Page 23 of Skating Towards Danger

I growl, “Drop it, Roman.”

He sighs, “No, I’m not going to drop it just like you didn’t with Morgan,” I raise a brow at him. He smirks, “You made her your best friend, you made her family and made me realize how she was my one, but while also giving me a little space to come to terms with it, and if I knew that would work with you then fine, I would do the same but it won’t because you are still rebelling from the fact Dad forced a kill on you when you weren’t ready, he forced your demon out.”

I lick my bottom lip, my palms sweating. He needs to quit it, he needs to let this fucking go.

I know the feeling. I saw him fall, and I saw him fall hard before trying to deny it all and finally giving in. I saw it all, and now I’m feeling it, and I can’t help but hate her for it, even though I know it isn’t her fault.

“Dante…” He starts again, and I lose my temper and shout, “Fucking drop it, Roman!”

He doesn’t flinch or shy away. Instead, he nods a little, then stands and reminds me, “If you let this feeling take you down the dark path it did me, where I ended up making Morgan the most hated girl on campus, you’ll lose her. She’s not like Morga. She’s had a hard life and still doesn’t know how to deal with her emotions. If she did, she would have had her life back on track right now, but she doesn’t, she’s working at a dead end diner,and I would bet all the money in my account that she’s living in a dump without Rocco knowing. Don’t let her fall through your fingers just because you want to live your life to the fullest because you have to become my second.”

My breathing picks up as Roman approaches the elevator, and the demon wants to explode.

I fucking told him not to go there!

“The one, when she comes, you grab hold of it, little brother, you know this, so grab hold of her and help her heal from her past,” Roman says before I hear the doors to the elevator close, and my anger takes over.

Roaring in anger, I get up and grab my coffee table, flipping it, causing it to smash over the hardwood flooring, but I ignore it and grab my beer bottle next, throwing it at the TV on the wall, smashing both before I freeze, breathing hard as my eyes lock onto the ice rink toy.

She’s not my fucking one, I’m not ready for her, and I don’t fucking want her.

Sniffing hard, I turn, leaving the mess, and storm towards my room, needing a shower.

I’ll watch over Paige Carmen because I made a promise, but she and I will never fucking happen. She’s not my one, she’s a slut, like Roman stated, who liked hardcore drugs and needs to focus on healing.

I’m Dante fucking Marino, the left winger for the Jaguars, I don’t need a woman in my life and I don’t want one.

Pussy and ice, that is all I fucking need.

Chapter 8

Paige – A Week Later

I keep my breathing steady as I gently glide backward, trying to concentrate on the music and not remember that I am, in fact, on the ice again—not because I’m in my head or because it’s a birthday or anniversary but because I stupidly agreed to take part in this tribute for my Momma.

Getting that phone call, I didn’t know how to feel. My first instinct was to decline but Greg had begged me and my mouth ran before I could tell it to shut up, agreeing to do it.

I swerve to the left, bringing my left arm out and around behind me to help me spin. I bring my left leg up and grab hold of my skate from behind, bending backward a little before lifting my right arm above my head, ensuring to keep the spin poised and memories take over.

“Paige, keep your head held high, your face soft as you look around the crowd. Show them your emotions and how you are feeling, sweet girl,” Momma shouts over the ballad playing in the background, and I listen.

I look up from my feet towards the empty stands and skate forward, bringing my arms out beside me.

“That’s it, now pick up speed, then crouch down for me, Paige, and bring your left foot forward like we practiced, sweet girl.”

I blink as I crouch down, bring my left foot forward, and lean a little so I can go around the rink without crashing into the wall. Then, I stand straight and lean forward, putting my left leg out straight behind me.

The routine Momma taught me before she died washes over me as I complete it step by step, and I can feel the tears soaking my cheeks.

“Okay, sweet girl, let’s go into the Mohawk, change direction for me,” Momma shouts again over the faster track. I listen, changing my steps, and then spin on the spot as fast as I can, bringing my left arm up.

“Yes, Paige!” Momma cheers as I begin to slow, bringing my left arm down to my chest. I look down, hoping I don’t puke, my chest heaving.

“So amazing, my sweet girl!” Momma praises me, and I look up and grin as I lock my eyes with hers.

I breathe hard as I come to a halt, spraying ice everywhere before I bend a little, holding my stomach as sobs wreck my body, the memories taking over me, memories I want to forget.

“You’ll get first place with that routine baby.”

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