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He eyes the cup in my hand before dangling a pair of keys between us. “Let’s get to work, then.”
Adam makes quick work of opening the doors and leading us inside before setting the extra coffees down on the reception desk and showing me around.
The tour is quick, but he doesn’t seem to miss anything. We move around the arena with precision, and by the time he’s leaving me to put my stuff away in the staff-only locker room, I’m feeling more comfortable.
It surprised me how quickly I relaxed during the tour, but I guess it shouldn’t have. I’ve spent more time in locker rooms and training facilities than I have at my own home. It should be second nature to find comfort in this setting by now.
Adam left me with instructions to meet him on the ice after I’m finished here but didn’t elaborate on why. I can only guess that it has something to do with why he asked me to come in today before the rink even opened.
I shut my locker door and sit down on the wooden bench lined along the opposite wall. My skates rest on the floor in front of me, but I make no move to slip them on. Instead, I fidget with the elastic band holding my unruly curls up and out of my face and spend far too long picking at the edges of the sports tape I placed around my shoulder after my shower this morning. I do everything and anything I can to avoid doing what I’m supposed to be doing and hating myself for it.
With a groan, I drop my head back against the wall and fight the urge to stomp my feet like an insolent child.
“You can put them on by the ice if you want.”
I jump at the deep voice, my hand flying to my chest. “Shit. You scared me.”
Adam chuckles, the sound smooth yet raspy in a way that makes the hairs on my arms rise. He’s leaning a hip against the doorjamb, one hand in the pocket of his track pants, and watches me with an open expression that does little to hide his curiosity.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to check on you and make sure everything was okay. You’ve been in here for a while.”
I inwardly wince. “It didn’t feel like that long.”
“If you’re not feeling comfortable, we can skip the ice for today,” he offers. “I can have you go sit in on a few sessions instead. Willow isn’t in until Wednesday.”
I’m quick to protest. “No. You brought me in here today for a reason. You wanted to test me, right? See what I can and can’t do?”
“Yes, that was my intention. But I’m not the guy that’s going to push you into something you’re not ready for. Help guide you, maybe. But not force.”
My hackles rise even as I try to brush off the hidden challenge in his words, and I snap, “What makes you think I’m not ready?”
He lifts a brow, looking from me to the skates at my feet and then back at me again. “Did you forget how to put skates on?”
“No. I didn’t forget how to put skates on.”
“A bit rusty when it comes to lacing them, then?”
I’m not an idiot—I know when someone is trying to anger me enough into doing something, but I’m also not above falling right into the trap. With a scowl, I adjust my socks and slide my left foot into my skate. Just like I remember, it’s a perfect fit.
Filled with the urge to prove him wrong, I stare at him from beneath my eyelashes and quickly tie the laces. It’s muscle memory at this point, like riding a bike or driving a car. A ripple of satisfaction moves through me.
Adam’s mouth pulls at the corners as he watches, but he doesn’t say another word. I appreciate that he doesn’t interrupt me, but I keep that tidbit of information to myself.
In what seems like no time at all, I have both skates on and tied perfectly. “Happy?” I ask.
He grins. “Very. Are you?”
Standing, I shift my weight on my feet in an effort to get comfortable with the sudden change and then nod.
“Let’s get to it, then. We have half an hour before everyone else starts showing up,” he says, nodding to the door.
I’m suddenly flooded with determination, having hopped that first small hurdle. One that I hadn’t been able to on my own. It’s a small thing, but a win is a win.
I don’t think twice before following him.
My heart thumps in my chest as I stand on the edge of the ice. A nervous sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. I’ve never felt like this before. Not with this. Not with hockey.
My stomach tightens with fear, pure terror at the thought of diving back into this world. Of letting it consume me again.
