One. Two. Three.
His palm stills, pressing down against the base of my neck before he starts again.
I hear a lot of things when he does—not just the numbers.
I hear all the ways I’ve never been enough, but I hear these other quiet, tiny things, too.
Facts and truth he’s given me over the years when I’ve struggled to fall asleep.
The way he loved my brain enough for the both of us.
But I can’t stay here, listening to them. I know that much.
“You haven’t ... skated?” I pull back, looking up at him. Beautiful, illuminated under the rink lights.
He gives a slow shake of his head. “Sometimes... but not like that. When I was ... trying to rehab and recondition, I couldn’t go fast enough for long enough before I got dizzy.”
It’s more than he’s ever said to me about it.
It was like pulling teeth, trying to get him to tell me anything, and it turned out my hands weren’t enough for those extractions, so somewhere along the way, I gave up.
“Are you dizzy now?” I ask quietly, a bit scared he might shut down again and I’ll never know.
“No.” He gives another slow shake of his head. “Not at all.”
I nod, scrunching my nose against the tears. “Why don’t you go again? I’ll watch.”
He might have hurt me impossibly, but as much as I don’t have it in me to pretend not to know him, I can’t pretend not to want every dream he’s ever had to come true.
But Bohdan stares, and I think his eyes trace the freckles on my cheek, before he murmurs, “I’d rather see if I could skate with you again.”
“Okay.” I sniff, finally taking a step back from the boards and untangling my hands from where they were gripped around his neck.
He holds a hand up, and before I can think better of it, I interlace my fingers with his, and he skates slowly beside the boards as I walk to the entrance, a bit unsteady on the blades, like I was all those years ago.
His fingers tense against mine when I step onto the ice. “I can pull you.”
“Okay,” I say again, and he lifts my other hand, palms pressed together for just a minute, and then my fingers are in his and he’s skating.
I’m in two places at once again—then and here.
I don’t try to stop the tears, I let them fall, sniffing occasionally, never taking my eyes off Bohdan.
He doesn’t take his off me, either. He skates backward, legs crossing over one another, blades slicing across the ice that’s only ever belonged to him.
“You said you haven’t skated like that ... do you not skate?” I’m as afraid to ask as I am of the answer.
“I go out sometimes. But not like that. I’ve never tried to push my body again.” Bohdan shrugs, rounding the corner with ease. “If I can’t have the real thing, I don’t want it.”
“Is that why you’re still alone?” I ask, a half attempt at humour, but it’s a real question.
His eyes narrow on me, cheekbones sharpening. “It’s why I’ll be alone forever, Sloan.”
He’d rather be alone than be with you, my brain whispers.
I snort to try and cover the sob.
I squeeze my eyes shut with a sharp jerk of my head.Go away, I want to whisper back.
