Chapter 25Avery
Chapter Twenty-Five
Avery
Stepping into the arena, the chill wraps around me. It's empty, echoes bouncing off the walls. I've never been here after hours. It has an almost eerie feeling to it. Victor pulls out his phone, and I watch, curious, as he dials a number with practiced ease.
"Hey, it's me," he says, his voice resonating in the hollow space. "Can you light up the rink? Yeah, now would be great."
Within minutes, a soft hum vibrates through the air as some of the overhead lights flicker on, casting long shadows across the ice. A guy pops up at the entrance, nodding at Victor before disappearing back into the dim corridors of the complex. I'm floored by how Victor's just a call away from bending the city to his whim .
"Come on," he urges, his voice a mix of excitement and that trademark brusqueness that somehow draws me closer rather than pushing me away.
We make our way further inside, the place still draped in semi-darkness, like we're stepping into a secret world. Victor strides over to the rental desk, rummaging behind it before emerging with two pairs of skates. The glint in his eye is something new, a spark of pure joy that seems so at odds with the hard edges I'm used to. This place, this ice—it’s stripping away layers, revealing bits of the boy who found solace skating on a frozen pond, hoping for a forever family that never came.
"Here you go." He tosses me a pair of white skates, and suddenly I’m the one feeling vulnerable.
"Thanks," I mumble, my fingers fumbling over the laces. It’s ridiculous how lost I am with these things, like I’ve been handed an alien artifact instead of a simple pair of shoes with blades.
We walk over to one of the benches next to the ice. I sit and stare at the skates, not sure where to even start.
Victor sets his skates down with a soft clink on the bench and turns to me, tilting his head to the side as though he’s deciphering a puzzle that I’m an unwitting piece of. The shadowed light from above catches the blue in his eyes, giving them an almost ethereal glow.
"Ever done this before?" he asks, the trace of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Uh, no. I’m a bit out of my element," I admit, holding out the skates to him like an offering. My hands are shaky, betraying how nervous I really am.
"Mind if I?" He gestures toward the ground, asking silently for permission to kneel before me.
"Sure," I say, feeling the heat rush to my cheeks as I sit on the cold, metal bleachers.
Methodically, Victor places each skate on the floor and motions for me to slide my foot in. His touch is surprisingly gentle, fingers deft as they loop the laces, weaving them into a snug embrace around my ankles. The skates feel foreign, but his presence, the way he hovers so attentively, is oddly comforting.
I’m quiet, watching him guide my hands, teaching me the basics of a world that’s second nature to him. It’s intimate, this little act of assistance, and it stirs something deep within me—a warmth that feels at odds with the cold of the rink.
"Pull here to tighten, then cross over like this..." he explains, demonstrating the technique. "See, not too hard."
"Thank you," I murmur, watching him stand and slip on his own skates with practiced ease. He moves with a sureness I envy, the kind born from countless hours on the ice.
"Ready?" He offers his hand, standing tall and steady.
"Guess so." I place my hand in his, noticing how mine disappears in the strength of his grasp .
Pushing off the bench, my legs wobble beneath me. A gasp escapes my lips as I sway, but Victor’s quick reflexes save me from kissing the cold floor.
"Whoa there," he chuckles, his arms a steel band around my waist. "It’s all about balance. Here, let me show you how to walk on these."
"Walk? I can barely stand," I half-joke, half-plead, the thought of actually skating seeming more distant than ever.
"Hey, I’ve got you." His voice is solid, reassuring. "Just take it slow. One step at a time."
"Okay, okay," I say, taking a tentative step forward, the blades scraping awkwardly against the rubber matting.
"See? You’re a natural," he teases, but the encouragement in his tone is real.
"Natural disaster, maybe," I shoot back, but I can’t suppress the grin tugging at my lips. There’s something infectious about his confidence.
"Come on, Avery. Trust me," he says, and there’s an earnestness there that makes me want to believe. So I nod, focusing on the rhythm of his steps, and together we inch our way toward the frozen expanse, where the ice waits like a blank canvas under dim lights.
The rink sprawls before me, vast and intimidating, the surface gleaming dully under the half-lit bulbs. My fingers clamp onto the boards as if they’re my lifeline, knuckles ghostly white against the aged wood. Victor’s chuckle—a warm, rich sound—bubbles up beside me.
"Come on, Avery. You’ll never get anywhere hugging the wall like that," he teases, gliding backward with an ease that’s downright enviable.
"Easy for you to say," I grumble, but there’s no real heat in it. How can there be when he’s looking at me with eyes so blue and full of promise?
"Here, lean on me." His hand extends, palm up, waiting. I hesitate just a moment before placing mine in his. It feels like trusting him with more than just my balance.
As we push off from the wall, my heart hammers against my ribs. But there he is, right beside me, a steady presence as I wobble and jerk forward in a graceless dance. I’m not sure how, but we’re moving, actually moving, and I catch myself laughing, the sound crisp in the chill air.
"Victor, I’m doing it!" I squeal, disbelief coloring every syllable.
"Of course, you are," he says, pride lacing his voice. "I knew you could."
I shake my head, but even as I downplay it, I’m basking in the glow of this tiny victory. There’s something about the glide of steel on ice that thrills, the cool air kissing my cheeks, the sense of floating.
"Alright, Avery, I think you’re ready to try on your own," he announces, and the security in his tone almost makes me believe it .
"Wait, what? No, Victor, don’t you dare let go—" My plea comes out breathy, panicked, but he’s already releasing me, a mischievous spark in his gaze.
"Trust yourself," he calls out, but the words swirl away, lost as I careen toward the far wall, arms windmilling. Ice rushes up to meet me, and I just know I’m going to eat it, hard.
"Victor!" I yell, my voice tinged with betrayal and fear all mixed into one.
He’s a blur of motion, skates cutting a sharp path next to me. Just as the inevitable looms, strong arms envelop me, halting my wild flight. His chest is a firm wall against my back, and my breath catches in my throat, pulse racing for entirely different reasons now.
The world steadies as Victor’s arms secure me, and I’m suddenly very aware of the strength in his grip. He turns me around in his arms, and our breaths mingle, visible puffs in the chilly air. For a moment, we’re suspended in a bubble of warmth on the frigid rink.
"Are you okay?" His voice is low, laced with concern.
I nod, my own voice shaky. "Yeah, I think so."
"Sorry, I shouldn’t have let go." The blue in his eyes deepens, regret flickering across his face like a shadow.
"It’s fine," I manage to say, forcing a laugh that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. "I guess I need a bit more practice before going solo."
"More than a bit," he teases gently, but his smile doesn’t quite mask the apology still lingering there .
"Okay, maybe a lot more." I can’t help but smile back, even though my legs are still trembling. Or maybe that’s just the effect Victor has on me.
"Let’s get you back to solid ground." He keeps one arm around my waist, his other hand finding mine, warm and reassuring.
"Sounds good," I murmur, but we don’t move. Instead, we stand there, locked in an orbit of our own making, the empty rink stretching out around us.
Victor’s gaze holds mine, and I’m caught, unable to look away. There’s an intensity there, something raw and unspoken that makes my heart race. It’s the same look he gets when he talks about the ice—about hockey and those fleeting moments from his childhood that he clings to.
"Victor..." I start, but the words tangle up in my throat.
"Shh," he whispers, his thumb brushing against my palm. "I’ve got you."
And then he’s leaning in, closing the space between us. His lips are soft against mine, a gentle pressure that sends sparks through my entire body. It’s tentative at first, questioning, but when I don’t pull away, he deepens the kiss, and I melt into him, all my fears momentarily forgotten.