13. leo
THIRTEEN
leo
K issing Victoria was a mistake. A colossal, world-class, heart-wrenching mistake. Because now, every ounce of self-control I’ve been clinging to is hanging by a thread. I’ve been trying to keep my distance, keep her at arm’s length, just so I wouldn’t feel anything. But the second her lips touched mine, every rational thought flew out the window. It was like I was back in college, kissing her all over again, and I already know how that ended—with my heart destroyed. No matter how badly I want to believe this time could be different, I know better.
I avoided her all day yesterday, staying in my room and leaving early before she was up, but now that we have practice, there’s no escaping her—and no avoiding the memories of that New Year’s Eve kiss—which means we need to deal with it once and for all.
As I lace up my skates, Victoria practices a few double axels, keeping her distance.
A man walks into the ice arena and waves to Victoria. He’s well past retirement age and has silver-white hair and a slow gait.
“Eugene, good to see you,” she says, skating over to him.
Eugene? As in, her coach? I didn’t know he was coming today.
She points at me on the bench. “Eugene, this is Leo, my temporary partner.”
She might as well be holding up a neon sign that says, He’s just here until something better comes along.
Her coach sizes me up like I’m a steer on the auction block. “Hmm,” he says, rubbing his chin. “He’s muscular enough, but I’m not sure about a hockey player.”
“At least he can skate,” she says.
At least? I can run circles around her when it comes to speed and agility.
“Excuse me,” I cut in, tired of being talked about like I’m not here. “I can hear everything you’re saying.”
Both of them turn toward me, looking mildly startled, like they’ve forgotten I have ears.
Eugene clears his throat. “Ah, my apologies. This is... unconventional, to say the least.”
Unconventional? Try humiliating. It’s bad enough I’m the butt of every locker room joke, but now I’ve got to prove myself to this guy, too.
“Let’s see what you can do on the ice,” Eugene says, gesturing toward the rink.
I stand, arching a brow. “I thought you were supposed to tell me what to do.”
Victoria reaches for my arm and drags me toward the rink, her grip firm enough to let me know she’s not in the mood for an argument. “Relax. He just wants to evaluate us together,” she says, keeping her voice low.
“What the heck, Victoria? I didn’t know your coach was showing up today. You could’ve warned me.” It’s almost like she planned it, so we wouldn’t have to talk about that kiss on New Year’s Eve.
“What difference would it have made?” she says. “Dad thought it best to bring Eugene in now. Could you at least pretend to respect him... for my sake? Eugene’s a legend in the industry and the only one who can get me to Nationals. I can’t afford to lose him.”
I glance over at Eugene, who looks like he’s pushing eighty-five. “Are you sure? Because he looks like he might not survive one lap around this rink.”
Victoria glares at me. “That legend is about to decide if you’re worth keeping around.”
“Fine, let’s just get this over with,” I mutter.
“Just follow my lead, okay?” she says, skating to center ice.
I let out an annoyed sigh before following. “I’ll do it as long as we talk about what happened the other night.”
Her face flicks over her shoulder. “What?”
“You know...” I say, stopping on center ice to face her.
The words hang between us, but I can’t let it go. I need to know if she felt it too—the pull between us I can’t shake, because it’s turned into an ache that just won’t go away. Maybe to her it was nothing, a fleeting moment she’s already pushed aside. But for me? As soon as my lips touched hers, it was like a dam broke. All the feelings I’d pushed away came rushing back—the way we fit together, how she felt like heaven in my arms.
That’s when I realized I’d crossed a line I could never uncross, cracked open a door I’d spent years trying to seal shut. I thought I’d buried my feelings for her so deep they were dead, but that kiss undid everything. And the worst part? I have no idea if she feels the same.
Her eyes dart to the ice. “What is there to talk about?”
“The kiss?” I whisper.
Her face snaps shut as she shrugs. “You just happened to be next to me, and it was New Year’s Eve. What was I supposed to do?”
“That’s it?” I ask. “Because the way I remember it...” I pause, searching her face for a sign of something, anything . But she’s too busy looking anywhere but at me. “You can’t tell me you didn’t feel something too.”
Her eyes cut to mine. “Leo, can we not do this here?” she pleads under her breath. “Eugene is watching, and we need to practice.”
But I can’t let this go. I gently take her wrist and draw her closer, pressing her to my chest. She looks up at me, surprised.
“How am I supposed to focus on practice when you’re pretending nothing happened?” I ask. “You think I can just skate around like we’re strangers again?”
Her lips part, the tension between us as sharp as a skate blade. She blinks, then slowly pulls away from me. “Can we just begin?” she says cooly, looking away. “Start with a lift or something?”
“You want a lift? I’ll show you a lift.” My hands reach for her waist, and I lift her off the ice, hauling her over my shoulder like a sandbag.
“Leo! What are you doing?” She kicks against me, her legs flailing against my chest. “Put me down! This is so unprofessional.”
