Page 52 of Hearts on Ice
The truth was simpler—and worse. I was drawn to him in ways I hadn't been to anyone in years. The truth was, I knew if I didn't resist this temptation, it could wreck us both, because I’d just realised another truth. That kiss wasn't one-sided. The way he whispered my name, the way his breath hitched—he’d wanted it too.
I should go. Clear my head. Figure out how to fix this before either of us made a mistake we couldn’t take back.
But my feet didn’t care about logic. They were already moving.
Toward him.
“Rodriguez.”
He straightened, mask dangling from one hand. “Coach.” His voice was careful—neutral—but his gaze flicked to my mouth before he caught himself. The muscle in his jaw ticked, just once.
“You good?” I asked, aiming for steady. It came out rougher than I wanted.
He nodded. “Always, Coach.”
A beat too fast.
I folded my arms. “Are you sure about that?”
His eyes lifted, meeting mine head-on. For a second, the space between us shrank.
“I’m fine,” he said quietly. “You?”
“Yeah,” I managed. “I’m fine.”
We both knew it was a lie. The air felt crowded with everything we weren’t saying.
He shifted his stick from one hand to the other. “Guess I’ll see you tonight, then.”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Keep your head clear.”
“You too, Coach.”
The corner of his mouth lifted—just barely—and then he turned, skating toward the tunnel. The scrape of his blades echoed long after he was gone, leaving me alone with the sound of my own pulse in the cold.
Chapter 22
Miguel
I wanted to say more before I left the rink—to ask if he was okay, to make some easy joke that could loosen the quiet between us, to tell him we needed to talk about that kiss. But the words stuck in my throat; I let my ridiculous fears win.
The apartment was quiet when I got in. Too quiet. I should’ve liked that—it meant rest, space, calm—but instead, I stood there, staring at my phone. Drew’s name glowed on the screen—Coach Mack, saved like that years ago. I hovered my thumb over the contact and heard myself mutter, “Don’t.” What would I even say?
I can’t stop thinking about last night. Do you have any idea how hard my dick got when you held me? Kissed the heck out of me? I want that again… and maybe more.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and laughed under my breath. “Get it together, Rodriguez.”
I needed grounding. Something that reminded me who I was before all this. Someone who didn’t make my pulse trip over itself. I hit FaceTime on “Manu.”
The screen blinked twice before the connection settled. Sunlight flooded his half of the frame—bright Caribbean gold, the kind that made me squint even through glass. A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, its rhythm mixing with the sound of a child’s laughter somewhere behind him.
“¡Hola, Miguelito!” Manu’s grin was huge, Dominican Spanish rolling warm and effortless off his tongue. Only he ever called me that—Miguelito.Maybe that was why the word hit a place in me no one else could reach. "¿Qué lo que?"What’s up?
"Bien, aquí nomás," I answered, a smile tugging despite everything.I'm alright, just getting by.“¿Y tú?”
“Calor,” he groaned, tugging at his faded tank top. “Carmen’s in the kitchen making jugo de chinola—passion fruit juice. You’d sell your soul for it.”
I laughed, but my chest ached a little. I took a moment to really look at him. His hair had gone a little grayer at the temples since the last time we FaceTimed—a surprise, considering how often we talked. Maybe it was one of those things you only notice when you pause long enough to really see someone. The lines around his eyes were deeper now, carved by years and sunlight, but the eyes themselves hadn’t changed.
