Page 152 of Unloved

She makes a little more progress, but she keeps overcorrecting because she’s too scared.

“I think I should let go.”

“Please don’t.”

Her voice is desperately pleading. It hurts to hear. I grip her hands a little tighter. “I won’t. I promise, I won’t let go of you until you say I can.” Hesitating only slightly, I finally say, “But I think you need to fall. Safely.”

“Fall? That’s exactly what Idon’twant to do.”

“I know. But I think it’ll make you more confident. You fall once and see how it feels, and then you’re less scared to fall again. You might skate a little better.”

Her eyes are expressive pools of hazel, and as they fill with even more fear, I start to regret ever bringing her here.

“Can I try a different day?”

“Of course,” I say, happy to hold her and pull her around and around. We skate a little ways farther before Ro’s face hardens into a mask of determination.

“Okay, let me go. I’m gonna try it.”

My grin is uncontainable. I release her hands, hovering around Ro’s body as she wobbles like one of those inflatable tube men in front of a car dealership. Still, she manages to stay upright, pushing off only on her right foot, keeping the left one planted as she moves.

“I’m doing it!” Ro shouts, overly excited. Her head flips over her shoulder, like she’s making sure I’m watching her—before she loses her balance and crashes onto her butt on the ice.

And my goddamn stomach falls out of my ass—I speed over to her, stopping and kneeling at her side to check her over.

“Are you okay?”

She nods, eyes a little moony as she stares up at me. A deeper breath stutters out of me as I grab her hands and help her up.

“I did not like that,” I grumble under my breath, messing a hand through my hair.

“You told me to fall!” she says on an incredulous laugh.

I shake my head. “Because I’m an idiot. When will you learn to stop listening to me? I think it scared me more than you.”

She turns in my arms, petting my hair as we lean into the boards nearby. “I feel better, though. You were right. I’m not as scared anymore.”

My eyes flutter as I lean into her palm. “Yeah. Me either.”

The words feel heavier. Like we aren’t talking about skating anymore.

“All right, you ready?”

“To skate more?” Ro smiles—this time more genuine—and nods. “Yeah. I think I can do it holding your hand this time.”

I bite my lip, trying to resist leaning in to kiss her cheek, then realizing howstupidthat entire thought is. I lean forward and press my lips to her blushing cheek. “I wanna pull you around a little faster. Do you trust me?”

“Yeah.” She smiles like that question has made her happier than even the kiss.

I start slow, checking over my shoulder every now and then. It’s closer to dinnertime, so the rink is starting to clear a bit and there’s less traffic to maneuver around.

The speakers, which have been playing deep cuts of Christmas music—mostly indie covers—kick on Summer Camp’s “I Don’t Wanna Wait Til Christmas” as we pick up speed.

“You sure Sadie’s not working here still?” I ask with a teasing grin. Her roommate’s music taste has infiltrated my life, and not just through Ro, but through my obsessed hockey team captain. Her music is in our house, in our locker room, everywhere.

A small laugh bubbles out of Ro as she teeters and holds her balance while I take the curve quickly, backward crossovers helping me pick up more speed. They also seem to mesmerize my girlfriend, who watches my skates like I’m performing a magic trick.

“The music?” she asks. I nod and she only shrugs, bobbing her head to the music. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s engineered the entire rink to only play her music over the speaker system.”

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