And the flutter that is currently flitting about my tummy isn’t helping me. Not one bit. Not when I can’t stop looking into those dark brown eyes of his and wonder why they look so sad. The urge to reach out and touch his arm is back, and it takes all I have inside me to not smack that arm with the other one. I’ve been around this man only a couple of times now, and he’s turning my radar upside down. Oh, except for the part where there is this feeling of a hook in my very core and it’s tugging me into him.
This internal battle I’m having can only mean one thing.
But. No.
No, no, no!There’s a little voice inside my head that starts to get very loud. Like, super loud.
NO MORE HOCKEY PLAYERS, RILEY!it screams.
I should listen to it.
“Yeah, maybe.” Swallowing, I step backward, smacking into the doorjamb. Cursing his sorcery under my breath, my eyes find him and there’s laughter dancing behind them. I’m not smooth at the best of times, so I am well aware I’m not making any kind of graceful impressions now.
Despite his best hypnotic efforts, I finally pull my eyes from the tractor beam that is Jake. Taking a step to the right, I all but fall into the hallway and break free of the room.
As I head back down the stairs, quickly, my mind is already turning its gears, wondering why. Why am I feeling like a girl in high school with a crush? Why is my heart slamming in my chest? Besides the part where he was wearing only a towel, it was just a run-in with some guy who happens to be staying in my old bedroom. But also, why care about seeing him again? I don’t need to and, in fact, it’s probably better that I steer clear of my parents’ house until he’s gone.
Jake is only here for a little bit longer. What’s the saying, here for a good time and not a long one…?
Right?
FIVE
Jake
Stepping onto the ice rink early in the morning, before the sun has fully risen, there’s a stillness that envelops the entire arena. The only sound is the faint hum of the ice resurfacer as it glides across the surface, smoothing out any imperfections left from the previous day’s activities. The air is crisp and cold, tinged with the promise of a brand-new day.
I’ve always liked this time of day to be on a rink. The ice stretches out before me, pristine and untouched, like a blank canvas waiting to be painted. It’s a moment of quiet solitude, a rare opportunity for reflection before the chaos of the day begins.
I take a deep breath, the chill of the air filling my lungs as I skate out onto the ice. The blades of my skates bite into the surface with a satisfying crunch, sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine. This is my sanctuary, my home away from home, where the world fades away and it's just me and the ice.
As I glide effortlessly across the rink, I can’t help but feel a sense of peace wash over me. The rhythmic sound of my skates cutting through the ice is like music to my ears, a familiar melody that soothes my soul. This is my playground. It’sdefinitely not as big as the one we use for the Renegades, but it’s perfect for what I need right now.
I love the feeling that rushes through me as soon as my blades hit the ice; I am in control and feel like I have a superpower that no one can take away from me.
Travis said he’d called ahead and arranged for someone to set up the ice for me today to give me a good run at some drills I’m used to doing. When I arrived, one of the guys who runs the concession stand had placed small black circular objects that look like riding lawn mower tires in strategic places around the ice. Not what I’m used to, but it works.
I toss a puck in front of me as I step onto the ice and start the first of my drills—doing tight turns around those tires for puck protection. The ambient noise of the air conditioning, the glide of the blades of my skates on the ice, topped off with the sound of the puck as my stick taps it every few seconds releases any tension I’ve been holding in my shoulders.
I stay working on this move for another few minutes before flowing into pivot practice, using my body to provide cover and pivot while making sure the puck is protected. My dad pops into my thoughts again; he’s not had it easy for the last few years, but I’m proud of the man he wants to be. One of the perks of playing for a team is the steady paycheck, and Travis has been good about handling my negotiations so I get fair pay, and it helps me to take care of my dad, too.
I move onto inside-out pivots now, and the drills get more complex—kind of like that father-son relationship. Just thinking about the last time I saw him, I can feel my energy get more chaotic, frenetic, and I know I need to work on this. I can’t let my worry for him spark an internal rage that starts to show; it’ll just make people think they’re right about me.
It’s not that I’m angry at my pops, it’s that I’m angry at the situation. My mother died when I was little, so it was him doingthe best he could for us, and on a meager restaurant manager’s salary. When I wanted to start playing ice hockey, he took a second job on the weekends working as a waiter for an early breakfast shift so he’d make enough money to pay for my gear.
We didn’t have a lot, but he always made sure we were never lacking. He always put me first, and I’ll be repaying him for that for the rest of our lives.
I stay focused and work on more drills, coming out of my little world of solace when I notice more people are in the arena now. Slowing down, I stop near the edge to catch my breath and look around.
“Um, excuse me,” someone calls out, “but I think my son’s team needs the ice now.”
Spinning around, I find a tall woman with blond hair piled high on top of her head and sunglasses pushed back watching me with a sparkle in her eye as she leans against the balustrade. A little knock in my gut tells me I’ve seen that look before, but I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Oh?” I skate over to a stop just beyond where she’s standing. As I do, she makes sure I see as she gives a look, sweeping her eyes up one side of my body and right back down the other. “I think I have it until ten.”
“It’s nine-fifty now, so…” She taps her wrist and winks at me. When I look closer, she’s not even wearing a watch.
“Gotcha.” Skating backward, I start picking up the tiny tires and bringing them over to the side of the rink, tossing them over the balustrade to get them off the ice.
