Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
SIERRA
CHEMISTRY.
I don’t think I’ve ever hated a word more.
“Like any type of dance, partners need to have chemistry.” Lidia continues her speech from the sidelines, and it’s longer than I remember. Though that’s probably because she thinks Dylan and I won’t take this seriously.
Understandable since we spent the first five minutes of practice elbowing each other out of the way as we tried to get through the gate and onto the ice first. I won, obviously.
But it didn’t help that Lidia’s been eyeing me the entire time.
It’s because when he walked into practice this morning, I couldn’t stop staring at Dylan.
His shirt clings to every muscle, and those slim workout pants leave little to the imagination.
I’m pretty sure Lidia caught me fully checking out his ass.
And now, with his fresh scent lingering in the air between us, I struggle to keep my focus on her speech.
It wasn’t like this with Justin. Our first practice was all business—formal, obedient.
None of his glances set my cheeks on fire.
Justin is strong and lean, of course, but Dylan is …
big. He’s bulkier, his shoulders are broader, and his arms might be bigger than my thighs, and that’s saying something, because I’ve got strong thighs.
But with all that, he’s also more irritating.
“You seem nervous, Romanova,” he whispers, leaning in as Lidia goes on.
“For you. I hope I don’t accidentally cut you, Captain.” But I love the way his jaw tenses at the mention of his fleeting title.
“… you will learn each other’s timing and cues; you’ll read each other’s movements; you’ll be in sync. Fluid. Tethered,” Lidia drones on.
“Sounds like a prison sentence,” Dylan mutters.
“I’m sure you’ve been handcuffed before.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Only to my bed.”
“Listen with your ears, not your mouth,” Lidia snaps, looking up from her clipboard. “Sierra, if you’re comfortable, we should discuss your injury so Dylan can adjust his approach.”
I feel like the new kid in school who’s forced give three facts about themselves. Except mine are all trauma. “It’s not a secret, Lidia. He knows I fell. They haven’t taken down the video, so he can look it up like everyone else.” A ball of dread drops into my stomach.
“How’d you fall?” Dylan asks me.
He hasn’t seen it? I don’t look at him. “I messed up our reverse lasso.”
I can feel him staring at me, but Lidia must notice my unease, because she claps twice. “Okay, enough chatting. Show me your edge work.”
I thought we were done with this. We spent two hours on the ice skating laps on our own.
It quickly became a competition, and when I realized Dylan might actually be faster than me, I put everything into moving quicker.
Lidia was still shouting Deeper edge work!
for the hundredth time when it felt like some of my stamina from years ago shot back into my body.
It didn’t work; he was still two laps ahead.
So this time I don’t wait for her signal, I just take off.
“As partners!” Lidia calls out. “Side by side and hold hands.”
I stand tall, refusing to backtrack. Instead, I lift my hand, palm up, offering it to him. I hear the scrape of his skates behind me before his hand slips into mine, the cold of his skin seeping through the warmth of my glove.
“You’re not wearing gloves,” I note. “Your hands are cold.”
“Are they? I don’t usually hold the guys’ hands during hockey practice.”
I roll my eyes. “You should really wear gloves when we’re not doing lifts.”
“Is it uncomfortable for you, princess?” he asks, his voice dripping with mock concern.
I glide forward, and so does he, perfectly in sync. The rink is quiet today—no music, just the rhythmic scrape of our blades on the ice. Even with simple crossovers, our movements blend with surprising fluidity. Lidia’s lack of shouting tells me we’re doing something right.
As we do another lap, I spot Lidia talking to someone by the hallway. I elbow Dylan, and he’s about to elbow me back when I point toward her.
“Isn’t that Reed? The one who forced you off the ice last week?” I ask.
He glances at them. “Probably making sure I’m not violating my suspension.” The strain in his voice is almost imperceptible, but I hate that I notice it. I skate ahead of him again, but he catches up easily.
“Trying to escape me?”
I would never admit that I doubt that I could outskate him. “Something like that.”
“Then you probably shouldn’t have begged me to be your partner, Romanova.”
“There was no begging involved. I’d probably be a whole lot nicer to you if I did beg. But you don’t have the upper hand here, Dylan. You need me just as much as I need you.”
“Say that again,” he says. “The needing me part. But slower this time, and put a little emphasis on need.”
I roll my eyes. “Again, I never begged.”
