Page 48 of I Love You, I Hate You
“They do! I can get you one, if you want. If you’d rather not hold my hand, that is.”
“Any chance we can just get hot chocolate and say we went skating instead?”
“You chickening out on me, Vee?”
The nickname got her. In just a few days, she’d somehow come to miss the way he teased her, half out of admiration and half out of pure, natural competitiveness. “Just worried you’re going to screw up while teaching me and I’ll end up dead. And then I’d have to haunt your ass,” she replied. “Possibly with that walker.”
“I promise, learning to ice skate is a low-fatality endeavor.”
“Not if I murder you.”
“Do I need to be worried? This is the second death threat you’ve made tonight,” Owen said, even as he held out his arm for her to lean on as they awkwardly hobbled towards the gate to the rink. She saw the stash of learning-to-skate devices lined up near the boards, but she ignored it. Owen’s arm was steady enough and despite it all, she did trust him. The ice smelled sharp and fresh, and there were dozens of people out there, traversing the rink in a counterclockwise circle. The windows of the old train depot opened out onto the busy downtown streets, lined with a thin layer of ice and slush.
“That depends. Are you going to stand me up?” she threw back, and he winced. But then he stepped out onto the ice and held out both his hands, waiting for her.
“I’m here, right now,” he said seriously, as if he was trying to tell her something else. “Do you trust me?”
“Honestly, jury is still out on that one,” she said, but slipped her hands into his.
It was terrifying and exhilarating at once. She fell half a dozen times, bringing Owen down with her in a tangle of limbs at least three of those times. But each time he would laugh and pick himself back up, unshakable and ready to try again. He talked her through keeping her balance and taking tiny steps, and pretty soon she was only loosely clasping his hand as they skated side by side. They were slow—an elderly couple and several small children kept lapping them—and she could tell he was holding himself back, speed-wise, but it was fun. She didn’t even need to hold his hand after a while, but she did anyway. It was warm and steady and she needed that tonight.
“When did you learn to skate?” she asked.
“I don’t really remember learning, but my dad must have taught me. He played hockey in college.”
That was an unfortunately similar story to one of Luke’s, but she shook it off. Most guys in Minnesota played hockey, after all. “Did you?”
“In college? No. But I did in high school for a bit.”
“Were you any good?”
“Pretty good. Not great, but good enough.”
“So modest,” she teased, sneaking a glance at him.
His lips curved up and it seemed like he was about to say something, when the loudspeaker announced it was time for the Zamboni break. The music stopped and they joined the scrum at the gate while the Zamboni slowly approached. “Now it’s time for that hot chocolate,” Owen declared, and she let him buy it for her because after the fiasco with Luke, it felt good to have someone paying attention to her. She itched to pull her phone out of her pocket and send off a satisfying, lengthy screed to Luke, but as long as she was with Owen, she could refrain. They tucked themselves in a corner and wrapped their hands around the flimsy paper cups, and inspiration struck her.
“Okay, my turn,” she announced. Owen lifted his eyebrows in question. “I’ve never been skating before. Have you ever done karaoke?”
“I went to college, so yes.”
“I mean on your own. Not with fourteen of your frat brothers.”
“First of all, I was never in a frat and I’m appalled you think I would be. Second of all . . . okay no, I’ve never done it solo. Is that a requirement or something?”
She crumpled her cup and threw it in the garbage. “It is now.”
Owen was not prepared for a whole lot of things that had happened in the past few hours, but nothing—nothing—could prepare him for the sight of Victoria up on a small stage in a dingy bar, belting out “Come As You Are” by Nirvana. She came alive, her face glowing while she tossed her hair and growled the lyrics like Kurt Cobain’s long-lost baby sister, and Owen leaned back in his chair and took it all in.
The rest of the crowd was clearly enjoying it too, because Victoria could work an audience like none other. He watched her wink at a table of guys sitting in the corner and they all howled in response, clapping and cheering so loudly it drowned out the next few bars. He wanted to see her like this all the time, alive and sexy and uninhibited. But as soon as he told her the truth, she’d hate him. He needed to find a way around that.
The song finished and she dipped into an elegant curtsy. Owen pushed her beer across the table as she dropped into her seat with a flourish. “Nirvana really is your favorite band, isn’t it?” he said, and she grinned at him over the pint glass.
“My mom was a die-hard. Pretty sure ‘Heart-Shaped Box’ was my first lullaby.”
“That’s dark.”
“That’s teen parenting,” she laughed. “‘Black Hole Sun’ was another staple.”