Page 85 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

She contemplates for a moment, her tongue rolling inside her cheek, but she doesn’t bring her thumb to her mouth which tells me she’s not nervous to do this with me. She wants to skate with me.

“You know we’re gonna get sick from all this exposure to cold air,” she counters.

“So? I’ll take care of you. I’ll bring you soup and blow your nose, just come on. Trust me on this.”

It’s the brief sigh that lets me know I got her hook, line, and sinker.

“Okay then, fine.” She turns off the water and reaches for one of the school’s towels overhead. “But you’re gonna have to help me break into Tiffany’s locker.”

“Why?”

I shake my hair dry, whipping my head back and forth like a wet animal.

She squeals from all the water flying everywhere, “Because . . .” she laughs, drying herself off while I wait for her to finish.

“She and I wear the same skate size . . .” She holds out the towel for me to use too since I was too focused on joining her to grab one.

“And because she’s a massive thunder cunt who deserves to have her locker broken into. ”

Her arms fold like this is the final make or break condition to yet another detour.

I shrug, grinning at any opportunity to enact vengeance no matter how benign.

“Makes sense to me. Let’s rob that bitch.”

After some serious finessing, we finally get Tiffany’s locker open, and Sydney all laced up in Tiffany’s skates. Thank fuck I didn’t have to break into Trevor’s locker. I already had his locker combo so I welcomed myself to his hockey skates and a clean shirt. He’ll get rid of the bloodied one.

We stand on the ice, almost in the exact place we were before. Though, by the way she’s staring at my skates, you’d think this was the first time we’ve done this.

It’s deja vu for me, but to her, it’s like I’m sullying her rink. She points to my feet.

“You realize those aren’t ice skates, right?”

“Yeah, well, they’re all I got right now.”

She groans. “Fine, but you’d better not slow me down.”

I hold my hands up in surrender.

“I won’t. You have my word. Best behavior.” I pull my phone out and play the song I heard her playing earlier, making sure to connect it to the Bluetooth speakers over the arena since she destroyed her boombox.

I wonder what Old Man Bernie thought about finding a shattered boombox on the ice when he came in earlier.

“You know the song?” Sydney questions.

I set the phone on the ledge of the rink and skate back over to her. “Yeah, I looked it up after watching you replay it so many times.”

Her face contorts. “How much did you see?”

I keep my face neutral, not wanting to plant any more seeds of doubt than she already has.

“Enough.” I skate around her in large circles, letting the music play and float over the ice. There’s nothing quite like skating over fresh ice. The Zamboni has made the ice smooth again since our time earlier tonight and it feels amazing.

Sydney relaxes, swaying to the music as well as she follows my lead.

We don’t dive right into her routine, and I don’t change the music back when another song starts to play.

I don’t even distract her with more talking, I let the quiet in and focus on the sounds of our skates slicing through the ice and our heavy breathing as we skate around each other, beside each other.

I’ve never felt more alive and at peace than I do now, skating with her like this.

She busts a few moves, feeling good enough to show off a little, and I do the same.

Her eyes brighten as she stares at me, shocked that I managed to do something to impress her.

“How are you so good at this?” Sydney asks, loud enough to echo as we keep our momentum.

“I would think it’s essential for most hockey players to know how to ice skate,” I retort, my brow quirking with amusement.

She skates circles around me.

“You know what I mean. Figure skating and hockey are different.”

“I know.”

I grin, captivated by the look on her face.

She looks fascinated, like she truly can’t believe it. “Even in hockey skates you’re . . . amazing.”

I speed up and swing around her, leading her back by her hips as she follows in sync. I bring my lips to her ear.

“I never said I didn’t know how to figure skate, you only assumed I didn’t,” I chide.

She brings her leg up, leaning deeper into me as she points her skates to the sky. Her calf is eye-level with me, and my hands grab at it instinctively. She doesn’t struggle to hold the position and she’s fluid when she turns out of my grasp.

I pull her back to me, hoisting her up then spinning her around a couple of times.

“Keep going,” I rasp into the shell of her ear.

We didn’t get to dance at the party, and we spent more time fighting and fucking than we did anything else. I like it better this way though, and something tells me she does too.

She does a small spin, a pirouette. I copy her and she gives me a look like she’s impressed. We do it again in sync, landing on the ice.

“How did you do that?” she gawks.

I hum, thinking back to how often I used to ice skate as a kid with my mom and sister. I don’t hate the memory this time. It’s a happy one.

“I can’t do too many difficult tricks in these, but I can do some,” I respond, lifting my foot to gesture to my skates. They’re not designed to do tricks without the toe pick, but it’s a basic physics problem. One that can be solved if you know what you’re doing.

“You have no idea how talented you are, do you?” she shakes her head, but her mouth is stretched into the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. She’s having fun and she’s happy . . . with me.

“That’s what I’m trying to show you, Sydney,” I explain.

“Stop worrying about being good enough, or falling, or what your dad thinks, or your team thinks. If you want to be the best, then be the best. You know the routine and if you ever feel like you’re going to fall, know I’ll be there to catch you. ”

I skate a little farther away, making sure to give her plenty of room as I leave her in the middle.

Returning to my phone on the wall, I give her a minute to steady her breathing and get in the right mindset.

“Just skate,” I shout over to her, tapping my thumb on the screen to play her song again.

Sydney postures in position, waiting for her cue.

Her eyes are so damn expressive, and like ice, one look is never the same. There’s fear, yes, but determination too. When she starts this time, pushing off her toe pick with only the power and grace a figure skater can, there’s no hesitation or doubt. If anything, there’s fire and passion.

I watch her in awe, amazed by how she’s moving. I could tell early on that her dreams of making it to the Olympics weren’t a pipe dream. It’s something she’s actually capable of if she’d get out of her own way. If she only had someone believe in her.

“That’s it,” I shout. “Keep going. Skate with your whole fucking heart, your whole goddamn body. Let the ice take you, feel it, Sydney.”

I’m so enamored in watching her move and keeping up with her that I don’t realize I’ve ventured too close, and we’re back to skating together.

She doesn’t mind though, and she doesn’t stop.

My body moves with her, and she moves with mine.

In fact, she skates with even more confidence.

I don’t have her moves memorized or anything, but I ebb and flow as she does, anticipating her movements, and dodging her attacks.

It’s like fighting, or fucking, there’s a communication between us.

And when we reach the point where she kept falling earlier tonight, I watch in pure amazement as she flies through the sky, spins four times and lands beautifully right into my arms.