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It is such a strange thing to love something so much and also hate it. I loved skating, the ice, feeling the cold smart my lungs. I loved the feel of the air whooshing around my face, the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I glided up and down the rink.
And I was good.
Really damn good.
But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t chase a dream that was so tangled up with my deep desire for my father to accept me.
There had been a time when I’d dreamed of being the second woman ever to play for an NHL team, but I knew it still wouldn’t be enough for him.
Pushing the disheartening and painful thoughts out of my head, I got on the ice and let myself fly.
There was nothing quite like it, gliding around the rink, zigzagging in and out of the beginners. A small group of kids all stopped to watch me, pointing and giggling when I gave them a small wave as I passed them.
“She’s good,” I heard someone say.
“Too good for this session,” another one said with slight annoyance.
A smile tugged at my mouth, that needy, affection-starved part of my soul lighting up at their compliments. I knew it wasn’t healthy to crave strangers’ attention, but it made me happy.
It made me feel worth something.
Playing up to the small crowd now watching me, I did a couple of fancy moves, earning a small round of applause. God, I loved this. The rush of endorphins, the joy spreading through me like sunshine.
Until I came to an impressive stop, spraying ice into the air, and looked across the rink to find Mason watching me. And my good mood evaporated just like the ice melting beneath my skates.
Mason was here, and he wasn’t alone.
“Harper. Harper’s here,” Scottie yelled across the rink, flapping his hands excitedly.
Even from a distance between us, I could see the way Mason’s jaw tightened, his eyes cold and hard.
Great.
Just what I didn’t need.
“Harper, Harper,” Scottie waved stiffly, and I noticed he wasn’t wearing skates, unlike his big brother.
Deciding to be the bigger person, I headed their way, stopping at the boards. “Well, this is a surprise.” I smiled, refusing to meet Mason’s confused and slightly irritated gaze. “What are you doing here?”
“Mason is going to let me watch him skate.”
“He is, huh?” My eyes finally flicked to his. “That’s nice.”
And it was, dammit.
He was so good with Scottie; it really didn’t help my case, remembering he was an arrogant, cruel asshole.
“Those were some fancy moves out there. Where’d you learn to do that?” he asked, surprising me.
“I skate a little.” I shrugged, still butt-hurt after our conversation Thursday. “Maybe I can hang out with you while you watch Mason?”
Scottie’s eyes got big with wonder. “For real?”
“Sure. If Mason says it’s okay?”
No way I wanted to be on the ice with him.
“Yeah”—he scratched his jaw—“whatever.”
