Chapter 20
ANNA
“You promise you won’t let me fall?” I glance hesitantly at the glistening iced floor, then at the people who swiftly and deftly skate in circles.
Sylas grabs my hands, softly squeezing and tugging them to get me to look up at him. A beguiling smile curls his lips, his dimples denting his cheeks. “Do you not know who you’re skating next to? You’re in the greatest hands.”
“So what…you like…skate or something?” I satirically say, the nerves lessen at the unimpressed expression on his face. “You’re already conceited enough as it is. Someone has to keep your ego in check.”
“Ha ha, funny.” He grins. “I promise you’ll be okay.”
We came to Wollman Rink in Central Park.
Because it’s still very early, a little past noon, there’s not a lot of people, and the sun is brightly shining down on us.
It shouldn’t be too bad, but I’ve never been the strongest skater.
I’ve ice skated before, but it’s been a while, and when I did, I was either holding hands with Jenny or holding on to the railing for support.
He steps on the ice, standing comfortably and steadily while he guides me to follow behind him until I’m also on the ice. My feet slip beneath me, but Sylas keeps his hands firm on me, until the blades stop skidding on the ice.
“You’re okay, I’ve got you.” He twines his fingers through my cold ones. “Don’t tense up. Just relax and follow my lead. I promise you’ll be okay.”
And I do, not easily, but he holds me, effortlessly and slowly—for my sake—as he leads me along the sleek ice.
Beams of light reflect off it onto his face, making his already sparkling smile burn bright. “Just look at you. You’re a natural.”
I test out a smile. “You don’t have to be nice. I’m shit. Those littles kids over there”—I tip my head in the direction of the boys who look like they’re eleven and skating with ease—“have skated laps around us. Laps,” I emphasize.
“You want me to trip one of those little shits for you?”
I laugh, shaking my head at the serious tone in his voice. They did almost run into us a few times and have been little shits, but they’re kids and there’s policemen around. “No…or maybe when no one is looking.”
“Okay.” He winks at me. It should be illegal how ridiculously ethereal his green eyes look beneath the sun. They’re pale but translucent and airy.
“So…” I begin, gliding more comfortably on the ice. “Why do they call you the Punisher? Does the fight have something to do with it?”
He laughs, dimples on display. “You looked me up?”
I shrug, not meeting his stare. I had before but not like last night where I spent an insane amount of time searching him up. “I figured if we’re going to fake it, I’ll need to know more about you. Your parents didn’t ask a lot of questions, but I’m sure they will eventually.”
That’s a lame response and I know Sylas thinks just as much because he scoffs. “You just wanted to look me up, didn’t you?”
My lips tick up a little. “Shut up. It’s not—”
“Bullshit.” He speaks over me. “Did you watch my highlights? Loved seeing me in my uniform? Get turned on by it? Did you replay the clips?”
Now I scoff, loud enough that the people next to us skate past us, peeping at us. “Sylas, you are—” I chuckle in astonishment. “There are not enough words to describe what you are. There are enough self-important people in this city. There’s not enough room for you here. So stop—”
“I can’t. I won’t.” He raises my hand and shocks me when he brings it to his mouth and brushes his lips along my knuckles. His breath tickles and warms my cold skin. “I can’t help it, I’m an assured person,” he says as he drops my hand, still keeping a firm hold on it.
He did it so absently, like it was something he didn’t think about. Something he did, just to do. Something he’s done countless times.
It’s bizarre—in a good way—how pretending feels so real.
“Assured,” I mock, watching the white cloud of my breath get carried away by the chilly wind. “Bigheaded suits you better.”
A haughty smirk stretches across his face. “But really, you looked me up?”
Flashbacks of last night’s videos surface. His agility, his speed, his strength, the way he carries himself. I see why he’s so proud. He’s good, although saying good is probably downplaying how talented he is.
“Yes, happy? You’re my boyfriend. I feel like I still don’t know a lot about you, and I was thinking of your parents. Eventually, they’ll ask me questions.”
And maybe I looked him up just to see him in his uniform.
“Whatever you want to know, just ask. If you want pictures or videos, I’m happy to send those to you. All you have to do is ask, girlfriend.”
I chuckle and pause, my gaze gravitating toward the orange cones placed on the ice in the center. There’s a girl, who I assume is a figure skater because she jumps and twirls so effortlessly.
