Chapter Twelve
“You good, sweetheart?” Frank asked me. He was standing near the pit with a hose, melting the pile of snow the Zamboni had
just scraped off the ice. “It’s early.”
He was used to me sneaking in the back door before the rink officially opened. It happened more frequently when competitions
loomed, and obviously there was no bigger one than what I was about to face.
I gave him a quick squeeze on my way past. “Yup, just hoping to steal some alone time to clear my head before the rest of
the world shows up. Lots going on lately.”
“Well, I just finished out there, so it’ll be nice and smooth for ya. Have fun.” He pushed his glasses up his nose with the
back of his hand.
No one worked harder than Frank, and even though we had a half dozen guys willing to step up and take over the Zamboni duties,
he wasn’t ready to let go yet. He’d been a hockey player back in the 1960s, which meant that he had ice in his veins as well.
Unfortunately, thanks to his sport and the lack of support for players back in the day, he also had a pronounced limp from
osteoarthritis in his hips.
Things were better for athletes now, but not by much, which was why I had a team of people helping to keep my own machine in top form.
I ran through my off-ice warm-up quickly with a focus on my ankles and feet. The pull to get out on the ice was stronger than
usual, probably because it was the only place where I could forget about the rest of the world. For all the pain I faced daily
thanks to falling in love with a sport that was all hard edges and frigid temps, the rink was my home. My skates gave me wings.
My heart was free on the ice.
Even during the dark years, I never stopped loving my sport.
I dropped my stuff off, put in a single earbud, and headed out to the center. I wasn’t going to skate any of my programs,
I just wanted to let my body respond to whatever music came on my random Spotify playlist.
First up? “Slave to Love” by Bryan Ferry. The perfect song for a languid, dreamy start to my six a.m. session. I fished my
other earbud from my pocket, because I wanted to hear every note of it. I’d learned the hard way that earbuds became projectiles
during spins, but I wasn’t ready to break out the big moves quite yet. For now, I just wanted to let the music wash over me.
I closed my eyes, arched my back, and let go. This floaty, weightless feeling was my reason for being. My love.
The song came to an end. I opened my eyes, did a half turn, and screamed.
“Ben?! What the fuck?” I fumbled with an earbud.
He was right behind me. My entire body went numb, half from shock and half from the way he was staring.
Like I was naked.
“Sorry! I thought you saw me,” he said as he skated even closer.
“I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, so no, I didn’t see you,” I said, clutching my chest and trying to will my heart rate to slow down.
I realized that he’d probably witnessed all my sexy improv and felt my cheeks go hot. I wasn’t skating to be perceived in
this moment, and it pissed me off that he’d intruded. I spent most of my time being watched, judged, graded, so the moments
when I could skate just for myself were precious.
“Hey, you folks okay out here?” Frank called from the edge of the ice. “I heard a scream.”
“We’re fine,” I yelled back, waving one hand over my head while glaring at Ben.
“Okey doke. I’m heading out for a quick bite,” he yelled back before he disappeared into his cave.
I refocused my attention on Ben, so mad that I was nearly fuming.
“Why are you here?” I demanded.
“Heads Will Roll” by Yeah Yeah Yeahs kicked up in my remaining earbud, which felt like the right sort of hype song in the
moment.
“This.” He pointed to the ice under his skates. “I forgot how much I miss it. I had no clue you’d be here too, I’m sorry I
scared you. Frank let me in. Anyway, I thought I had your full schedule nailed down. You didn’t mention that you do early
morning skates.”
His expression looked so believably worried that I could almost forgive him. I fished through my pocket to find my phone and turn off the music.
“Well, sometimes things change. And I didn’t think you needed to know every minute of my day.”
“Maybe now I should? Fill me in.” Ben tried to hide a grin. “So this never happens again, of course,” he said quickly.
“Should I set up a shared Google calendar?”
“Yeah, that would actually be super helpful, because then—”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Right. Got it. Anyway, I’m sorry I intruded, but I’m really happy I got to see that. It was beautiful. Different,” he said
softly. “You are just . . .” He shook his head, like he couldn’t find the words.
We stared at one another silently, his dark eyes doing to me exactly what they did to the rest of the world.
Seducing.
I skated away from him under the pretense of needing water, but it was actually because I felt that urge rising up in me again.
