Page 11

ELEVEN

Brody

The rink was eerily quiet at five in the morning, with the kind of silence that felt both calming and surreal. Noah unlocked the side door and flicked on the lights, illuminating the pristine sheet of ice stretching before us. It was a perfect, untouched, blank canvas.

“Trust me,” Noah said, his smile soft but sure as he handed me a pair of skates.

I held them as if they might bite. “I’ve never done this,” I warned, though the prospect of trying something new with him was more enticing than I cared to admit.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, crouching to lace up his skates. His movements were practiced and efficient, every flick of his wrist reminding me how much of his life had been spent on the ice.

I followed his lead, fumbling as I tightened the laces. By the time I stood up, my ankles already felt wobbly.

Noah glanced over and grinned. “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand.

I took it, letting him guide me to the rink's edge. My legs felt foreign, every step awkward and unsure, but his grip was steady, grounding me.

“All right, ready?” Noah asked, stepping effortlessly onto the ice.

“Not even a little,” I muttered, but I followed him anyway, placing one skate onto the slick surface, then the other.

“Relax,” he encouraged, skating backward a few feet so he could face me. “You’re overthinking it. Just… let go.”

I wanted to argue, but something about how he stared at me—patient, confident, sure—made me trust him. Taking a deep breath, I pushed off, wobbled, and nearly fell, but Noah was there, his hands steadying me.

“See? You’re fine,” he said, grinning as I found my balance.

“Fine is a stretch,” I replied, but I was moving… slowly but surely.

It didn’t take long before the initial awkwardness began to fade. Noah skated beside me, his movements fluid and natural, and I mimicked his rhythm, gaining confidence with each lap. The ice felt different from anything I’d ever experienced—not as fast as a car, but smooth in a way that made me feel both out of control and alive.

“It’s… fast,” I said, my voice echoing in the empty rink. “But smooth. On some tracks, the car vibrates so hard I can barely get out after a session. This is… different.”

Noah glanced over, his smile softening. “Do you miss it?”

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I let the question hang between us as we glided around the rink, the quiet hiss of our skates the only sound. Eventually, we stopped and leaned against the barrier, catching our breath.

“Yes,” I sighed. “And no. I miss driving fast. I miss the adrenaline rush, the way everything else disappears when you’re behind the wheel. But I don’t miss the pressure, the insanity, the secrets.”

Noah’s expression was thoughtful as he nodded, his gaze fixed on the ice in front of us. “I get that,” he said. “Sometimes, I think about what it’ll be like when I’m done with hockey. If I’ll miss it or… if I’ll be glad to leave it behind.”

“You’ve got time,” I said, nudging his shoulder. “You’re just getting started.”

He smiled, but something in his eyes told me he was already thinking about the future.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, straightening. “Let’s go a few more laps. You’re starting to look like you know what you’re doing.”

“Careful,” I teased, pushing off from the barrier. “You’ll give me a big head.”

“Too late,” he shot back, laughing as he skated ahead, daring me to catch him.

I tried, but Noah was a professional, his movements effortless as he circled the rink. Whenever I thought I was gaining on him as he skated lazily, he’d pick up speed, a mischievous grin lighting his face. He was probably skating at two percent of what he could really do.

“Come on, Brody!” he called over his shoulder. “Is that all you’ve got?”

“Don’t push your luck,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. No matter how hard I pushed, I couldn’t catch him. He finally slowed, skating back toward me.

“All right,” he said, his breath fogging in the cold air. “Let’s try something different.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he grabbed my hands and pulled me closer. “What are you doing?” I asked though I didn’t resist.

“Dancing,” he said, spinning me in a slow circle.

“I’m not sure this counts as dancing,” I said, laughing despite myself.

“Trust me,” he murmured, his hands steady as he guided me. The motion was smooth, gliding as he twirled me. It felt like we were in our own little world for a moment, the rest of the rink fading away, and somehow, he even managed to sneak in a kiss.

But then, the dizziness hit. It started as a faint buzz behind my eyes, growing sharper with each spin until I had to pull away, gripping his arms.

“Noah, stop,” I said, my voice more strained than intended.

He stopped, his expression shifting to concern. “What is it? Are you okay?”

