Chapter 6
Ice, Ice, Maybe
JAMES
By evening, I've convinced myself that last night was an anomaly, a one-time thing that won't happen again. I head to the arena for ice skating with low expectations, already planning my escape strategy.
The university's ice arena is impressively maintained, courtesy of the local NHL team, which needed a place to practice after its facility was destroyed by fire.
Literal flames. It was a massive story at the time.
Something about vandalism, a pissed off ex, and a rescue that sounds straight out of a Hallmark movie.
Except it actually happened, which is wild.
Tonight it's filled with students taking advantage of a pre-exams open skate, with a section of benches reserved specifically for Delta Psi Omega and our "brotherhood bonding."
Hanging back as the others collect their rental skates, I eye them with suspicion. My previous experiences with ice skating have been limited and humiliating, usually ending with me sprawled on the ice while more coordinated people glide effortlessly past.
"You really don't skate, do you?" Caleb's voice comes from behind me. He's already laced up in a pair of sleek black skates that look well-worn and personal rather than rented.
"I already told you I didn't. " Reluctantly, I accept a pair of rental skates from the counter.
"Yeah, but…” He doesn’t finish whatever he was going to say. "You're looking at those like they're instruments of torture." He nods toward the skates, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"In my experience, they are." Heavily, I drop onto the bench, time to face the evil skates.
Thread the lace through the next eyelet, and pull it tight. It immediately goes slack again. Perfect. Cross them, pull tight. No, that's not right. And Caleb's watching the entire struggle, silent, which somehow makes it worse than if he just said something.
"You're doing it wrong," he says after a moment. "You need to tighten them more at the ankle."
"Go ahead and show me how it's done." I sound more annoyed than I mean to.
To my surprise, he kneels down and takes over, his fingers moving efficiently as he adjusts the laces. "Too loose and you'll have no support. Too tight and you'll cut off circulation. There's a balance."
Where do my hands even go in this situation? Resting on my knees feels awkward. Hanging at my sides feels weirder. I kind of want to see if his hair is soft… Stop it, you idiot!
Caleb's bent over the skate, his fingers moving with practiced precision as he works through lacing the skates.
I watch the careful way he handles each eyelet, how focused he looks.
It's strange having someone this close, close enough that I can see the exact shade of his blonde hair.
He's close enough that I can catch the faint scent of whatever detergent he uses on his clothes.
Stranger still that he's doing something this.
.. helpful? Caleb Huntington the Third, perpetually grumpy law student, is kneeling on the floor, fixing my skates.
If someone had told me a month ago this would be happening, I would've laughed them out of the room.
And yet here we are, and I'm finding it increasingly difficult to focus on anything other than the fact that he hasn't made a single sarcastic comment about my incompetence with basic footwear.
Giving my head a shake, I ask, "Where did you learn to skate?" Anything to fill the awkward silence.
At a rink near my parents' house," he says without looking up. "It kept me busy while Father attended political functions, and my mother was always at his side." There's a bitterness in his voice that makes me think the memories aren't entirely pleasant ones.
"Done," he says, standing up. "That should hold."
Before I can thank him, Gavin bounds over, already laced up and practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "You guys ready? This is gonna be awesome!"
"Not the word I'd use,"
"Come on, it'll be fun!" Gavin insists. "And look, you two are already hanging out. The Hunter-Huntington alliance continues!"
"Please stop calling us that." My jaw clenches at Gavin's annoying use of that stupid nickname.
"Why? It's perfect! Like a law firm or a superhero duo." Gavin grins broadly. "Hunter and Huntington: Defenders of Digital Virtue."
Caleb shoots me a look, annoyed yet maybe a bit amused. I think we are two people who've reached our mutual limit with Gavin's relentless cheerfulness and terrible naming conventions. Without needing to say anything, we both seem to arrive at the same conclusion: escape is the only viable option.
We turn at the same time and head toward the ice, our shoulders knocking together in what I can only describe as a united front against the onslaught of Golden Retriever enthusiasm behind us.
