Page 51 of My Last Dance

Angling my jaw to the side, I gave him an icy glare. “You really wanna risk finding out?”

His throat bobbed with a swallow.

“Didn’t think so.” I gave him a sickly sweet smile. “See you in the morning, Richard,” I said before turning on my heel.

And I couldn’t ignore the little thrill blooming in my chest.

He was here.

I would fix this.

Everything would be okay.

_________

But the high from last night was slowly sinking this morning as I walked across the cold, sleepy campus all alone.

While the university had a fancy new stadium on the other side of campus for the hockey teams, the old school “Barn” was a rink used strictly for practice, and I was one of the few fortunate students to have a key.

Most would consider the Barn a dumpy rink, but I loved it. I loved the fact that they zammed at night, so there was always a layer of fog hanging in the air, and I loved the ancient flyers boasting of past championships hanging on the walls and from the old wooden rafters. I loved the stereo system—Iblastedmy music, and no one was ever around to yell at me. And I loved skating around freely, improvising moves, pretending I was creating a music video or show program.

What I didn’t love: the fact that Richard was nowhere to be seen.

Checking my watch, I assured myself that I was just early. There was still time for him to show up.

After lacing my skates, I glided to the music box, feeling my stomach tighten with nerves.

My threat to Richard last night was admittedly kind of empty, and he probably knew that, but I had to dosomething. I couldn’t just let him quit, not when I knew how much he loved hockey and how good he was. For a brief second, I considered asking Mer or Colt for help, but what good would it do? They didn’t know him like I did. He camehere, tome, for a reason, even if he didn’t know it yet.

With my favorite instrumental strings CD blasting through the rink, I set out to start my warm-up. If Richard was still a no-show by the time I finished, then I’d have to track him down. I’d bribe one of the frat guys he made friends with last night to tell me where he was living, and I’d drag him out of bed myself if that’s what it took.

I lost myself while warming up with some edge pulls and edgerolls. By the time I was moving into my first footwork pass, I heard the rink’s heavy door clang open.

My chest deflated with relief.

He was here—looking sickly pale and very disheveled, but that didn’t matter.

After disappearing from sight for a minute to lace up his skates, he made his way to the board’s door wearing sweatpants, a hoodie, and a helmet. He threw down a couple pucks before stepping on the ice.

“You’re late,” I announced.

Whirling around to see me, he lost his balance, and his skates flew up while his butt slammed down. He immediately groaned and rubbed his butt.

I skated over and stopped quickly, making snow fly at his helmet visor. I’d never seen him lose his balance on the ice before. “What’s wrong with you?” I asked, giving him a quizzical look.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m hungover, Piper,” he groaned. “Actually, I might still be drunk.”

I harrumphed. “You can take that half of the ice.” I pointed to my left. “And don’t cross the red line. This side is mine.”

“Okay,” he grumbled, slowly pushing up to his feet.

“I’m serious. Don’t cross it,” I bit out.

“Okay, chill,” he said softly.

After about fifteen minutes of skating, Kappy stood on the red line, gazing longingly at the music box entrance, which was conveniently onmyside of the ice.

“Piper, I can’t with this music. Please turn something else on. Something with voices, please,” he begged.

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