Page 97 of Perfectly Complicated
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, but it immediately falls again. Somewhere between the kissing session at Marco’s and here, my ponytail started coming loose.
“Here,” he says, reaching up to pull the scrunchie from my hair. “Let me fix this for you.”
My hair tumbles down around my shoulders, and for a moment he goes completely still, his eyes darkening as he takes me in. Then he gathers my hair, his fingers brushing the nape of my neck as he smooths it down around my shoulders.
“Better?” he asks, and I nod. “I’ll keep this safe for you,” he says, sliding my scrunchie onto his wrist.
He holds his hands out to me, and I realize this isn’t just about skating anymore. I accept his help and glide forward without falling.
A smile pulls at his mouth. “See? You’ve improved since last time. You’re going to be playing hockey before you know it.”
“Playing hockey? Let’s not get carried away.” I attempt to speed up and he easily matches my speed.
“Save the fancy moves for when you can actually stop, Bennett.”
“I can stop,” I argue, pulling away to prove it. “I just choose not to most of the time.”
He lifts a brow. “Okay, then show me.”
I skate forward with a confidence that quickly crumbles while mentally calculating which would hurt less—falling or crashing.
He catches up to me before my body collides with the wall, wrapping me into his chest while taking the brunt of the hit against the boards.
“That was stopping?” he asks, grinning down at me. His arms are still wrapped around my waist, and I can feel the solid line of muscle under his sweatshirt.
“Well, sort of?” I say with a breathless laugh. “I have a very special technique.”
“Special, huh?” He laughs. “We do have a name for that in hockey. Body checking.”
My mouth drops. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
He brushes his finger across my nose. “Don’t look so offended, Bennett. I never said I didn’t like it.”
My heart stutters, and I look away, trying to steady my pulse. “Okay, back to actual hockey. When do we get to use the equipment?”
“You think you can handle a stick while on skates?” he asks with an amused glint in his eyes.
“Probably not,” I admit. “You know, I’m perfectly happy to admire the light display.”
“That’s why I did it,” he says, studying me. “I figured if you hated the hockey lesson, at least the lights would make tonight worth it.”
“I don’t dislike hockey anymore,” I say quietly. “Just like you don’treallyhate Christmas, right?”
The moment I say it, something shifts in his face. The playfulness fades, and he looks down at the pattern the lights make on the ice. “Yeah, well…Christmas and I have a complicated history.”
“Because of your father?”
He nods once. “On Christmas morning, I never knew which version of my dad I’d get. The one trying to pretend things were fine or the one passed out before noon.”
His mouth twists at the memory as he leans against the wall, letting go of me. “The worst part was that I kept hoping. Every year, I thought maybe this time would be different. Maybe this Christmas would be happier.” He shakes his head. “It took me way too long to stop hoping.”
I reach for his hand, lacing our fingers together. It’s a small act, one I know can’t erase the pain. Some scars are too big to heal, even with time.
“It’s why I don’t do Christmas,” he admits, studying our joined hands. “Why I’ve spent my whole adult life avoiding anything that looks like commitment. I’m worried I’ll disappoint someone the way he did us.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “You’re not him,” I say, wishing he could see himself the way I do. “You’renothinglike him, Rourke.”
“I know, but you’ve heard the phraselike father, like son?How can I be sure I won’t turn out like him?” He bites his lip. “Do you think it’s a coincidence I’ve never had a serious relationship? That I’ve spent years avoiding commitment? I was protecting people from me.”
