Page 42 of The Pucking Date
I press harder into the ice, chasing speed, chasing the part of myself that used to know how to want without getting wrecked by it.
My chest aches, tender in ways that have nothing to do with the cold. My body feels foreign, sluggish, sensitive, like it’s keeping secrets from me.
I haven’t been sleeping. Food’s a gamble. But I chalk it up to stress. Work. Life. Temptation.
Shaking it off, I lean into a spin. Fast, tight, dizzying.
Stay in control. That’s the trick. Always has been.
Even when everything else is slipping.
The door creaks open behind me and skate blades clack against concrete. I don’t need to turn around to know who’s ruined my sanctuary.
I must have beckoned him.
He skates out, easy and loose. Confident. Aware that he owns every inch of the surface.
“Morning, Red,” he calls, voice echoing across the ice, rough enough to ripple low in my chest.
I slow to a coast, pulse ticking faster. “You stalking me now, O’Reilly?”
“Only when you wear those leggings.” His grin is audible. Teasing. Warm with promise.
I roll my eyes but don’t stop skating.
Pulling up beside me, he glides backward with infuriating ease. This man was born on blades.
“Show-off,” I mutter.
Shrugging, he continues cruising. “Not my fault you’re distracted.”
He circles in, closing in with patience. His presence smolders in the cold air.
We skate in silence for a minute. The rhythmic scrape of blades and the soft hitch in my breath are the only sounds.
Then he slides in beside me again, matching my pace perfectly.
“You always come this early?”
“Only when I want to be left alone.”
“Guess I missed the memo.” His tone is light, but there’s heaviness under it. Want.
The air shifts.
It may as well be the moment right before a puck drop, charged and suspended. Anything could happen.
“What do you want, Finn?” I ask finally. The air fogs between us.
He doesn’t smile this time. Just looks at me, eyes dark and steady. “I want to see if the Ice Queen remembers how to burn.”
I shoot him a glare. But it lands soft.
He grins that slow, crooked thing that gets under my skin. “There she is. Will you let me get close again, Red?”
My heart stutters. I want to. But I’m scared to get hurt if I let him. So I stay silent.
We skate. And I try not to enjoy it. But he makes it impossible.
