Page 15 of Boots & Scars

"It's Everly," I repeated, stronger this time. "Not little girl or sugar or sweetheart or darling. My name is Everly, Everly Hawthorne."

An eyebrow arched high on Cooper's scarred face as surprise flitted across his features, like a shadow passing momentarily over the sun. "Is it now?" he drawled. "Well, that's a mighty nicename,little girl." His tone dripped with sarcasm, but his next words cut deep. "Your daddy Anthony Hawthorne?"

My eyes must have widened more than I intended because his grin grew even more pronounced at my reaction.

"Sinclaire!" Dean Walker barked from across the rink. "You going to teach or what?"

Cooper's gaze didn't waver from mine as he took a step back before gliding into the middle of the ice.

I clenched my teeth, holding his gaze for a moment longer before turning away. How did this man know my father? Dad was one of the best NHL trainers before he passed, but Cooper looked too young to have played for Dad's team. He couldn't be over thirty.

"All right, everyone," Cooper's voice pulled me back from my thoughts, "let's start with the basics."

I watched as he demonstrated a simple glide, his skates whispering secrets to the ice. My classmates and I pushed off the boards tentatively, mimicking his movements with varying degrees of success.

"Keep your knees bent," he instructed. "It's not a dance; you're not impressing anyone here."

A girl beside me giggled nervously, wobbling on her skates like a newborn fawn. Cooper shot her a look that saidI'm not kidding, and she straightened up quickly.

"Now," he continued, "let's talk about stopping. Because believe me, you'll want to know how to stop."

He made it look effortless, a quick turn of the skates and a shower of ice crystals that caught the overhead lights like tiny diamonds.

My attempt was less graceful — more a desperate flailing that ended with my hands pressed against the boards for support. Cooper skated by, raising an eyebrow at my struggle.

"It's all about balance, sugar," he said. "Find your center. Unless you want me to help you find it."

Opening my eyes, I met his expectant look. "I'm trying," I said, pushing off again with more determination.

He watched me for a moment longer before nodding once and moving on to help another student.

As the class progressed, Cooper corrected stances and offered gruff encouragement that somehow managed to inspire confidence in even the most timid skaters. I found myself gliding more smoothly, almost forgetting the man behind the instruction was someone who seemed so harsh at first glance.

"Your edges are your best friends on ice," Cooper explained. "They'll keep you upright when you think you're going down."

His words were meant for all of us but felt like they were directed at me alone. I focused on the edges of my blades, carving tentative paths across the rink's surface.

"Well, lookie here, girl can skate!" His approval was sparse but felt like a victory, nonetheless.

As I practiced stops and starts, something in me began to thaw — an ice-bound tension I hadn't realized I carried since Dad passed away. With each push and glide across the cold surface below me, I felt lighter somehow — freer than I'd been in ages.

Cooper had moved on to showing us crossovers when Dean Walker appeared at the rinkside again, his arms crossed as he observed us with a critical eye. My concentration broke momentarily as our eyes met; Walker gave me an encouraging nod before his gaze shifted back to Cooper, who seemed oblivious to everything but teaching us how to skate.

I was the last one on the ice, my classmates' laughter and chatter fading into the distance as they left the rink. Alone, I savored the newfound quiet, broken only by the whisper of myskates against the cold surface. The ice felt like a canvas waiting for the brushstrokes of my blades.

"Hey!" Cooper's voice ricocheted around the empty arena. "You planning on camping out here?"

I glanced over my shoulder, catching sight of him skating toward me with an ease that spoke of years mastering this frozen terrain. "Just one more lap," I called back, pushing off for another circuit.

"You're gonna wear a groove in the ice," he grumbled as he caught up to me.

Curiosity bubbled up inside me, outweighing any lingering intimidation from our earlier encounters. "Why did you become a coach?" I asked, matching his pace. "You don't really have the temperament."

Cooper let out an exasperated sigh. "Does it matter?"

I shrugged. "I'm curious."

He barked a laugh, though it held no warmth. "Let's just say I didn't have much of a choice," he said curtly. "Now stop yapping and focus on your form."

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