I hook my arm around her, enjoying the fact that for once, I have the upper hand. “Will you talk to me if I do?”
“Okay, I’ll talk!” she snaps, her voice verging on threatening. “But if I have to say it one more time: Put. Me. D?—”
I let go, but at that exact moment, she drives her legs into my stomach, knocking the air out of me and forcing me to double over with a grunt.
She crashes onto the ice, landing on her butt.
“Down?” I finish, gasping for breath.
She glares at me. “My tailbone is going to have a nice bruise, thanks to you.”
“You asked me to put you down,” I say, rubbing the spot where her knee met my stomach. “I was just following orders.”
“You could’ve warned me first!” she growls, rubbing her backside as she scrambles to her feet.
“You kicked me in the stomach,” I remind her.
“You deserved it,” she says, crossing her arms.
“That’s enough!” Eugene yells from the side. “You two—over here. Now.”
Victoria shoots me a look.
“This conversation isn’t over,” I mutter before she skates away.
Her coach pinches the bridge of his nose, looking like he regrets showing up for practice today.
“This won’t work,” he says, sighing deeply.
“No, please don’t quit,” Victoria pleads. “I need you. This is my last shot. If I don’t have a coach...”
Eugene holds up a hand, silencing her. “Who said I was quitting? I’m not going anywhere. But this ”—he waves a hand between us—“this thing between you two—it has to stop.”
“What thing?” Victoria asks defensively.
“The bickering. The unresolved tension,” he says, leveling a stern look at her before shifting his gaze to me. “There’s something going on between you two. And I can’t teach either of you”—he jabs a finger in our direction—“if you’re not willing to work through your differences.”
Victoria shakes her head, looking almost angelic. “I assure you there’s nothing going on.”
Eugene gives her a look that says he’s not buying it. “You need to stop practicing immediately. Instead, you’re getting an assignment. I don’t want to see you again until you’ve completed it.”
“What kind of assignment?” Victoria asks, frowning.
“You need to learn to become real partners—on and off the ice.” He shuffles the papers on his clipboard. “I want you to go out together. Get to know each other... on a personal level. Good skaters care about their partners.”
She shakes her head, her face pale. “I don’t think that’s necessary. We already know each other... quite well.”
Eugene holds up his hand again. “No excuses, Victoria. You want to win? You need to learn to understand each other. The judges and audience can feel the emotion between skaters. The connection between you two is vital. I want to see that change before the next practice.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s not even possible.”
“Then you can kiss Nationals goodbye,” Eugene replies, lifting his shoulders. “Your call.”
Victoria squeezes her eyes shut, then finally says, “Fine. But only once.” Then she puts on her skate guards and storms out of the rink.
Eugene sighs as he leans against the wall. “That woman.”
“Stubborn as a mule,” I mutter.
He chuckles. “Sounds like you know.”
“We have a history together,” I admit, sitting on the bench and resting my elbows on my knees. “It’s the reason she’s reluctant to agree to your assignment. She finds me infuriating.”
Eugene lifts an eyebrow skeptically. “You think she doesn’t like you? Are you blind ?”
“You saw her kick me in the stomach, right? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a love tap.”
Eugene chuckles. “She’ll come around. Victoria has always been closed off. It’s a tough industry—you get cut down, judged, and publicly humiliated. She’s experienced all three. When someone offers her something genuine, no strings attached, she doesn’t know what to do. Vulnerability is not her forte.”
I blink and look up at him. “Victoria... vulnerable ? Those words don’t even belong in the same sentence.”
His mouth curves a little. “I think the disappointment has chipped away her confidence in herself,” he says, staring thoughtfully at the ice. “She’s had so much failure, she needs someone to show her that she can’t fail with them. And that no matter how much she pushes them away, they’re not going to leave.”
“What are you asking me to do?”
“She puts on a good front,” he says. “But she needs someone in her corner.”
I frown. “But I’m the one person she doesn’t want near her.”
“That’s not what I saw out there,” he says, nodding toward center ice. “She might try to get out of this. Don’t let her.”
If anyone should be allowed to walk away, it’s me. I’m the kid who came out of the foster care system. I know what it feels like to have people give up on you when you need them the most. Tina turned to drinking after my biological father died when I was a baby, but that doesn’t excuse it. I’ve never been able to understand why she didn’t fight harder to keep me, to hold on to the only family she had left. How can you say you love someone and not fight for them when it matters most?
Eugene turns back to me. “Don’t tell her I said this, but she needs more than skating in her life. She needs a friend.”
“A friend?” I sputter. After I told her I could never be friends with her? Not a chance. The feelings I have for her could never be platonic. “She’ll laugh me off the rink, Eugene.”
“I know,” he says quietly.
I stand, dragging my hand through my hair, trying to convince him this is not a good idea. “You know she’s going to hate this, right?”
“I know,” he repeats, nodding. “Which is why you’re the perfect person. Hockey players are used to taking hard hits, correct?”
I sigh, because I already know I’m going to say yes. “Doesn’t mean we like it.”