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“We’re in love, right?”

There’s a soft innocence to the question, something vulnerable about her that I want to tuck deeply beneath the cage of my ribs so I can hold her there permanently. So that this persistent fear that she’s slipping through my fingers like water will finally leave me.

“Yeah, Lil,” I say, pressing a kiss to her temple and tucking her closer. My fingers skim the bare cooling skin of her back with a careful slowness. “You and me, forever?”

“You and me,” she says, tucking her pinkie into mine and pressing our thumbs together. I kiss them, rolling my lip ring against her a little roughly, watching brightly as the flush in her cheeks is renewed.

It feels now like I’m dying.

My hand presses to my chest a little harder. I can feel Holden’s eyes on me every few seconds, like he’s worried I’ll implode and spill across his car interior. I don’t even remember how long we’ve been driving, the sky dark, stars glittering in an almost mocking way.

“Talk to me, Tor.”

I shake my head, jaw clenched. “I can’t.”

Holden nods, but he grips the steering wheel a little harder as he turns off the road and into a familiar parking lot. The community rink nearer to downtown Waterfell. It’s not packed, but a few cars litter the lot.

He parks but doesn’t move, doesn’t turn off the car.

“Are you angry with her?” he asks quietly.

“Yes.” I pause, shaking my head. “No. I don’t know. I’m mad at myself. I don’t know why I—” My voice cuts off. I don’t have to say it. It’s like he knows.

Holden’s hand rises to squeeze my shoulder before he cuts the ignition.

“C’mon. I’ve got an idea.”

• • •

The community rink is small, mostly empty. The girl who sold us the tickets warned us they were closing in twenty minutes. She still charged us full price, even after Holden attempted to flirt his way into a free admission.

“I’m not putting those damn things on my feet,” I say, shaking my head, looking at the community skates. Even the so-called hockey skates look butchered.

Holden smirks, lacing his own up, which he’d had in the back of his car, alongside his stick and a few pucks.

“It’s a good thing he’s here then.”

I look over my shoulder toward where Holden cocked his head, seeing Coach Harris speaking to the girl at the front, headed toward us, a pair of my skates dangling in one hand, a pair of his in the other.

“Coach,” I say. The title seems to stiffen his shoulders, as if that’s not what he wants to be for me right now. But he continues forward, handing me my skates.

“Tor.” His smile is almost enough to make me believe nothing of the last few hours even happened. “Here,” he says, handing me the skates. I sit next to Holden on the bench and put them on, lacing them up quickly. “Room for a third?”

Holden’s eyes bulge, his mouth swelling like holding in his laugh is pure helium, blowing him up until he will inevitably explode. I elbow him, hard.

“Two on one?” I suggest. Holden shakes his head and squeezes my body in close as he slings an arm over my shoulder.

“I actually have to get home early!” He almost shouts it, unlacing his skates and slipping his dress shoes back on.

“No, you don’t. We just got here.”

“And I just remembered!” he says with his eyes intent on mine. “Mind driving him back, Coach?”

Holden doesn’t wait for a reply, slinging his bag over his shoulder before leaving, giving the girl at the counter a wink on his way out.

“You all right, Toren?” Harris asks, sitting and pulling his own skates on.

I nod with a shrug. “I’m sorry I stormed out of dinner like that. It was rude, and probably looked bad on you and Sahara . . .”