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But he doesn’t.
Instead, he claps his hands and directs his attentions to the kids. “Alright, any of you who’ve had a couple lessons already, come with me. Newbies, stay with Ms. Sinclair.”
Ms. Sinclair. I have no idea why, but Hunter calling me that does … something to my stomach. A weird sort of flutter.
Luckily, I have my hands too full to dwell on that feeling or what it could possibly mean. The more experienced kids skate towards the center of the rink with Hunter, so I can focus on the most basic of beginner lessons with the first-time kids.
My stress level goes down a good eight or nine notches, and I’m able to have a productive session with the new kids. Every now and then I look over to Hunter, and it’s hard to believe what a natural he is.
I would have expected him to be irritable and impatient teaching kids. Instead, he’s the exact opposite.
He’s encouraging and supportive. When one of them falls, he gives them the encouraging and comforting words they need to get back up and try it again. When one of them succeeds, he acts like they just won an Olympic gold medal with how effusive his praise is.
It honestly worries me how heart-warming it is seeing him with them. Makes me wonder if the real Hunter Landry wasn’t replaced by a body-snatcher or something.
The class session flies by, and before I know it, parents are coming to pick up their kids.
I don’t miss the way some of the moms look at Hunter when they see him hanging around, talking with the kids and making them laugh while they’re waiting to be picked up.
“Thanks, Hunter!” Dereck says when his mom comes for him. Hunter looks caught off guard for a minute when Dereck wraps his arms around him and gives him a hug. A smile settles on Hunter’s face as he lightly pats the kid on the back.
“No problem, kiddo. You’re a natural.” It’s honestly kind of adorable how his cheeks are rosy from smiling when he waves at Dereck as he and his mom leave.
“Shane still around?” I ask once we’re alone.
“Nah. He left after we finished organizing the supplies.”
“So you just … stayed behind to help? Even though you could have left?”
“Thanks for sounding so surprised that I’d try to do something nice,” he says on a chuckle.
Normally, I’d make some kind of sarcastic quip in response. But right now, I’m actually grateful for his help. More than grateful: impressed.
He’s got a way with kids. I was thinking that he and Shane teaching a class tomorrow was going to be a shitshow, but now, I think it might actually be a success.
Hunter has this annoying tendency to, every once in a while, do something nice that reminds me he really is kind of a good guy, even though he’s been addicted to being a jerk to me ever since I left him in the dust racing him on the ice that day we first met.
Suddenly, my guard around him is down enough that I hear myself blurt out something I didn’t plan on sharing with him—the answer to the question asked not too long ago.
“I can’t figure skate anymore.”
I feel his demeanor change next to me. “What?” he asks, concern laced in his voice.
I turn to him, letting out a sigh. “In the supply closet, you mentioned not knowing why I transferred back here from Maine. It’s because I can’t figure skate anymore.”
He blinks, his blue eyes darkening with worry and his face clouding. “What happened?”
My chest hitches, but I push out the answer.
“Car accident. Last February. Hurt my knee bad enough that it can’t take the intensity of the sport anymore.” I shrug. “There was no reason for me to be in Maine if I wasn’t on the figure skating team. So, I came back here.”
Deep lines dig into his forehead and his eyebrows lower, his sharp features contorting as if in pain. “Shit, Phoebe. I’m sorry.”
I feel a pressure in my chest, but I take a deep breath through my nose; the breath is shaky, but it works to keep the sob at bay.
“It’s alright,” I say. “Life goes on.”
The way he’s looking at me … it’s not quite the pity that I didn’t want to see. It’s something more than that. A deeper kind of concern.
