Page 80 of Thrown for a Loop
“You think?” He growls.
“It happens to everyone,” I say, and it sounds like the foolish platitude that it really is.
Chase shakes out his neck. “No problem. Start it up again.”
“Right. We can do this.”
Spoiler alert: We can’t do this.
The second run-through is a little better. Maybe. If I’m generous. But the third attempt is a disaster. No matter what we try, we can’t seem to sync up with the music.
After the fifth try, Chase whips off his hoodie and flings it at the bench with an angry shout.
I’m so startled I suck in a breath.
“What?” he says, face red. “You think this is going well?”
“Not really. Do you regret saying yes?”
“Do you wish I hadn’t?” He skates in a circle, his face red with frustration. “You said yes, too.”
“You think I had a choice?” I fling my arms out to the sides. “One of us has a multimillion-dollar contract, the other can’t make her rent payment. You can let Sailor down if you have to, but don’t pin it on me.”
He puts his hands on his trim hips and glares at me. “You want me to drop out now? After…” He looks at his watch. “Twenty-two minutes of effort? Is that who you think I am?”
“Is it?” I shrug, my anger rising to a boil. “I have no idea. Last time we hit a roadblock, you left town and forgot my number. Pardon me if I can’t vouch for your history of toughing it out in difficult times.”
And the second I say it, I wish I could claw it back. That wasn’t fair to him. I need to move on from our teenage crap. His blue eyes flare with anger, and I see him take a slow breath. The kind you take when you’re trying not to say something you’ll regret.
Meanwhile, Chris Isaak sings mournfully about his broken heart in the background.
“Just say it. Whatever it is,” I demand. “That was out of line, and I’m sorry.”
He just shakes his head. “Don’t bring up shit that you don’t really want to dig into, Ice Princess. You won’t like what I have to say.”
“Oh yeah? Would it be worse than your grumpy silence? Because that’s so much fun already.”
His face falls. Then he does a snappy little bracket turn and skates for the exit.
“Chase Merritt! We’re not done with our ice time. Don’t bail. Notagain.”
He steps off the ice and grabs his phone and his sweatshirt. “You’reso angry at me that you never stop and think. Maybe I didn’t block you for spite.”
“Then why did you?”
He slaps his skate guards over his blades. “Because she made me.”
“Who did?” But the moment I ask, the truth pools like ice in my stomach.
“Sister Walsh,” he says. “She stood over me and watched me do it. Can’t believe that never occurred to you before.”
And while I’m standing there with my jaw unhinged, he turns and goes.
Chapter 28
I?’m the stupidest woman alive.
That’s what bounces around in my head for the next few days as I attend another tournament for junior ice hockey players and numbly plan my master class.