Gavin doesn't stop talking as we walk away, something about defending digital virtue, but we've effectively tuned him out. Getting on the ice, even if I'm going to make a complete fool of myself, sounds way better than listening to more of his fake superhero names.
As we approach the rink, my confidence disappears. The other guys are already on the ice, some gliding with decent skill, others clinging desperately to the wall. Tyler and Ethan are holding hands as they skate slowly but steadily together.
My shoulders are tight as I stop at the entrance to the ice. "I'll probably just watch."
Caleb, who's already stepped onto the frozen surface with practiced ease, turns back to look at me. He moves with a natural fluidity that speaks to years of training. "Giving up before you even try? That doesn't seem like you, Hunter."
The challenge in his voice irritates me enough to step forward, gripping the wall with white knuckles as my feet immediately try to slide in opposite directions.
"Bend your knees slightly," Caleb says, watching my struggle. "And stop looking so terrified. The ice can smell fear."
"Very helpful," I say flatly. My hands have a death grip on the boards, knuckles gone white, and they're not budging anytime soon.
He sighs and skates back to me, stopping with a neat little turn that emphasizes the gap between our abilities. "Look, do you want help or not? Because I can leave you to your wall-hugging if you prefer."
I stare at him, surprised by the offer. "Why would you help me?"
"Because watching you inch around the perimeter for the next hour will be painful for everyone involved," he says with that direct honesty I'm starting to recognize as his default mode. "Besides, if we have to suffer through these mandatory things, we might as well suffer together."
The simple statement hits me harder than it should, like someone reaching across a wall I've put up for years. It's not like he's offering to be real friends or anything, and I did suggest we team up to deal with Drew's endless brotherhood activities.
"Fine," I give in, releasing my death grip on the wall slightly. "What's first?"
"Take my arm," he says, positioning himself beside me. "Don't death-grip it, just enough for balance."
Hesitantly, I grab his forearm. Solid. More muscle there than the saggy hoodie suggests. Does he work out? He must, there's muscle definition under there, not just, wait, why am I thinking about what's under Caleb's…
My feet slip. Both of them, in opposite directions.
This is it, I'm going down hard—
Caleb's hand shoots out, grabbing my other arm and hauling me back to vertical before my arse meets ice. "Stay centered."
"Thanks." It comes out breathless but genuine. First time thanking Caleb for anything, probably.
"Now, bend your knees slightly and keep your weight centred. We'll take it slow."
As we begin to move, my initial panic subsides slightly. With Caleb next to me, I stay on my feet, though I move like a robot while he glides around like it's nothing.
"Not completely hopeless," he says after we've made half a circuit. "Though I wouldn't quit your day job to join the NHL."
"No chance of that," I say, risking a small smile. "Technology doesn't fight back when you try to master it."
"Clearly you've never used Windows Vista," he says, startling me into a laugh that nearly costs me my balance.
For the next half hour, Caleb guides me around the rink, giving short but helpful tips. I slowly get better, moving from about to crash to kind of steady, and even manage to skate a little without grabbing the wall or Caleb.
"Look at you two!" Gavin calls as he whizzes past, considerably more adept than I would have expected for a football player. "The dynamic duo in action!"
Caleb rolls his eyes, but he doesn't rush to deny what Gavin said or move away from me. He just adjusts his hold to help me skate a bit more confidently.
"Ignore him," he says quietly. "Focus on your balance."
Focusing on my balance, like he says, the skating actually gets easier. Almost fun even. Caleb's hand is still on my arm, steadying me through the turns, and there's this stupid moment where my brain supplies an image of those arms around me in a completely different context—
Nope. Not doing that.
We're allies. Temporary ones. That's it. Nothing more complicated than two people who've decided not to murder each other during mandatory frat activities.
Except his hand is still on my arm, and some traitorous part of my brain is wondering what it would feel like if—
"You're overthinking it," Caleb says, and I nearly trip again because shit, can he read minds now?
"Just concentrating," I lie.