Page 8

T HURSDAY ROLLS AROUND, only for me to regret each step I take toward the cold rink. On the secluded ice, I hear the swish of a puck hitting the net.

Aiden is so focused he doesn’t notice me by the ice waving at him. The raw talent is visible in the way he moves like he’s not breaking a sweat. The contour of muscles in his back ripple under his tight shirt.

“Aiden!” I call but he doesn’t turn.

So I try again, louder this time. Still no response.

I had allotted one hour for our meeting and a second over will mean barely catching up on the sleep I’ve lost this week.

Groaning, I do the one thing I didn’t think I ever would again.

I trudge over to the spare equipment room and grab a pair of beat-up skates.

They’re too tight, and my ankle feels all wrong.

The simple act of tying the laces makes my chest swirl.

I desperately push away the memory of putting skates on for ten years of my life to skate with my dad.

I glide onto the ice with a rusty form, as Aiden speeds through drills.

“Hey,” I call when I get closer, though he only sends another puck flying. Fed up, I tap his shoulder to get his attention. “Crawford!”

When he spins, I’m standing way too close because his elbow hits my shoulder, throwing me off balance.

I scream and fall to the ice, my back taking most of the brunt, and my head being spared from hitting the ice.

The thought of my skull cracking causes a shiver to roll up my spine.

There was a video circulating last year of a Dalton figure skater cracking her skull on the ice at the Olympics.

Since then, even stepping foot on Dalton rinks without a helmet meant getting your head chewed off by staff.

“Shit. Are you okay?” Aiden asks, pulling out an earbud. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Fine,” I mutter, still lying flat on the ice.

His concern dampens when he hears my tone. “If you don’t know how to skate, they keep cones for the kids right over there.”

“Very funny. I can skate just fine.” I wipe ice from my thighs. “I could probably beat you in a race.”

He’s looking down at me with amusement. “Beat me? You’re literally still on the ground from falling.”

He offers his hand but I scramble up on my own. When I regain my balance, I stare into his eyes. “Scared?”

“For you? Yeah.”

I shoot him a blank look.

“You’re serious?” he asks, his tone disbelieving.

I nod.

“What’s the bet?”

“That I win.” An overstatement that I regret as soon as I voice it. I’m confident, not stupid, but right now his smug face is challenge enough. Even if I may not be able to walk tomorrow.

“I only play for stakes.”

Seriously, is he some kind of gambler? “Fine. If I win…” I think for a bit, then smile. “You have to agree to anything I suggest during our sessions without complaint.”

His jaw hardens and I smile knowing I have him. “And when I win, you’ll tell Coach I was so great, your research is complete early.”

My jaw drops. There was way too much work to do. Too many questionnaires and assessments to complete. There is no way I could produce accurate results on my own. “But that’s not possible.”

“Scared?” He throws my words back at me.

I grind my teeth to stop myself from making an insolent comment. I almost deny him, but his cocky smirk makes me clench my fists and remember exactly why I don’t like hockey players. “Fine. I’m going to win anyway.”

His low chuckle ghosts over my skin. “And they say I’m cocky.”

“ Confident ,” I correct.

That makes him smile wider, and I ignore it to skate to the boards. “Straight shot to the other end?”

“Yeah,” he says but he still doesn’t put his back against the boards.

“Ready—”

“Helmet.”

“Huh?”

“Put on a helmet or we’re not doing this.”

“You’re not wearing one,” I accuse. “Is your massive head made of steel?”

“I can manage not cracking my skull open. You, on the other hand, I’m not so sure.”

I scoff. “Well, too bad because I don’t have one.” I should really put one on. After attending that brain dysfunction seminar last semester, I know better than to compromise my brain health.

Aiden turns to grab something from behind the net. “Here.”

I stare at the helmet in his hand. It’s not a cage and instead a visor they wear for some practices. “How is my head going to fit in your helmet?”

“Better than slamming your bare head on the ice.”

Reluctantly, I take it from him and pause before allowing it to touch my hair.

“Just so you know, you’re ruining my hair-wash schedule.

” He gives me a blank look as if my hair health is of the least importance to him.

On my head, the helmet hangs loosely providing very little protection. It’s on the verge of tipping off.

“Tighten it,” he says pointing to the buckle.

“I did.” I forcefully tug on the strap.

He lets out a breath and skates to stand just a few inches from me. He’s so close that I can smell his clean scent as he towers over me. How he manages not to smell disgusting is beyond me. If the locker room is any indication of how bad hockey players can stink, he’s an anomaly.

I’m staring right at him when he straightens the helmet. His eyes are almost hypnotizing and I can hear the chant in my head to look away. The green looks hazel around the edges, with specks of gold scattered throughout. When he brushes my hair out of my face, I snap out of it.

“If you pull on the left strap, it gets tighter,” he explains, tugging on it. “Should fit right under your chin.” He secures it as much as he can. “Good?”

I nod.

He skates backwards. “On three.”

We push off the board after the countdown and shoot across the ice.

He’s fast. Insanely fast. I start to wonder why I thought I could win against a D1 athlete.

Especially since the last time I skated was years ago.

My legs burn from only a few strides. My eyes aren’t doing a great job of focusing on the finish line.

Instead I watch him move like lightning, and that’s when I trip on a divot in the ice.

The squeak that leaves me must reach his ears because I hear the scraping blades before I hit the ground. Again.

I’m reminded that head protection is very necessary, especially when my helmet cushions the blow when I fall. Other than my very fragile pride, I think I’m fine when Aiden kneels beside me.

“Fuck, that seemed bad. Are you hurt?” His cold hand slides to the back of my neck to lift me up. “What day is it?” he suddenly asks.

There’s no way I hit my head hard enough to need a concussion check. I’m mostly worried about how soaked my new leggings are. “I don’t have a concussion.”

“Humor me.” Traces of concern bleed through his calm voice.

“Thursday.”

As he’s asking the questions, I realize that he technically hasn’t won yet. And neither have I lost. Biting down the smile that begins to bloom at the thought, I let him lift me off the ground.

“Where are you right now?” He continues when I stand.

“Staring at your big ass head,” I say before I turn and bolt, using every muscle in my body to my advantage.

Aiden calls after me before his skates scrape the ice. Fast. My body burns, but I’m so close I can taste the damn boards. I don’t look back, afraid that even one look will cost me.