Page 54 of Rules of Play

My pulse raced as I approached him, each step feeling surreal. Patrick shifted slightly, revealing what he’d been holding—a pair of skates, laces tied neatly together, dangling from his fingers.

“I have a lot to say,” he began gently. “A lot to apologize for, Shane. But first…” He paused, almost shyly, as he held out the skates toward me. “I realized we’ve never done this as a date. Not once. We’ve never gone skating together.”

My throat tightened. The sight of those skates sent a rush of icy panic through me, memories I’d buried long ago surging back, sharp and relentless. My injury, the accident, the helpless slide across the ice, the pain… I couldn’t stop the images, the sudden shortness of breath, the dizziness creeping in at the edges of my vision.

Patrick’s face shifted immediately, concern flaring in his eyes. “Shane? What’s wrong?”

“I—I can’t,” I managed to choke out, my voice shaking. “Patrick, I haven’t skated since…since my injury.”

Instantly, Patrick stepped closer, the skates dangling between us, forgotten momentarily. He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, his grip warm and reassuring.

“Hey, breathe. It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a calming anchor amidst the storm in my chest. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. But you’re not alone, Shane. You don’t have to do it alone.”

His words were soft, filled with quiet strength, determination radiating from his touch. My gaze locked onto his, desperation tangling with trust as I struggled to steady my breathing.

“You don’t understand,” I whispered, shame coloring my words. “I can’t skate anymore. I’m scared, Patrick. Really fucking scared.”

He smiled then, softly, kindly, his thumb tracing a gentle, reassuring circle on my shoulder. “I do understand,” he whispered back. “Maybe not about the skating, but about beingafraid. About feeling like you’re losing control, about thinking you’ll fall and never get back up again.”

My breathing slowed, the knot in my chest loosening slightly. He held my gaze, unwavering.

“Shane, I’m here,” he continued earnestly. “I’m right here, and I promise you, no matter what, I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll hold you, skate right beside you, catch you if you stumble. And if you really can’t, that’s okay, too. But let’s just try, together.”

I hesitated, my heart pounding against my ribs, my gaze flickering uncertainly between Patrick’s steady eyes and the skates in his hand. His assurance wrapped gently around me, his unwavering belief thawing the ice-cold fear gripping my chest.

Slowly, I reached out and took the skates from him. My fingers brushed against his, the contact sending a pulse of warmth through me, chasing away some of the lingering dread.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I admitted softly.

Patrick’s smile widened, full of gentle understanding. “You don’t have to know. That’s the point, Shane. You don’t have to do this perfectly. You just have to trust me.”

The way he said it, the openness in his voice, the gentle confidence, it shattered something inside me, some last wall I’d stubbornly held on to. I found myself nodding slowly, heart racing with an entirely new kind of anticipation.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I trust you.”

He smiled again, brightening the dim arena, and moved a step closer. “Good. Then let’s get these on.”

I sat down on the player bench and slipped off my shoes, my hands shaking only slightly as I laced up the skates. Patrick watched quietly, patiently, his eyes warm with encouragement. When I stood, wobbling uncertainly, he stepped immediately to my side, his strong arm sliding protectively around my waist.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, his voice steady, unshakable. “Just hold on to me.”

As we moved cautiously toward the ice, his warmth pressed close against my side, my heart filled with something I hadn’t felt in far too long. Hope, courage, and the terrifying, exhilarating sensation of finally letting someone catch me.

“In case you’re wondering, and I know you are, Easton has the keys. He and Jace are drinking at Lumière, so we have all the time in the world,” Patrick said softly, holding my hand firmly as we carefully eased onto the ice.

Oddly enough, something lifted off my chest, and I relaxed into it a little more. We had time. There was no rush at all. We could take all the time we needed.

My breath quickened as the skates glided unsteadily beneath me. Patrick’s grip tightened reassuringly around my fingers, his thumb brushing gently over my knuckles. My legs shook slightly, but he was right there, a steady, calming presence.

“Easy,” he murmured, close enough that his breath ghosted warmly over my cheek. “I won’t let you fall, Shane.”

I nodded, my heart fluttering wildly. Trusting him wasn’t the hard part. It was trusting myself. But his quiet assurance soothed the worst of my fear. Carefully, slowly, we began to move together, my body instinctively leaning into his warmth.

We found our rhythm, skating cautiously along the perimeter, our strides short and uncertain at first. Gradually, as minutes passed and nothing terrible happened, my fear started to ebb away, replaced by something softer and gentler. Patrick’s presence, patient and unwavering, grounded me. For the first time in years, skating felt like breathing. It felt natural.

He smiled encouragingly, blue eyes bright and gentle beneath the faint glow of the rink lights. “Better?”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, nodding slightly. “Surprisingly, yes.”

---