Page 24 of Ruthless Blade

When we got there, I went into the changing room and started gearing up. I placed the earbuds in my ears, trying to drown out any second thoughts I’d had. Lauren Spencer Smith was on repeat in my playlist because her songs spoke to me in ways others couldn’t.

I pulled on my practice gear like a second skin, and then reached for the skates. After a year on a shelf, the stiff leather was less like footwear and more like a concrete cast. I slammed my heel back into the boot, gripped the thick cotton laces and pulled hard enough that the cord bit into my fingers as I locked my ankle into place. I wrapped the laces around the steel ankle hooks in a rhythm. My hands seemed to remember what I couldn’t; to tighten at the bottom for support, a fraction looser at the top so my ankles could bend.

I stood up, a little wobbly. Much like when I first started skating, unable to stand upright without falling on my face. I left the room and clacked across the rubber floor mats, my plastic skate guards making a racket in the empty arena.

At the barrier, the ice was beautiful. It was the calm before the storm. I took the earbuds out of my ears because they were dangerous on the ice. They could fall out while I spun, and then I could slip on one and land in an awkward position. I've already done that once, so I don't need to do that again. I placed them in the case and closed it, already wishing they had the music playing above me, but instead it was silence.

I popped the plastic guards off my blades and set them on the wooden rail. I took in a deep breath and released, moving towards the opening of the rink. The steel of the blade collided with the ice, and goosebumps raced up my arms.

Fuck, it’d been so long since I’d been on the ice. I’ve missed this.

A little wobbly, I held onto the rail for support. Closing my eyes, I took a leap of faith and let go of the railing, letting my feet guide me across the ice. I took my time, trying to get used to it. Unshed tears filled my eyes, excitement racing through my bones. My body had already remembered what to do, but my muscles were screaming in protest. I let out deep breaths, trying to keep everything under control.

I came to a stop in the middle of the ice, pushing those threatening memories of my fall away. Then, “August” by Taylor Swift came on, and the rest was history. I leaned into my left skate, carving a long, sweeping arc that sent a tiny spray of white ice-shavings over the blue line. The cold air whipped against my face, stinging my eyes, but the burning in my thighs kept me warm.

You can do this, Lexi. You were born to skate; don’t give up.

With every rhythmic stride, muscle memory took over, balancing on a razor-thin edge of steel. The world outside the rink dissolved into a blur of grey boards and distant murmurs. There was nothing but my own breathing to keep me company.

Out of the corner of my eye, there was a figure standing near the railing. It caught me off guard, and that’s when my skates slipped out from under me. My body collided with the ice, taking me back to that time I was paralyzed in my movements. This time, I was able to sit up on my own, blowing a puff of air through my teeth.

Kayden.

Why is he here?

He stood beyond the plexiglass barrier by the team benches. His black hockey bag was slung over his shoulder, a stick hooked in his opposite hand. A faint, infuriating smirk played on his lips, and it made me want to go over and smack it off his perfect face.

Shows how much you care, Kayden. Laughing when someone falls on the ice. Real fucking mature.

I didn’t bother trying to scramble back to my feet. My eyes narrowed, my butt sitting on the ice, the cold starting to seep through my pants. I crossed my arms over my chest.

He can find another time to practice. I’m not moving.

He placed his gear on the ground and leaned against the barrier, hands folding out in front of him. He was taking in the sight of me, spread-eagled and breathless. Eyes roaming over me.

"Nice landing, Mouse," his voice echoed off the empty rafters. "Is that a new figure skating move, or are you trying to clean the ice with your pants?"

Asshole.

"Go trip on a puck," I snapped, the sting of the cold ice officially freezing my butt. “What are you doing here? Your practice doesn’t start for another hour."

"We need to talk." He unlatched the gate, the loud metal clank vibrated through the boards. He stepped onto the ice and I still refused to move. I’m not getting up for him. He looked down, holding out his hand. "Get up. If we're going to make our parents believe this, you're going to have to stop looking at me like you want to slice my throat open."

Highly unlikely.

I stared at his hand and met his gaze. “You know, you’re the one that started this whole hating me thing, anyway.” I shrugged, trying to get up on my own. My skates skidded on a slick patch and I wobbled back down, butt landing once again. “I’m here, taking the brunt of it like usual.”

His face remained serious, but there was a tilt to his lips as if he were fighting back a laugh. He reached down and grabbed my wrist. He pulled me up in one effortless motion, and I crashed right into his chest. The sheer bulk of his shoulder pads made him feel twice his size, and the scent of laundry detergent and cold air hit me all at once. For a fraction of a second, my hands instinctively pressed against his chest to steady myself. Beneath the layers of gear, his heart was thumping a steady rhythm.

I pulled my hands back as if he were on fire, re-centering my weight on my blades. "I’m listening.” I moved back more, putting some distance between us. I couldn’t think around him.

"Rule number one," he said, stepping closer, his dark blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the rink suffocating. "When we're in public, you look at me like I'm the best thing that ever happened to you."

As if.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Basically, you want me to worship the ground you walk on?”

He grinned, “Precisely.”