I pressed my fingers to my temples, the dull ache spreading through my skull. “Just… give me a second. Got a headache starting, that’s all.”

“Shit, Brody,” he said, his hands steadying me. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I didn’t know until two seconds ago,” I replied, trying to smile through the discomfort.

He guided me off the ice, his arm around my shoulders as we returned to the bench. “Sit,” he said, pulling a water bottle from his bag and handing it to me.

“It’s not a big deal,” I said, though the throbbing in my temples begged to differ.

Noah crouched in front of me, his gaze steady and serious. “I shouldn't have spun you so fast.”

“I liked that,” I murmured.

Noah shook his head, already unlacing my skates with care. I stared at the top of his head, at the messy blond curls, catching the glint of the rink’s lights in his hair. I reached out, threading my fingers through the strands, letting the motion ground me. My headache was still there, a persistent thrum at my temples, but touching him, focusing on him, pushed the fear back.

Was this it? Was this the bomb inside my head, ready to explode? Was Noah the last thing I was going to see? My chest tightened, my mouth went dry, and the throbbing in my skull felt unbearable for a moment. Why hadn’t I told him? What would he do if I collapsed right here? It would kill him to see someone die in front of him. I should have told him…

The panic clawed at my throat, but then, I felt the silky texture of his curls under my fingers. His steady movements, his quiet focus on unlacing my skates, pulled me back. I exhaled, shakily, and forced myself to stay in the moment. To stay with him . The tightness in my chest eased as I watched him, the little crease of concentration between his brows. His presence calmed the storm inside me, and the fear that had taken root faded.

He glanced up, his expression soft. “Comfortable?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

I nodded, forcing a smile in return. “Getting there.”

He went back to unlacing, his fingers moving over the loops. Watching him like this, so focused, so careful, I couldn’t help but think about how much I was falling for him. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and completely beyond my control.

I sat in the waiting room, the faint hum of fluorescent lights pressing in on me. The magazines on the table were brand new, but I didn’t bother picking one up, particularly the one with my face on the front and the headline about me dating some big country singer. My phone was in my pocket, but I didn’t reach for it to contact anyone or play games. I wanted to be here, in the moment, even if the moment sucked.

When the nurse called my name, I stood, straightened my jacket, and followed her down the hall. No Logan by my side. Just me. That was how I’d wanted it today. I had decisions to make, and this was my thing to face.

The room was the same as always. Pale walls, a desk piled with files, and Dr. Reilly sitting behind it, typing something into his computer. He looked up when I entered, offering a small smile that was more professional than warm.

“Brody,” he said, gesturing for me to sit. “How have you been?”

I settled into the chair, leaning back like I wasn’t carrying the weight of a bomb in my head. “I’ve been okay,” I said. “A few headaches. Some dizziness. But nothing major.”

Dr. Reilly’s expression didn’t change much, but I could see the subtle shift in his eyes, the way he leaned forward. “Tell me about the dizziness. When did it happen?”

I shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “It was a couple of days ago. I was on the ice, and… well, I’m not a skater. My boyfriend was spinning me around, and I got dizzy. That’s all.”

“How do you feel now?” he asked, his voice steady but probing.

“I’m good,” I replied. “No dizziness since then. The headaches come and go, but they’re not unbearable. I’m fine.”

He nodded slowly; his gaze thoughtful. “Dizziness and headaches can be expected given your condition, but it’s important to monitor them. They’re your body’s way of telling us if something is changing. How often are the headaches?”

I hesitated, then said, “Not every day. Maybe a couple of times a week. They’re not migraine-level bad.”

Dr. Reilly leaned back in his chair, tapping a pen against the desk. “I’d like to schedule a follow-up MRI to check up and ensure everything’s stable.”

“I’m already booked in for next month’s check.”

“We have room today.”

I nodded. “I’ll schedule it,” I said, my voice steady. “But not today.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t push. “Okay. But don’t wait too long, Brody. Your health isn’t something to put off.”

“I know,” I said, standing. “I’ll do it soon.”

I felt a strange mix of relief and dread as I left the office. I’d done this alone. I’d faced the questions, the reality of my situation, without anyone holding my hand. And I was okay. For now, at least.