“I’ll pass.” I grin at the playful roll of his eyes. “So, why ‘Punisher’?”
“I watch an episode of The Punisher before every game.”
“Superstitious much?” I tease.
“Don’t judge me. I have to. If I don’t, I’m thrown off my game.” He smiles, knowing I mean nothing by it. “I also have tea and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before every game.”
I did know that, and I think it’s cute. “Why The Punisher though?”
“Because the first time I watched it before a game, I scored a hat trick and the one time I didn’t watch it, my shoulder popped out of its socket.” There’s a grim look on his face, jaw tense before he blinks and it’s gone. “Sorry about our communications class—”
“It’s fine. I’m over it. How’s your shoulder now?” I glance at it, remembering how he stood after he was harshly shoved against the boards then dropped to the ground, holding his arm.
“It’s good.” But he doesn’t sound sure of himself like he usually does. “Never been better.”
I stare skeptically at him. He looks out of it, like he’s not himself.
“Are you sure?”
His smug smile returns. “Positive. I’m good. That was three years ago. As was the fight.” He sighs sharply, and a billowing white cloud expels from his mouth.
The change of conversation screams he’s done talking about it.
I want to let him know he can talk to me, but this is fake, after all.
He doesn’t necessarily have to tell me anything.
Although I do want to know, I’m not sure how much I can ask or what I can ask. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.
Still, I say, “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here, fake girlfriend or not.”
“I love how much you care about me.” He kisses my knuckles again, making my stomach flutter.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I say, then playfully swat him away.
“The moment all of this started, anything you have done or said has gone straight to my head.” The deep, heated look in his eyes makes my heart rattle and my face warm despite the brittle air.
“So…” I can’t think straight. I will my heart to slow down. “All jokes aside, I’m here. I’m serious. If you want to talk about it or about anything else, I’m here.”
He stares at me for a long beat, his eyes softening, but there’s a heaviness behind them. But once he blinks, they’re vibrant and his lips are stretched up again. “Yeah. So what were we talking about again?”
I wish I could say something else, but I know he’s done. So I let it go, even though I really don’t want to.
“The fight. Why? And how much trouble did you get in? I read you’re not allowed to fight per the NCAA rules.”
“Just how much did you research?” He smiles wide, voice knowing.
“I got a hockey skate tattooed on my arm. I might as well know what all the hype is about. I still don’t think I understand it, but it’s cool.”
“That’s fair.” Sylas laughs. “I was ejected, got my ass handed to me by Coach and my father, but it was worth it. There’s so much you can do and I’ll let slide, but no one fucks with Thea.”
“One of the players was talking about your sister?”
“Yeah.” His jaw tics. “Apparently, he had asked her out, she turned him down, and that’s when he started running his mouth.”
“And people say women are emotional,” I state derisively. “And that’s without a period. Now imagine if men had periods.”
His lips twitch, but then his nose scrunches in a grimace.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those.”
“One of what?”
“Periods gross you out?”
“No, I have a sister who on occasion lacks a filter. Especially when she’s on her period. Everything is my fault and men are shit.” His tone is grave, but he smiles, nonetheless.
“I like her, but I think she might hate me.”
“Thea? No. She knows about us. She’s a little prickly and looks serious most of the time, but I swear she’s sweet when she wants to be.”
My brows arch in surprise. “You told her about us?”
There’s a tint of pink on his cheeks. I can’t tell if they’re a little brighter because of the frosty air or because he’s blushing.
“She would’ve asked regardless. Plus, I trust her.”
“You two are close?”
He nods. “Yeah, we get along. Growing up, we didn’t, but we’re good now.”
A knot grows in the middle of my throat. I say nothing, afraid my jealousy will sneak past my mouth and dampen the mood. I’m not close with Maya. I tried, I really did, but our lives are different, and she didn’t support my needs and wants despite how much I’ve supported her.
“She also plays hockey, right?”
“Yeah, and she swears she’s better than me.” He snickers. “Don’t let her con you into believing that.”
I grin. “Have you guys always played?”
“For as long as I can remember, I have. Thea was a figure skater at one point, but she got a feel of the puck, the stick, the adrenaline, and converted. Mom was angry but eventually got over it.” He rolls his eyes.
“Our parents could be best friends,” I joke, and it eases the tension on his face.
