4. Chapter Four
“Nina. We need to talk about adding a jump to your long program,” her coach calls.
“Duty calls,” Nina says, flashing a grin as she skates backward. “I’ll see you two later.”
I watch her go, the sound of her blades scraping clean against the ice. I was supposed to cut the rink, but Harry told me to wait.
“We need to talk,” Valeria says.
She’s tense, too tense, shoulders squared, jaw set, but her eyes give her away.
She’s freaking out.
And I have a feeling I know why.
I watch as Valeria steps off the ice, sliding her blade guards over her skates with quick, sharp movements. Then, completely catching me off guard, she yanks me around the corner by my wrist.
"You’re Nina’s older brother?" Her voice is low, but sharp. Like she can’t believe she’s even saying the words. "How the hell did I not put two and two together?"
I don’t know if I should answer. I don’t know what she wants to hear. So I don’t. I wait. My jaw tightens, my breath steady, but there’s something uneasy curling in my chest. The silence stretches, heavy, and I hold it—watching, waiting.
She glances around, scanning the area like someone might overhear us, like we’re standing on top of something that could explode at any second.
"Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?" she snaps. "Why didn’t you say anything?!"
I really don’t like her tone. It feels like she’s used to cutting people down with words, but I’m not some kid she can scold. I don’t flinch. I don’t move, if anything, my gaze hardens.
"Guess it never came up," I say, keeping my voice even.
She mutters something under her breath, shaking her head. "Unbelievable."
Then, something shifts. The anger doesn’t disappear, but something else pushes through—panic.
"You’re married," Valeria says, her voice lower now, but desperate. “We cannot tell Nina.”
I don’t even blink, although I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting, I was under the impression that we’d hit it off last night. "Wasn’t planning on telling her anything."
She exhales sharply, still pacing, still running through whatever worst-case scenarios are playing in her head.
"I mean it, Ethan. We have to act like nothing happened," she says, spinning back to face me.
I raise a brow, watching her practically unravel in real time. "Well, you’re not doing a great job being inconspicuous."
She glares. She liked me well enough to let me fuck her last night, but apparently she’s embarrassed by that now? It doesn’t make sense, but I'm not going to argue with her.
"We need to pretend that we’re just…" she trails off, jaw tight.
I push off the wall slightly, leaning in just a little too close. "Just what?"
She exhales hard, like she has to force the word out. "Friends."
I let that settle. Just long enough to see how much she hates saying it. "Whatever you say," I reply, neutral.
She looks calmer now. Steadier, like she’s convinced herself she’s got this under control. Then, just as she turns to leave—
She stops. Freezes.
"You’re married." She’s repeating herself now.
Silence.
She looks at me. Waiting for me to correct her. Waiting for me to say something—anything—that will make this better.
I don’t.
"Fuck!" The panic isn’t just in her voice now—it’s all over her face. Wide eyes. Uneven breathing. Hands curling into fists. She’s spiraling.
"Okay, okay, calm down, Valeria," I say, keeping my voice low, steady.
She laughs, but it’s sharp, humorless and frantic. "How am I supposed to calm down? I slept with someone’s husband!"
I watch her carefully, my own chest feeling tighter now. She doesn’t deserve this guilt.
"You weren’t wearing a ring," she mutters, more to herself than to me. Then she looks up, right at me, her voice quieter but heavier. "I didn’t think I needed to ask."
A pause. Then, softer—not just angry this time, but betrayed. "Why didn’t you tell me you were married?"
I exhale, jaw clenching for a second before I meet her gaze. "Because I’m not. Okay, technically I am, but I’m not," I say, my voice tight.
Valeria folds her arms, jaw set. "What does that even mean?"
"It’s a long story."
She doesn’t miss a beat. "I have time. And you owe me the explanation."
I exhale sharply. Fine. She wants answers? She’s getting them.
"Margo is my wife. She wanted to tour with her old band. She promised it would only be a couple of months and that she’d call, but she stopped calling. It’s been a year. I haven’t heard from her. My daughter hasn’t heard from her. So I filed for divorce. She was served with the papers. Now I’m just waiting for her to sign them. It’s been over for a long time. Yeah, I’m married, but I’m doing everything I can to end that."
