Page 12 of Boots & Scars

Walker just laughed and settled himself onto the bleachers, clearly unbothered by my biting retort.

As the door creaked open and a couple of kids trickled in, my stomach sank.

Fuck, I thought,this is going to be the longest goddamn day of my life.

A stream of eighteen and nineteen-year-olds filed into the rink, a mess of fresh faces and nervous energy. They wore their school colors proudly, yet their posture betrayed a collective uncertainty. The boys were all sharp angles and awkward strides, while the girls huddled together like birds seeking safety in numbers.

"Go change in the locker rooms," I directed, gesturing toward the corridor. "You can't skate in your uniforms. Go on. When you're done, come to the skating counter."

They shuffled off, some casting glances my way—curiosity and caution warring in their eyes.

Leaning my forearms on the skating desk, I caught a couple of them staring not-so-subtly at my face. The scars must've seemed like a story written in a foreign language to them.

"At least take me out on a date first," I quipped with a smirk.

They snapped their gazes away, cheeks coloring as they hurried to the locker room amidst hushed whispers.

They streamed back into the rink like a gaggle of geese, decked out in gear that still bore the creases of disuse. The skates were piled high on the counter, a mountain of leather and steel. I grabbed the stack and slammed it down with more force than necessary.

"Line up and grab a pair," I barked, watching them flinch at my tone. Where the fuck was the kid who ran the skate counter Mondays? "Make sure they fit snug."

A scrawny kid with glasses that sat too low on his nose picked up a pair and shoved his feet inside. He winced as he stood, looking like he might topple over at any second.

"These are too tight," he whined, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"They're supposed to be," I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest. "Skates aren't slippers. You want them tight so your feet don't slide around."

"But—"

"No buts," I cut him off. "Sit down. I'll show you how to lace 'em up properly."

I grabbed a skate from the counter and dropped into a crouch in front of him, my knees popping in protest. The kid watched me warily as I yanked the laces tight from the bottom up, giving each eyelet an extra tug for good measure.

"You want to pull them tight enough to cut off circulation?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm.

I glanced up at him through narrowed eyes. "You want to try skating with loose skates? Be my guest. But when you're face down on the ice, ankles snapped like twigs, don't come crying to me."

He swallowed hard and nodded, his earlier bravado gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"Start at the bottom," I instructed as I worked. "Pull each section tight as you go up. When you get to the ankle, make it snugger—this is where you need the most support."

The rest of them had gathered around now, watching intently as if I were performing some kind of magic trick.

"Then you cross your laces—" I demonstrated with deliberate movements, "—like this and finish with a bow at the top. Not rocket science." I stood up and dusted off my hands. "Now you try."

I stood there, watching the kids fumble on the goddamn lobby like fawn. It was painful, the way they wobbled and flailed, each step a disaster waiting to happen. I had to bite back the urge to bark at them to get their act together. This was worse than any punishment I'd ever endured, worse than sitting in a cell for a night after a bar fight—watching incompetence on ice.

As the door to the rink swung open again, a gust of cold air burst through, and with it came... her. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, or maybe from rushing over, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she panted out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "My final went long and..." Her voice trailed off when her eyes met mine.

I couldn't help it—I smirked at her, tilting my head to the side. Watching her squirm was more entertaining than the disaster in front of me.

"Hello again," she greeted with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

I crossed my arms and leaned back against the cold wall of the rink, my gaze never leaving hers. "Well, look what we have here," I said.

Her smile wavered as she clutched her bag tighter to her side. "The locker rooms?"

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