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The rink my mom had chosen was an outdoor one in a park near the waterfront. It was surrounded by trees wrapped in white lights, and there was a small warming hut off to one side selling hot chocolate and renting skates. Holiday music played from speakers mounted on wooden posts, and the ice gleamed under the glow of string lights crisscrossing overhead. It was charming and festive and the sight of it made my stomach turn.

Eric was lacing up his hockey skates, while Mom, Dad, and Jordan were grabbing rentals since they only skated once a year during this event.

Why Mom even still had ice skating on the list of Twelve Days events was beyond me.

But here we were.

Harry stood beside me, close enough that I could feel his warmth through my coat. He hadn’t said anything since we’d arrived, but he hadn’t needed to. He could read me well enough by now to know what this was costing me just to be here.

“You don’t have to skate,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“We can watch. Or leave. Whatever you need.”

I stared at the rink, emotions slamming into me faster than I could handle them. A handful of other families were already on the ice—kids wobbling on their ankles, parents holding their hands, a teenage couple attempting to skate together and laughing every time one of them stumbled. It was joyful and innocent. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to admit it out loud, but I missed it.

I missed the feeling of the wind in my hair as I skated across the ice. The weightless half second at the top of a jump before gravity pulled me back down.

I missed knowing who I was with a certainty and confidence that I’d faked for the last five years when it had come as easy as breathing before the accident.

“I want to try,” I said.

Harry looked at me, his gaze trying to see through me to gauge if I was sincere. Then he nodded. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

We rented skates and sat on the bench to lace them up. My fingers moved through the motions automatically—cross, loop, pull tight, tuck. The familiarity of it nearly made my eyes sting.

Eric had already launched himself onto the ice with his huge contagious grin. “Sam! Gordy! Get out here! I need someone to race.”

“You couldn’t keep up with me on your best day,” I called back, and the trash talk came so naturally it almost made me smile.

Almost.

Harry finished lacing his skates and stood, offering me his hand. “Ready?”

No.

But I needed to try.

I stared at the ice from the edge of the rink. It was maybe three steps away. Three steps and I’d be back on the surface that had defined my entire adolescence. The surface that had defined so much of my identity.

My knees wobbled slightly. I couldn’t do jumps or skate competitively, but there was nothing physically stopping me from stepping on the ice and skating right now.

And yet, my legs wouldn’t move.

The distance between the rubber mat and the ice might as well have been a canyon. Every memory I’d buried came rushing back—the sound of my blades carving clean edges, the roar of a competition crowd, the feeling of a perfect layback spin where the world blurred and the only thing that existed was the music, my body, and the ice beneath me. Then the screech of tires and the shatter of glass.

Harry stepped onto the ice first and turned to face me. He held out both hands, palms up, those gray eyes locked on mine.

“I’ve got you.”

Three words. The same three words he’d said to me in bed the first time we’d slept together, with the same steadiness, like an unshakable promise that whatever happened next, he’d be there.

It was enough to get my legs to move. I put my hands in his and stepped onto the ice.

The first thing I felt was the glide. That frictionless slide of blade across the surface, and my lungs filled with cold air as I took a deep, steadying breath. Harry held my hands and skated backward, guiding me forward, giving me time to find my footing. My ankles ached almost immediately. Five years off the ice combined with the damage the accident had done to my legs meant that even this, just gliding in a straight line, took more effort than it should have. My left knee twinged a little and my balance was off. The muscles that used to hold me steady without conscious thought were working overtime to compensate for everything I’d lost.

But I was on the ice. And underneath the ache and the fear, a flicker of a dangerous emotion stirred.