Valeria doesn’t move. She just stares, expression unreadable.
Then—her voice sharpens. "So what? Your wife leaves to go fulfill her dreams, and you just move on? Just like that?"
My jaw tightens. That’s not how it was. "I didn’t move on just like that, and she didn’t leave just to fulfill her dreams. It’s more complicated than that." I try to keep my voice steady, but I already know it’s a losing battle.
Valeria’s laugh is sharp, biting. "Could’ve fooled me. Seems like you moved on pretty easily."
The air shifts between us. Hotter. Heavier.
I feel my patience slipping, my pulse kicking up. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing, but there’s no cruelty in them—just sharpness, just doubt. "Then tell me I’m wrong."
I don’t.
Instead, I step in closer, my voice lower now. "This is sounding less and less like someone who had a one-night stand and more like someone who wants something more."
Her eyes snap to mine, sharp as a blade. "You’re delusional."
"Am I?" I challenge, watching her closely now, watching the way she tenses, the way her breath catches before she locks it down. "Because you sure as hell care a lot for someone who’s trying so hard to stay detached."
Her jaw clenches, her breath unsteady. "I have no pity for cheaters. Nor would I ever have feelings for one."
That hits. So fucking hard I see red.
She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get it at all. It’s like she’s already decided what’s true, and nothing I say is going to change that.
I should stop. I should walk away. But something about her—about the way she’s looking at me, like she’s better than me, like I’m nothing—makes me want to hit back harder. I want her to hurt the way I do. I want her to feel it.
My voice is sharp, lethal. "You’re what? 23 and up until last night, you were a virgin. I wonder if there’s a reason for that?”
The second the words leave my mouth, I know I fucked up beyond repair.
She goes completely still.
For a second, I think she’s just going to walk away. That she’s going to be the bigger person. That I got the last word.
But then—
Her chest rises, slow and controlled, like she’s deciding whether or not to say what she’s about to say. Like she knows it’ll ruin everything, and she’s choosing to do it anyway.
Her lips part slightly, and something shifts in her eyes. Not just anger. Something colder. Sharper.
And then she destroys me.
"No wonder your wife left," she whispers.
It hits like a gunshot.
I stagger back a step, my lungs locking up, my body refusing to move, refusing to react, refusing to do anything but feel the weight of those five words.
Valeria doesn’t wait for me to recover. She turns and walks out, her steps sharp, final.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I was already wounded, but this? This guts me.
A hand claps on my shoulder. Firm. Steady.
Harry. Joanne stands a few steps behind him, arms crossed, watching me carefully.
“She’s tough, son,” Harry says, voice gruff but knowing. “But I’ve never heard her that worked up. You got under her skin, but she didn’t mean that. I know she’s regretting it now.”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said what I said back to her.”
Harry exhales through his nose, nodding once. “Maybe not. But what’s done is done.”
Joanne adds, her voice softer, reassuring. “Give it time.”
Harry watches me for a second, then gestures toward the door. “Why don’t you take the rest of the morning off? We’re not busy.”
I hesitate. Then, I nod. And I leave.
I go straight to Drew’s.
I work here five days a week. I love this job, I always have. I just wish it was enough so that I never had to take the second job. I wish I didn’t need to keep stretching myself thin just to make things work.
But now? Now, I’m thinking of quitting the rink more than ever.
The garage is quiet this early, the overhead lights humming. The scent of motor oil and metal lingers in the air—familiar, grounding, steady. The kind of thing you can count on.
Rows of neatly organized tools line the walls, every wrench and socket exactly where it belongs. Simple. No guessing. No surprises. The Camaro Drew’s been rebuilding sits in the center of the bay, hood up, parts scattered over the workbench like an unfinished puzzle.
I exhale slowly, letting the smell of grease and old leather settle over me. Trying to let it steady me.
