Page 65 of Top Shelf
“Ferris?”
I turned to see Quinn waiting for me at the curb. “Sorry.” My fingers twitched at my sides. I was desperate to pace, to stim, to release some of the pent-up, anxious energy floating around in my chest, but I didn’t want to embarrass him.
He’d never asked me to stop or rein myself in, but I knew how people felt about it. My brothers would have killed for me if I asked them to, but they also hated when I was so…obviously autistic. It never mattered how much they loved me. The differences between us would always be a lot for them.
Too much, sometimes.
Quinn huffed a small laugh and heaved one of the bags on his shoulder, using his free hand to cinch around my waist. “Do you need me to grab one of my spare canes out of my trunk?”
I blinked, then realized he thought my hesitation was from my leg. I didn’t even really feel the pain anymore. It was nothing more than a pressing tightness, like joints that didn’t want to obey the signals my brain was sending.
“I’m okay. Do you need yours?”
His smile widened. “Not tonight. Come on, Alex left the side door open for us.”
I was more than relieved to know the rink was closed and it would be just us. Most of the interior lights were off, but the ones over the ice were on, and it looked like it had been freshly Zambonied.
“Will he get upset if we mess up the ice?” I asked as we walked closer to the benches where people changed into skates.
“Not a chance. It means I get to run the Zamboni again, and that’s my favorite part of the night,” came a voice off to the right. A man appeared from behind a tall pillar. He looked a bit like the older version of my frat president. Gingery and pale, freckled, broad-shouldered. But he had some scars on his face and neck, and from the way he was walking, I could tellsomething was different about his legs. “You must be Ferris—new goalie, yeah? For Boston?”
I extended my hand and felt his rough palm grip mine for only a second. I didn’t like the feeling at all, but I knew it would be unbearably rude for me to swipe my hand on my jeans the way I wanted to.
“We won’t be too long. I don’t want him straining himself his first night back in skates,” Quinn was saying as I zoned out a little bit. My gaze went back to the ice—the way the lights reflected off of it like it was a giant, unpolished diamond. There were markings on it, but not like a hockey rink.
A warm hand touched my arm, and I jolted, looking over at Quinn, who was frowning at me. Had I done something wrong? Was I being socially awkward?
“If you don’t feel up for this, we can go.”
Oh. He was worried about me.
I bit my lip against a smile and shook my head. “I want to skate with you.”
His eyes widened just a fraction, and then he licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah. I do too.”
Was it just me, or did his voice sound a little rough? I didn’t have much time to think on it. He began to unpack everything from our bags just as Alex wandered off again. Quinn turned me on the bench and, with the most tender hands, removed my boot and prodded at my ankle.
“Hurts?”
“Nothing worse than normal,” I told him.
He took the new brace and fitted it around my sock, then strapped it tightly. Next came the skate. He’d left the blade covers on as he strapped it around my foot. It was a little uncomfortable—tighter than I normally wore them, and my entire leg felt stiff. There would be no splits today.
He stroked a touch over my other foot after removing the shoe, and I looked at him. “You seem distracted.”
“Nervous,” I told him. It was mostly the truth. I was nervous. I was also dealing with a brand-new emotion that I couldn’t name. It had everything to do with him though. With the fact that this new routine—this new normal—wasn’t going to last.
I had never and would never be good with change.
“Remember what I said,” he murmured.
“You won’t let me fall.”
Except he already had. Just not in the way he meant it.
When my skates were on, I stood up, finding my balance as he tied himself into his own. I made the walk to the rink entrance and back without falling, though my ankle felt strange. It was muscle memory, walking around like this even after weeks away from the ice.
It was a bit like coming home.