“They’d get along well, huh?”
If it weren’t because they’re in different tax brackets, I’m sure his parents would get along just fine with mine.
“You know, I’ve never seen The Punisher.”
He dramatically gasps. “Anna, baby”—baby…Why do I like the sound of that?—“I know what we’re doing tonight.”
I giddily smile. “Not tonight.”
“You’ve got plans?” he nonchalantly asks, but I hear the curiosity in his voice.
“No, I work at the restaurant. And after, I’m calling Jenny.”
“She didn’t come to work with you today? Or the other day…Does that happen a lot?”
“Her grandma is sick; I told her to go be with her. We always cover for each other whenever something is going on. Michael’s strict about us calling out and I can’t say I blame him, considering who his clientele is,” I explain. “Anyway, we’re always checking in with each other.”
He hums. “You guys are really close, huh?”
“She’s my best friend and the closest thing I have to family around here.”
I feel his gaze burn the side of my face, the sympathy oozing off him. “Do you not plan to go back home to visit your family?” he asks carefully.
“No, my parents are mad, and my sister is on their side. Most of my other family members will either side with them or say nothing, but things will be awkward, nonetheless, so I’d rather not go home.”
Not sure if I should even call it “home” because unless things somehow magically work out between us, I don’t see myself going back.
“You want to spend it with me?” he asks.
The cloud of sadness dwindles. “With your parents? Will they be okay with that?”
“They will for the party they’re throwing on Christmas Eve. It’s over the top and everyone will be there. And now that you’re my girlfriend, I’m sure they’ll expect for you to be there. I didn’t think to ask you. So much has been—”
“I get it.” I smile at him. “I’ll be there if you want me there.”
“I do. I really do.” There’s an urgency in his voice.
“Then I’ll be there. How…extravagant is this party?”
“Very, but don’t worry about your dress. We can pick something up together. Whenever you have time.”
“I can wear the one—”
At the shake of his head, I snap my mouth shut.
I know what the shake means. I can’t show up wearing a dress I already wore.
That’s insane, but I don’t question it.
“My mom, she’s particular. She’ll talk about it for months to come.” He groans, frowning.
I laugh. “Don’t worry. I don’t mind dressing up.”
Relief washes over him. “But on Christmas Day, we can do our own thing. Though first thing in the morning, I’ll have to go over for a little bit.
Take pictures with them so they can post to their socials and do all that bullshit.
I’d invite you, but trust me, you don’t want to be there.
” I don’t miss the indignation in his voice.
“But afterward, I’m all yours. I don’t ever do anything, so you can pick what we do. ”
“You’re not a fan of Christmas, are you?” I shiver a little as the wind gets stronger.
He notices and guides me to the exit.
“How’d you guess?” Sylas says sardonically.
“In all the years I’ve cleaned your home, you’ve never had any decorations up. And you…I don’t know. It seems like it’s an inconvenience to you.”
I sit at a bench, and he kneels down.
My heart takes flight the same way it did earlier when he offered to help me put on my skates and tie them for me.
It’s unnecessary, really, but there’s a softness in his smile, a warmth in his eyes that makes me shudder.
Not because I’m cold, but because I’m burning in a way that makes all these layers of clothes unbearable.
“You really don’t have—”
“I want to. Let me,” he implores gently, his eyes a sharp green color like two pools of emeralds. They’re pretty, hard to look away from, hard to say no to.
“Okay.” I feel shy, I don’t know why. He’s doing something nice, but it’s intimate.
The way he loosens the strings, makes sure my foot doesn’t touch the ground.
His hands, despite their size, hold my foot with so much care and consideration it makes the burn inside magnify.
He makes me feel like I’m something precious to him.
My stomach somersaults and I have to remind myself to focus on his lips moving and the words coming out of his mouth.
“I don’t hate the holiday itself I guess…my parents…they make it about them. It’s all fake—everything we do, how we do it. The constant smiles, pretending to like everyone, getting along with everyone, pleasing everyone, it gets tiring.”
It’s no different than what we’re doing, I want to say. And it’s like he knows what I’m thinking because he looks up at me.
“I’m not tired of this, Anna. I like this,” he assures me, his voice decisive like it’s not something he needed to think about or say to placate me. “Believe me?”
“I do.” And I mean it.
“Let’s hurry and get you warmed up.”