“Now that you mention it, I think I’d like that. A lot.”
“You think I care about what you want?”
“Need,” he corrects. “And I think you should care a whole lot.”
“Why? Are you planning on dropping me? Been there, done that, Donovan,” I joke, but it comes out hoarse.
“What?” He rears his head just slightly, not finding it funny at all. His relaxed demeanor puffs away. “You seriously think that I’d drop you? After all you’ve been through, you think there’d be a second that I’d ever let you touch the ground before I could catch you?”
I’ve never joked about falling before. This was the first time I’d let my trauma trickle into a conversation so easily. But even saying it felt a little too soon. I’m sure it always will.
“Sierra,” he prompts.
“No, I don’t.” Now I don’t. He’s so serious about this, I can’t mistake his sincerity for anything else. It hadn’t occurred to me until now how much I let the fall with Justin begin to wedge itself into our skating relationship.
“Good, because I won’t.”
Lidia’s whistle sounds again. “That’s enough warm-up. It’s time for mats.”
I groan.
THE ROOM IS the size of the dorms in Iona House that nobody wants. Turns out Lidia’s “technology is evil” stance messed up the bookings for the training rooms. We walk past the occupied room that doubles as the yoga studio, already being used by other students.
So now we’re stuck in a room so small that if we added another person, we’d suffocate.
It’s extra hot too because of the boiler tank in the corner.
There is one window that Lidia asked Dylan to reach, but it’s jammed.
I’m not even sure if we’re allowed to be in here, but with everything in this building booked, we have no choice.
The crash mats are a flashback to how many times I’ve landed on them face-first. I’ve done this with Justin countless times, but they were decidedly unmemorable. Today it feels intense. Or I assume it’s going to be since my partner is Dylan fucking Donovan.
A bead of sweat trickles down my back as Lidia tries to get the old tabletop fan to work.
Dylan tugs off his hoodie, and the white tank he has underneath lifts to expose a flash of smooth skin, but I look away immediately.
I’m desperate to remove my own half-zip, but I’ve only got on a sports bra underneath, and knowing Dylan’s hands are going to be all over my abdomen, I’d rather not have my scars on display.
“Stand closer together,” Lidia commands, giving up on the appliance. “Closer, Sierra.”
I try to stay composed even though I know Dylan’s grinning his head off right now.
“Okay, basic lifts today. Let’s start with a shoulder lift.
” I stand in front with my back to him, and he loops his arm around my waist, placing his hand firmly on my abdomen to pick me up and suspend my body weight entirely on his shoulder.
“Now spin before you let her back on her feet and face each other.”
Dylan’s hand covers my entire torso, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing. I hadn’t expected it to feel this different, but it does. He doesn’t strain or need to adjust his hold, he just does it, like it’s easy. Like I’m easy.
“Again. Smoother this time,” Lidia says when I’m on my feet. And we do it again, and again, and again. It’s on the ninth lift that Dylan starts to breathe a little harder, but he doesn’t complain.
“Engage your core. Turn on your green light.
“Let your touch guide you into each movement. Again—this time in sync.
“Arms relaxed. Relaxed! I said relaxed!”
Her final shout is laced with pure frustration, the anger in her voice sharper.
But her irritation doesn’t even come close to the one simmering beneath my skin.
My chest heaves with each ragged breath, and my zip-up clings to me, soaked with sweat.
I already know my abdomen’s going to be a patchwork of bruises by tomorrow.
The intensity of his eyes bore into mine like beams of sunlight, and even the burning sensation can’t make me look away.
Lidia shouts out a series of moves—hip, cradle, hand to hand.
We do them, all of them. Dylan’s hands are firm on my waist, sliding all over my body when he lifts me on his hip and we spin.
His rhythm is perfect; he moves like water.
There’s a kindling somewhere low in my stomach that I ignore when he lifts me just slightly over his head.
I expect my heart to race, or stop, or my breathing to become shallow, but instead I feel normal.
“How did that feel, Sierra?” Lidia asks. She looks much happier than before.
I feel like a child, but I understand her concern. “Comfortable.” And suffocating. The dichotomy makes my head spin.
The moves are simple, and I know Lidia’s not pushing me into any real lifts, but we won’t win anything this way. Judges don’t respond well to safe performances.
“Again,” Lidia shouts. “Watch each other. Stay in sync.”