The swift current of need that I could spend all my energy fighting, only to end up exhausted and overpowered by it anyway.
I hated that, despite everything, I was starting to trust him again. Our first interview at the dance studio had felt like
a conversation with a friend. He knew where my land mines were buried and he managed to avoid every single one of them. He’d
made me feel so safe that when we finished I had to hold myself back from hugging him. Not that we talked about anything major,
but still.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” I sighed. “You can stay.”
Inexplicably, half of the overhead lights went out with a mechanical ca-thunk, leaving the rink with dim mood lighting.
I understood Ben’s pull to get back on the ice, because here I was, heeding it as well. And I skated every damn day. I couldn’t imagine how deprived he must feel after going from a life on skates to . . . I wasn’t even sure how he filled his days now, and it was time to find out.
“What do you do, when you’re not being my shadow?” I asked Ben. “You said you’re on a trial run with the show, so like, how
have you been keeping busy up to this point?”
I braced myself for a fire hose of impressive side hustles, but his expression went momentarily pained, like I detonated one
of his hidden land mines.
“My focus right now is on The Score,” he answered. He skated away and I followed him.
I sped up and moved in front of him, so I could watch his face. “Okay, so what about before? Like, for the past four years?”
“Why does it matter?” Ben scowled.
Rather than retreating I decided that it was my turn to be the interviewer.
“Why are you being so defensive about a simple question?”
I could tell he was trying to lose me, moving into his crouched skating position and picking up speed. But he was at a disadvantage
in regular skates. I had no problem keeping up with him.
“Because my life is an open book. You know about Dancing with the Stars, and my stupid reality show. You’ve seen my billboards for Powerade and Toyota. I’m financially stable, if that’s what you’re
wondering.”
I shook my head. “Nope, I don’t care about your bank account. I’m talking about how you literally fill your days. Do you even skate anymore?”
Ben’s brow furrowed a little more deeply. “Not as much as I’d like.”
“Okay, so like . . . you wake up and then you . . .” I rolled my hand in front of me to encourage him to fill in the details.
Something switched on in him, and I watched him unfurl and then recenter himself like he was getting ready to deliver a talking point on camera. “I hustle. That’s what I do. Okay?”
Mr. Sunshine was really good at keeping his mask on. As much as I wanted to continue chipping away at his walls, I figured
I should return the favor and respect his boundaries.
We skated side by side with just the sounds of our blades on the ice filling the silence, until I pulled out my phone to tap
into the rink speakers. Loud music would kill the confusing vibes in the air. I scrolled through a few songs that echoed around
the rink.
“Hey, can you play My Heart Will Go On?” Ben called after me.
I made a face as I spun around to him. “Um, no?”
“Come on. You got a problem with Celine?”
“Of course not, she’s uhmazing.” I said it with her dramatic accent and hand gesture. “But I’m so sick of it since someone always skates to it. That song, Carmen, Bolero, and Swan Lake all need to die in a fire.”
“But I really want to show you something.” He did backward crossovers in a circle around me. “Consider it payback for me spying
on you.”
He did prayer hands under his chin.
“Fine,” I sighed and cued up the song.
The flute opener echoed around us.
“Are you ready for a show?” Ben grinned at me, and I was relieved that the good-time version was back.
He skated to the center of the rink with his arms outstretched dramatically then posed with his hands off to one side, like
he had an invisible partner.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Watch.”
As if I could do anything but.
He was in black track pants that were clingier than they needed to be, and I guess stalking me across the ice had warmed him
up, because he was only wearing a black short sleeve T-shirt on top.
Biceps peeking out from beneath the sleeves, and thick forearms. Yup. There they were. Fine. Whatever.
Ben went into a basic forward glide with his arms spread as Celine started singing, wearing a gigantic, cheesy smile.
“Oh no,” I said when I realized what he was doing.
“Yup, you’re getting a private performance from the first-place winner at the Little Gems Juniors Winter Classic. I had a
partner but I’ll do it for you solo.”
“Hold on,” I said. “You were a figure skater?”
It was a part of his history that had never made it into the many profiles he’d done over the years.
“Damn straight,” Ben said as he did a little bunny hop. “I got conned into figure skating for about a year and a half. I didn’t
love it but I was really fucking good, so they wouldn’t let me quit.”
I sputtered my exasperation at his humble brag.