He rubs the back of his neck, dipping his chin. He tells the floor, “You know what I meant.”
I throw my hands up, pushing myself up off his hips. “Fine then, forget the rules. I know the game sucked—”
“Don’t—” He holds up a hand, shaking his head a little. “Try to make me feel better about things you know nothing about.”
“Nothing?” I cross my arms. “You know next time a reporter asks me about my training and process I’ll tell them, I know nothing!”
“This is different,” he argues.
Not that I try to dissuade the arguing. “How is it different?”
“You didn’t tear into twenty-three guys at halftime to have them playworse.” He pushes his hair back, agitated. “I tore those boys down and now I gotta figure out how to build them back up.”
“Okay, but you do that all the time,” I shrug. “You built them up this season, you’ll do it again.”
His hand rests on the back of his neck, voice softer now. “This was going to help us get to the Frozen Four.”
“No one expected you to make it to the Frozen Four.” My voice is dripping with sentimentalism, which makes it worse.
I wait for him to snort or grumble or do something to tell me how bad I’ve pissed him off. Instead, he sighs like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
“You should go.”
“I just got here,” I say, petulant.
Christo’s lips twitch like he’s fighting back another argument. I don’t deserve his leniency, but I don’t apologize before I storm out. I’ve got one foot on the porch when he grabs my arm. “Wait,” he sighs. “I’m sorry—please don’t leave angry.”
There’s a forlorn look in his eyes that reminds me we won’t see each other for a while. Winter break is a few days away. I’ve got a booked schedule between skating, family, and the influx of promos that came in after my Grand Prix win.
“Let’s talk, like adults. No rules. No trying to protect each other’s feelings. Just talk.”
His gentle voice doesn’t soothe me in the slightest.
“You can’t take out your team losing on me!”
“That wasn’t fair.” He gives my arm a slight tug. “Can wepleasetalk about this inside?”
I hesitate. The houses on either side of me are close enough I can look right into their living room and kitchen respectively. But truly, I don’t want to make a scene. It would feel great to leave him in this miserable state, but I knowI’ll want him back tomorrow.
I step inside and shut the door behind me. We sit on the couch, his hand on my knee.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you. Today was a bad day and that’s not your fault.” He shakes his head. “But it sucks we can’t talk about it becauseyoudon’t want to.”
“You keep talking about this like they’re my rules.”
He frowns and starts counting off on his fingers. “No talking about figuring skating or the Dingbats, your rule. No sleepovers, your rule. No flirting on campus, even though I wasnotflirting with you on campus.”
I roll my eyes. “Agree to disagree there.”
He still has three fingers up. “Roderick, they’re all your rules. I’m not even sure how most of them keep our relationship a secret.Don’t tell anyoneisn’t even a rule!”
There’s a reason for that, one I hadn’t realized till this very moment. “It’s… an unspoken rule…”
His frown becomes more severe. “No one knows about us, right?”
If I lie now, everything that comes next will be under that pretense. Every kiss, every hand hold, every home cooked meal, the direct result of a lie. I take a deep breath so my voice doesn’t shake. “Alex knows.”
His furrowed brows jump, then sink right back down his face. “Alex?”
