Chapter Sixteen
Mollie
Focus on perfection.
I raise my arms above my head and take a steadying breath. The rink all around me is lit from above, but the stands are dark.
This is how Coach Savard used to set up the rink for me when I had a performance coming up and needed to practice.
Letting my breath out, I count it down in my head. Five, four, three, two...
Pushing off, I take my time, swooping and turning, dancing. Indie and I did ice dance for fun for a couple of summers. This is one of the first ice dance programs I ever learned. Focusing on the feel of the ice under my skates, the thrill of being at the rink alone, the brief bursts of flying. The routine grounds me. It’s something I did at 12, but somehow it brings back the fun of the rink.
God, skating used to be fun. Back before the pressure and the competition. I have the biggest grin on my face as I work my way through the program.
But just because I'm taking it easy doesn't mean I can't make it look excellent. Wearing my only practice leotard not consumed by the fire, I keep my movements fluid and graceful, my hand gestures dramatic, my body looking as effortless as a feather floating on the rink. This is what separates champions from the rest.
Champions know how to put all their effort and attention into something. They make it seem like a stop, turn, or crossover is something that anyone could do. But anyone who's skated before realizes how hard you're working.
If I’m honest with myself, I can admit that the reason I’m out here right now, on the ice, is because I don’t want to be ashamed of not being able to do it anymore. A part of it is mental; but I can admit that a part of me doesn’t want to explain to Alex that I was too scared to try.
My crush is a hockey player. A really good one. And I don’t want him to be disappointed the next time he asks if I’ve tried.
This is me, trying. I dance and swoop and swirl for a couple more minutes, pushing my lungs to the breaking point. Slowing, I gasp, dragging air into my lungs.
God, I had forgotten how aerobic figure skating can be. Leaning forward, I put my hands on my knees and try to catch my breath. My ankle chooses this moment to twinge, shooting searing pain up the side of my leg. I rub the side of my boot but I’ve laced it tightly enough that I can’t get to the spot that’s in spasm.
"Fucking ouch," I say out loud. Because this is the reason why I chose to practice solo. I need to be able to curse, to be disappointed, to feel all the range of emotions that I feel while I'm the only one on the ice. Standing, I wobble.
"Seriously?" I hiss at my ankle. I finally pull it together to get out on the ice, and this happens? Tears press at my eyes, but I won't just give in like this.
Instead, I skate slow circles around the rink. I have to get a handle on this pain if I'm ever going to skate again, even casually.
"Are you okay?"
Thorne's voice shocks me. I glance up, my eyes wide, electricity sizzling through my veins. "What are you doing here?"
I came to this rink, twenty minutes from his house, with the specific intention of being alone. Yet Alex Thorne stands there, his skates knotted and tossed over his shoulder, his dark hair damp from a shower. I swallow; for a second, I can only picture a very naked, tattooed Alex in his shower, water sluicing down his skin.
Pushing that thought aside, I cock my hip. He gives me a small, secret smile as if he can see inside my head.
“I tried calling you a couple of times. Then I might have called Indie. She has your location the Find My Family app.”
My eyes widen again. "You manipulated Indie into telling you where to find me? Fucking stalker."
"Stalker is a strong term. And I barely had to ask. She got very swoony and said that she wished she had a hot hockey man that was quote ‘deeply obsessed’ with her." He shrugs the skates from his shoulder and heads for a bench. "And you never answered my question. Are you okay? Is your ankle bothering you?"
Strange, I forgot all about my pain because this very handsome trickster distracted me. "My ankle's fine. But if you think you're done with the stalker conversation, you've got another thing coming."
He trades his shoes for skates, lacing them up tightly and pulling the guards off. He spots where I left my bag, and puts his perfectly white pair of sneakers beside my dark purple Converse. They are comically different sizes, making my shoes seem like a kid's.
"You need someone to look out for you, Freckles." He looks completely unbothered as he steps onto the ice. "Tracking your every movement isn't even up there in the rankings of me being a fucking creep. When it comes to you, I’ll go to any length to make sure you're taken care of."
I scoff. "Don't act like you give a crap about me. I'm crashing on your couch, taking up space in your house and life because I'm a hot mess. I know that in a couple of weeks, you'll get tired of taking care of me. I'll go back to my apartment. And everything will return to normal."
The idea makes me sad, but what other outcomes are there? Alex Thorne is ridiculously cute. But even he has to realize that we have an expiration date. Right?
We haven’t even had sex or remotely broached the ‘seeing other people’ convo yet. He will likely tire of me long before we get serious.
