9. Jaymie
Jaymie
The rink was open and clear. The chill of the air bit at my cheeks as I stepped onto the ice, the familiar scrape of blades echoing in the hollow silence of the empty arena.
The world was still asleep, the city lights dim outside the glass walls, but here, under the soft hum of overhead fluorescents, everything felt right.
My body remembered the rhythm before my brain did. I pushed off slowly, cautious, testing the tight coil of muscle still healing in my hamstring. It twinged, more whisper than scream, but it held. I let out a breath, long and even.
Progress.
Skating felt like exhaling for the first time in weeks.
Behind me, the click of blades met the ice, followed by a voice that was unmistakably Logan.
“Look who finally decided to crawl out of the PT dungeon.”
I glanced over my shoulder as he coasted up, grinning like a smug bastard. “Morning to you too, sunshine.”
“Didn’t think I’d see you back out here so soon.” He bumped his stick against mine. “Miss me that much?”
“Only when I need someone to make me look fast,” I shot back.
He snorted. “Cute. Real cute.”
We fell into an easy rhythm, circling the boards in wide arcs.
A few pucks littered the far end of the ice, but we ignored them, skating not for drills or speed, but for the sheer muscle memory of it.
We’d been doing this since juniors – just us, the ice, and whatever crap we needed to work out before the rest of the world caught up.
After a few laps, we drifted toward the boards and leaned our elbows on the top rail, our breath fogging in the cold.
“So,” Logan said, tilting his head. “How’s the leg?”
“Better,” I said, flexing and unflexing my skate in the ice. “Mallory gave me the green light to skate earlier this week. No sprints. No turns. Just enough to remember I don’t suck.”
Logan nodded. “Mallory, huh?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“I’m always thinking it,” he said with a smirk.
I hesitated, then sighed, the kind of sigh you didn’t mean to let out when your chest was still tight from disappointment.
“I saw her,” I said. “A few nights ago.”
Logan turned toward me, his brows raised slightly. “Yeah?”
“Lobby of the building. She was with someone.”
His face twisted. “A guy?”
“Jackson.”
“Yikes. That sounds like a guy who owns loafers and uses ‘networking’ as a verb.”
“You nailed it in one.”
He gave a sympathetic wince. “That sucks, man.”
“Yeah. He introduced himself like I was the janitor. Didn’t even know who I was.”
“What a dick,” clearly humoring my ego.
I chuckled dryly. “Right? Mallory looked like she’d rather melt into the elevator floor.”
“And yet...?”
“She chose him.”
Logan studied me for a long beat. “You asked her out, didn’t you?”
“Last week. Right after a session.”
“And she said…”
“That she just started seeing someone and it would be weird since we work together.” I glanced down at the ice, watching a nick in the surface reflect the overhead light. “Told me I was sweet. That we should be friends.”
“Sweet,” Logan echoed. “That’s... brutal.”
“Tell me about it.”
He nudged my side with his stick. “You ever think maybe she’s just scared?”
“Of what?”
“Of how much she likes you.”
I barked a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”
“No, seriously,” he said. “I’ve seen you two. You’re a love story waiting to happen. All those flustered little looks. The banter. The fact that she doesn’t immediately taser you every time you complain about glutes.”
“She’s a professional.”
“She’s also not blind.”
I didn’t answer right away. Because the truth was, it wasn’t just about Mallory not liking me back. It was that no one ever did.
Not the real me.
People liked the athlete. The stats. The smile in interviews. They liked the idea of Jaymie Prescott, professional hockey player with a hotshot slapshot and a solid line with Logan.
But me? The dork with glasses. The guy who still got nervous every time a beautiful woman said his name. The one who overthought everything and had a mom who packed enough lasagna to feed a small country?
That guy never stood a chance.
“I think I’m gonna back off,” I said quietly. “Give her space. Stay friendly.”
Logan was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. “That’s fair.”
“But it sucks,” I added, a bit of bitterness slipping in. “Because I really like her, man. Not just the ‘she’s hot and smart’ stuff. She makes everything else... quieter. Like I don’t have to be anything but myself around her.”
Logan looked over at me, his expression softening. “Then be yourself. Be the guy who shows up and stays kind. She’ll see it.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Yoda.”
“Anytime, grasshopper.”
"Wrong reference loser!" I chuckled, using the hem of my sweater to wipe the sweat from getting in my eyes.
"You're the bigger loser,"
We stood in silence for another moment, then Logan smirked.
“You know what always helps a broken heart?”
“Let me guess. Beer and questionable decisions? ”
He grinned. “Nope. A race to the blue line.”
I raised a brow. “You’re gonna pull a groin.”
“Not before you do, grandpa.”
“You’re on,” I said, pushing off with a burst of adrenaline.
We took off, our blades cutting hard into the ice, laughter trailing behind us as we chased nothing but the past and a bit of hope.
And for a few moments, everything felt simple again.