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I had been pushing myself hard today, but getting to skate with my guys had helped me distance myself from the worst memories from a couple of nights ago. All yesterday, every time I’d glanced down at myself, I’d flashed back to the splatters of Maverick’s blood dabbling my hands.
I’d still been a little shell-shocked when I’d shown up this morning, and my boyfriends had caught on immediately. But when Niko had asked if I wanted to talk about it, my throat had constricted until I felt like I was choking.
“It’s all right,” Jasper had told me. “You don’t need to get into the details with us. We know whatever you needed to do, it’s what you had to do to survive. It doesn’t mean anything about who you really are.”
Then I’d choked up for a completely different reason, tears of relief pricking at the backs of my eyes. But the burden of my unwanted duty had lifted as I’d skated, until I really did feel like myself again.
At some point, I might tell Rafael about what exactly had gone down with Maverick. He’d understand the violence I’d needed to turn to in a way the skater guys couldn’t totally. But having permission not to lay out the gory details of my role as Mom’s heir was the best gift anyone could have given me.
At least Mom had seemed satisfied enough. She’d even let out a sharp chuckle of amusement when I’d told her how I’d dealt with the asshole’s mocking rebellion. Then she’d patted me on the shoulder and complimented my “creativity.”
No mention of any expectation that I’d have killed the man. I was more sure than ever that Octavio’s instructions had come only from himself.
When I skated over to the stands now, Niko had already grabbed our water bottles for us. I tipped mine to my mouth. As I took a few slow gulps, my gaze veered across the rink toward the other, lonely figure working on his routine alongside us.
Quentin whirled through a spin, the overhead lights flashing off his pale hair. His leg rose to the perfect angle with his body, his arms unfurling before he pulled in on himself again.
His form was incredible. I’d been able to see that even back when I’d wanted to punch him in the face every time he talked to us. But as he pushed off into a step sequence, I couldn’t help thinking, like I had many times before, that there was something missing to all those strictly precise movements.
He came to a stop about ten feet away, and I set down my water bottle. We didn’t normally talk a whole lot during our training periods, but the observation hit me hard enough that the words tumbled out.
“You know, you can pull off some really impressive moves. No one could ever say you’re not a great skater. But there’s something about your style that always looks too analytical to me. Kind of rigid.”
Quentin raised an eyebrow and glided a little closer. “Did I just hear you call me a ‘great skater’? And ‘impressive’ too? Go ahead and keep that praise coming.”
He grinned, the faded slash of his scar lifting with the curve of his lips—a warmer expression than his usual smirk, but still a little wicked. And I couldn’t deny that my heart skipped a beat watching his handsome face light up.
I arched my eyebrows right back at him. “I did also mention that you seem too stiff.”
His grin widened. “And now you’re offering tips. Trying to get into coaching too, Upstart?”
The nickname he’d apparently just come up with made me roll my eyes. “Just making an observation. If you don’t want to hear—”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Quentin cocked his head. “It just sounds like you figure I need someone to teach me how to loosen up. Maybe you should take me on as a pet project, since you’re so concerned.”
There was no mistaking the teasing glint in his bright blue eyes—or the challenge in his voice. Hewantedme to say yes, probably so he’d have an excuse to win me over however he imagined he was going to do that.
The truth was that he’d already been doing that, bit by bit, without trying directly. Possiblybecausehe hadn’t been laying it on thick.
He’d just been a more open, considerate version of the jerk he’d been before… and I’d been finding I kind of liked his presence in my life. The snark and the arrogance hadn’t vanished, but balanced out like this, they’d become an acquired taste, like the bitterness in a good cup of coffee or the acidic tang of a grapefruit.
I wasn’t sure I wanted him knowing how much progress he’d made toward his goal, though. And it wasn’t just me he needed to prove himself to.
I tipped my head toward my partner, who’d leaned against the boards to watch the conversation. “You could learn a thing or two from me, sure, but Jasper’s the expert at putting emotion into a performance.”
Quentin folded his arms in front of him in a pose that initially looked defensive, but the raise of his chin was more determined than defiant. After a brief pause, his voice came out even. “Let’s see what both of you could show me, then.”
Jasper’s stance tensed for a second, and I braced myself for an argument. But he eased over, giving Quentin a wary but not unwelcoming look. “You really want to do this?”
Quentin shrugged. “Why not? I won’t be an idiot and say there’s nothing I could learn from the great Saint Jasper.”
There was a hint of wryness in his use of Jasper’s fan-given title, but otherwise he sounded genuine. Enough that Jasper’s mouth twitched with the start of a smile. “All right. Then let’s get you moving.”
Niko had headed to our portable speaker system. “It’s easier to loosen up if you can relax into the music.” He flicked through one of his many playlists and selected a lilting track that I knew would slowly swell with dramatic emotion.
I grasped Quentin’s forearm and tugged him across the rink. Jasper skated next to us, his hand resting on the small of my back. He drew me away from the other guy and spun us around in a loose spiral before settling into a simple glide across the ice.
Quentin followed, his back straight, his arms by his sides. Jasper shook his head. “You look like a toy soldier, Wolfe. Can’t you feel the melody? Let it work its way into your muscles and move with it.”