This place has always been a second home. You fix what’s broken. You tighten the bolts. You put in the work, and it pays off.
By the end of the day, there’s something to show for it.
Unlike everything else in my life.
Drew barely glances up from under the hood of the Camaro as I walk in, wiping grease off his hands with an old rag.
“What’s up, man?” he says, voice easy, distracted.
I don’t answer right away. Just drop onto the couch, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor like it might have the answers I need.
“Nothing really,” I mutter. “Just found out my one-night stand was Nina’s best friend.”
Drew freezes. The rag stills in his hands. Then, slowly, he straightens and looks at me. “Wait, what?” His brow furrows. “Start from the one-night stand part.”
I blow out a breath, raking a hand through my hair. “Last night. Before I left the party, I ran into her—Valeria. She actually spilled her drink on me,” I pause, the memory flickering back—the sharpness in her eyes, the way she looked at me like she already knew I was a mistake but was willing to make it anyway. “We talked. Didn’t plan on leaving together, but it happened.”
Drew leans against the workbench, arms crossed, watching me like I’m about to drop the real bomb.
“We hooked up,” I continue, voice flat. “Thought it was a one-time thing. No details. Just…whatever it was.”
“Alright…” Drew drawls, nodding along. “And?”
“And today, I walk into the rink and see her standing there—not just at the rink. On the ice. Skating like she owns the damn place. Turns out she’s not just some girl I met at a party. She’s Valeria Blaze. Figure skating prodigy. The one Harry’s been raving about. The same Valeria Blaze who happens to be Nina’s best friend.”
Drew lets out a long, low whistle. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“And she didn’t mention any of that last night?”
“Not a damn word.” I shake my head, laughing dryly. “Neither did I, to be fair.”
Drew smirks, but it fades just as fast. “So, what? You two just acted like it never happened?”
I tilt my head back, staring at the ceiling. “Not exactly. She panicked when she saw me. It was a whole thing. Then we argued, because apparently, I’m the asshole for existing in the same space as her now.”
Drew lifts an eyebrow. “That bad?”
I let out a sharp exhale, shaking my head. “Worse. First, she realizes I’m still married, and she just—looks at me like I did something wrong. Like I’m some kind of liar.” I lean forward, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “She says I should’ve told her last night, like I was supposed to sit her down in the middle of—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. “I don’t know. Do a full background check before we hooked up?”
Drew smirks, but it’s mild, more curiosity than amusement. “And what, she thinks you’re just out here screwing around now?”
“Pretty much.” I let out a bitter laugh. “She says I’m just ‘moving on’ like it’s nothing. Like I’m the kind of guy who shrugs off a failed marriage and goes looking for a rebound.” My fingers tighten against my knees.
Drew exhales, shaking his head. “She doesn’t get it.”
“No, she doesn’t,” I agree, voice tight. Then I huff out a breath, forcing myself to relax. “Not that I made it any better.”
Drew gives me a look. “What’d you say?”
I rub the back of my neck, already bracing for the judgment. “I might’ve… made a comment.”
“Ethan.”
I sigh. “I said something about her being an ice queen. That maybe there’s a reason she’s never been in a real relationship.”
Drew winces. “Damn. Alright, yeah, that’s bad. But still—”
“Oh, it gets worse,” I cut in. “Because then she fires back with, ‘No wonder your wife left you.’”
Drew’s head snaps toward me. His expression shifts—no smirk now, just understanding that this hit deep.
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
I let out a humorless laugh, but there’s no amusement in it. “Yeah. Hell of a first conversation, right?”
Drew exhales slowly, shaking his head. “Alright, so she went for the jugular.”
I nod. “She didn’t miss, either.”
Drew leans back against the workbench, arms crossed, watching me. “And?”
“And what?”
“What are you gonna do about it?”
I stare at the ground for a beat, jaw tight. “Nothing. She made it clear what she thinks of me. Not much else to say.”
Drew hums, but doesn’t push. He just tosses the grease rag over his shoulder and goes back to the Camaro, like he’s giving me space to sit with it.
And I do. But it doesn’t feel any better.