idea.”

“Relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re gripping the wall like it personally offended you.”

I step closer, placing my hands on her waist.

She stills.

“Let go,” I say quietly.

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re not going to fall.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” I repeat. “Because I’m right here.”

She hesitates.

Then—slowly—her fingers loosen from the barrier.

Her weight shifts straight onto me. Her hands grab my shoulders.

“I hate you,” she mutters.

“No, you don’t.”

“Give it time.”

I almost smile.

I guide her forward, slow, steady. Step by step.