Chapter 24 #2
He ignores me and pulls my hand out from behind my back.
My fist remains clenched, and with a shake of his head, Dylan unfurls each finger.
His hand is warm and calloused, dwarfing mine.
He cradles my hand, applying just enough pressure with the pen to avoid hurting me.
A stray lock of brown hair falls across his forehead, and as he doesn’t move to push it away, I find myself itching to do it.
To curl the soft strand around my finger and brush it from his warm temple, letting my fingers linger on his smooth skin.
There’s a faint tickle as his pen moves across my skin—slow, circular strokes, two quick dots, and a swift swipe.
He drops the pen on the desk and looks at me expectantly.
I glance down at the new ink that sits in the center of my palm where I’d just pressed my nails.
It’s a smiley face. He drew a smiley face on my palm.
Despite myself, my lips twitch, the hint of a smile creeping in before I can tamp it down. Dylan watches, his gaze steady as I study the drawing in confusion.
“Huh, that’s new,” he murmurs. “You have nothing to say.”
“It’s a smiley face.”
“Oh good, I didn’t think you were going to figure it out.” Dylan drops my hand and goes to his bedside table to grab his phone. “Any reason you’re here? Or were you just hoping to catch me shirtless again?”
I’m still caught on the smiley face inked on my palm, its simplicity now at odds with the flicker in Dylan’s eyes—something deeper than the casual mask he’s slipping back into now.
For a split second, it felt like he’d let me glimpse something beneath the surface.
But then he calls my name, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I want you to lift me.”
He doesn’t look up from his phone. “I lift you all the time.”
“In a reverse lasso lift.”
His jaw tenses. “No.”
“Come on! Lidia won’t let me try it because she’s worried I’ll freak, and I can’t keep training without knowing if my brain will malfunction the second I’m up there.”
Dylan blinks, and for a moment I think he’s considering it.
But then he turns to his closet, pulling out a pair of sweats and a crewneck.
His hand moves to his towel before he lets it fall.
My breath catches, and I whip around so fast the room tilts.
“Lidia’s made it clear that we’re not doing advanced lifts until later.
We’re not even supposed to be on the ice today,” he says.
“Since when do you care about what we’re supposed to do?
” I turn back around, not caring if he’s still naked, letting the frustration seep into my tone.
“You’ve changed our choreography because you thought your way was better.
Besides, she’s being too cautious, and it’s driving me crazy. I need to do this.”
I’m practically begging now. We’re both highly aware it’s the same lift position I was in seconds before my life flashed before my eyes. He studies me in silence, crossing his arms over his chest, his biceps flexing beneath the snug fabric of his shirt.
“We can’t.”
My heart sinks.
Dylan heads for the door, but before he can open it, I slap my hand over it.
He twists the knob anyway, showing me just how little my hand is doing to stop him from leaving.
I don’t know whether it’s my anger or Dylan not even considering it, but I yank him toward me, and his back hits the door.
My hands press firmly into his shoulders, trapping him in place as I tilt my head up to meet his gaze.
“I’m sick and tired of everyone treating me like I’m fragile!
” My voice trembles. “I’m not some doll that can’t handle a few bruises.
I’m not the girl bleeding on the rink or the one crying in the hospital.
That’s not me anymore, and I won’t let anyone—not even you—stop me from doing what I used to do with my eyes closed! ”
His brows rise, and he blinks at me.
“So, I’m asking you again, Dylan. Will you please help me with my lift, or should I go find someone else?”
A long beat passes, thick and heavy.
“There is no one else,” he says, voice low and firm. “I’m the only one with you on that ice, Sierra. Got it?”
Then his amber brown eyes watch me, and I let those words soak in. I nod.
“Then I’ll do it.” A familiar glint flares back to life in his eyes. “But only if you promise to manhandle me like that again. Perfect spank bank material.”
“You need a spank bank?”
“Where you’re concerned, absolutely.”
“STARING AT MY ass the entire routine isn’t going to help you perform better,” I say.
“How would you know that? Maybe it’s exactly the kind of motivation I need.”
“Fine, it’s your turn. I’ll watch your ass and see how you feel.”
He balks, a hand on his chest. “Save the dirty talk for the bedroom, Romanova.” He pauses. “Or my car.”
My cheeks burn. “Can you stop stalling and lift me now?”
He smiles, and I notice his Adam’s apple bob before he schools his expression into utmost confidence. Dylan’s eyes are focused on me, and he waits for each of my signals for the moves. He’s slower and more deliberate today, but I don’t say anything.
Today’s skate brings flashes of the old Sierra from before it all when this sport was an outlet, something fun. So, when Dylan and I connect again, the words are out of my mouth before I know it. “Lift me.”
“Are you su—”
“Now.”
I twist away from him, and he must read my mind, because he locks his hands with mine and lifts me clean over his head. No shaking, no hesitation, just pure strength and trust. He spins, and euphoria floods through me as I regain my footing.
“We did it!” I shout, clutching his hoodie. He holds me in his arms, lifting me off the ice. “Let’s do it again!”
He barks out a laugh, and it only adds to how good I feel right now. Dylan leans in the tiniest bit when the sound of skates scraping the ice makes us turn to the gate.
My smile falls. Julia and Justin step onto the ice, and their coach starts shouting orders. I can’t help but notice how pale Julia looks, and the jittery movements in both their stances. It’s hard to ignore, especially when Justin looks so different.
I turn back to Dylan, who holds my gaze with a level of scrutiny I don’t understand.
“What?” I ask.
He starts to say something, but I don’t hear it because the next sound that drowns out the echo of the arena is Julia’s high-pitched scream. A kind that I know all too well.
Their coach rushes onto the ice. I don’t even notice when the warmth of Dylan’s hand disappears, because my entire body has gone cold.
There’s cursing, and an agonizing gasp from their vicinity.
She tripped over Justin’s skate and cut her hand open.
My heart bumps against my spine, and when I skate forward, everyone is crowding her.
Pins prickle against my throat, and crimson paints the white ice, some of it on her coach’s fingers.
Justin is standing far away, and I notice that seconds before my vision tunnels. No.
“Close your eyes,” Dylan shouts. He’s helping their coach hold Julia up, and I can’t seem to look away. “Sierra.”
I startle, gaze flickering to Dylan’s stern expression. “I—I can’t—”
“Close your fucking eyes, Sierra!”
They lift her now, and my throat almost closes up. I hate that Justin gets to see this reaction from me. He stares at me like I’m some wounded animal. Then Dylan’s in front of me.
“You don’t need to see that. Don’t look.” He’s pleading with me now, brown eyes desperate as he cups my face. “Please, baby, you have to close your eyes.”
His warm breath falls on my lips, and I close my eyes as tears gather, soaking into my lashes.
“Everything’s going to be okay.” Dylan’s lips press against my forehead. “But I need you to keep your eyes closed and turn around, okay? Just until we can get her help, then I’ll take you home.”
I nod, and just like that he’s gone. The scuffle of shoes and skates makes me squeeze my eyes shut harder, and I skate away, not opening them until I know I’ve hit the rubber mats that lead to the locker room. As soon as I change out of my skates, I’m out the double doors.