Page 67 of Skate the Line

The sentence trails when I hear his heavy footsteps heading toward me. My heart pounds inside my ears, and my finger throbs even harder.

“I am concerned,” he says.

I stare at my feet dangling off the bed. Of course he is. How could he not be?

When his callused hand grips me by the chin, I suck in air and trap it behind my lips. He tilts my head back, my strandsof loose hair falling away. His green eyes are dark and fueled by something I can’t decipher.

Rhodes Volkova is like a Pandora’s box. I suspect there are a lot of things going through his mind, but I’m too afraid to poke the bear. He’s gruff, quiet, brooding, intimidating, and doesn’t show many emotions. Yet, with his fingers gripping my chin gently, it’s tempting to find out.

“Oh, I’m concerned, Sunshine.” His whisper is raspy, and my pulse quickens. “But not about the safety of Ellie in your care.”

I peer up at him from the bed. My nerves are spent, exhaustion wanting to take over. The longer Rhodes scans my face, the more I surrender.

“He…” I pause.

What am I doing?

It’s like watching a trainwreck from above.

My secret is supposed to be safe and locked away for the rest of my life, yet I hear myself talking, unable to stop.

“I thought I was being dramatic and too harsh. He was going through a divorce, and he was lonely, but when his late-night talks turned into subtle touches and things were implied, I politely declined.”

Rhodes’s jaw flickers, but it does nothing to deter me.

I’m too far in to stop now.

“He didn’t like that.”

My heart beats so fast it hurts.

Rhodes stares down at me, waiting for the finale.

There’s so much more to it, but my brain fizzles out the more I look into his steely gaze.

His hand eventually falls from my face, and he steps away.

My lungs are tight.

I stare at the picture that Ellie painted hours prior and force a breath out. It gives me the push that I need to finish what I started.

“He became…” I force a rough swallow down my throat. “Sort of…consumed.”

“Consumed?”

Obsessed is more like it.

I rub the pad of my thumb against the bandage on my finger to ground myself. “He didn’t want to take no for an answer.”

“But did he?” Rhodes asks with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s shoved the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows, and all I can focus on are the veins bursting with some type of hidden emotion that he likely will keep to himself.

My nostrils flare. There is a very thin line between anger and fear, and that night, I felt both of them. “Eventually,” I say.

He was forced to accept my rejection, but I leave that part out.

Rhodes is so quiet he can probably hear my heart pounding all the way from across the room.

In an attempt to calm his racing thoughts—because surely he’s concerned that my drama will follow me here—I stand up on shaky legs and garner his attention. He lingers on me, his face smooth and unreadable.

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