Chapter 19 Alex
ALEX
I’d always thought roller rinks were loud and bright. But right then, with the disco lights drifting soft pink over the floor and Eleanor still catching her breath, it felt almost . . . intimate.
Because the moment she fell into my arms with her body pressed against mine, I felt my control breaking. But then the moment her eyes lifted, wide and unsure and wanting . . . I swear something inside me cracked open.
I was gone.
Absolutely gone for her.
I guided her toward the benches slowly, my hand resting at the small of her back, trying to be steady even though my pulse was pounding so hard it felt like it might shake my ribs apart.
She lowered herself onto the bench, skates bumping softly against the wood, still flushed and breathing unevenly. Her hair clung to her temples, and her lips were parted. She looked . . . radiant.
And completely overwhelmed.
“Wait here,” I said, a little rougher than I meant to.
Her eyes flicked up. “Alex—”
“I’m serious,” I said, forcing a calm smile. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back. Water. Maybe ice. Maybe one of those cooling towels Mel keeps because she’s prepared for every possible apocalypse.”
A small, shy laugh escaped her, the sound tugging hard at something in my chest.
“Okay,” she whispered.
I pushed off before I did something stupid, like kiss her in the middle of the rink with Katy Perry’s Teenage Dream playing overhead.
Thanks again for the subtlety, Mel.
As I skated toward the concession stand, my thoughts spun faster than my wheels.
Her laugh. Her smile. The way she looked up at me. And when she fell into me?
When I held her?
I’d had to bite back the instinct to pull her even closer.
I didn’t want to be another person demanding something from her that she wasn’t ready to give.
I wanted her trust.
Everything else could wait.
I reached the counter and grabbed two cold waters from the cooler, heart still steadying itself. My hands shook just enough that the bottles clattered.
“Easy, Charming,” Mel called from the back doorway, arms crossed. “You’re shaking the beverages.”
I shot her a look. “You left us alone on purpose.”
“Absolutely,” she said without remorse. “Now hydrate your girl.”
“She’s not—” I stopped, stomach flipping at the words. “Mel.”
She wiggled her eyebrows. “Uh-huh. Go. She’s waiting.”
I swallowed hard and headed back across the rink, the lights spinning, the music softening again, the air charged with something I didn’t want to name too loudly yet.
Eleanor was still there with her hands folded and her head bowed slightly while her breathing steadied.
And when she looked up as I approached, relief washed over her face like she’d been afraid I wouldn’t come back.
My heart damn near melted straight out of my chest.
I stopped right in front of her, offering the bottle.
“Here,” I said softly. “Cold water.”
Her fingers brushed mine as she took it. I felt the touch all the way down my spine.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “How did you get so good at skating?” she asked, sipping her water, cheeks still flushed from exertion, or maybe from almost falling into my arms.
I couldn’t help the smile that stretched across my face as she tucked a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
“I came to a rink just like this one growing up. They used to host a homeschool group on Fridays. I came religiously.”
Her eyebrows rose, her lips parting in a little “oh” of surprise. “You were homeschooled?”
I laughed. “I was. I grew up in an ultra-religious family. The kind they make TV shows about.”
She laughed softly, but her eyes, kind and perceptive, flicked up to mine, reading more beneath the surface.
I always tried to laugh it off, but the truth wasn’t funny. Not really.
Growing up in a culture that preached love while practicing fear had left its mark on me. It was a place where questioning was rebellion and difference was sin.
Everything I cherished now, things like authenticity, honesty, queerness, softness, had been labeled “sin” in the community that raised me.
There wasn’t much humor in that.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. It was strict. Very strict. Dating?” I huffed. “Not allowed unless your parents arranged it. And in my case . . . well.”
I hesitated, unsure how much to say. But Eleanor wasn’t pushing. She just watched me with open curiosity, like she genuinely wanted to understand.
So I kept going.
“They basically picked Becca for me,” I said quietly. “She was from another family in the church. Sweet, smart, funny . . . and miserable. I didn’t see it at the time. I just thought we were young and overwhelmed.”
“You were young?” she asked softly.
“Yeah. Nineteen. She was eighteen. We didn’t know who we were. But in our world, you didn’t date. You got married.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “And honestly? We tried. Really tried. We cared about each other. We still do. We love Leo. We were doing everything ‘right.’”
Eleanor shifted a little closer, almost unconsciously. Her warmth settled something in me.
“So what happened?” she asked gently.
I took a breath, not because the memory hurt, but because the honesty of it still felt sacred.
“We started asking questions.” I shrugged. “Little things at first. Why were some people treated differently? Why were certain voices silenced? Why was fear such a big part of our lives?”
“And that led to . . . leaving?” she murmured.
“Yeah. Deconstructing. Slowly at first. Then all at once. And for Becca . . . ” I smiled, a quiet, proud smile. “Leaving made her realize she was gay. She’d known something was off, but she didn’t have the language. Didn’t have the freedom.”
Eleanor’s breath caught, her eyes softening.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I said. “She came out to me one night, crying and terrified I’d hate her. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I just . . . loved her. Even if it wasn’t the way we once thought. And she deserved to live fully.”
“That’s . . . incredibly kind,” Eleanor said, voice a little shaken.
“It wasn’t kindness.” I shook my head. “It was truth. And love. Just a different shape of it.”
She looked down at her water bottle, blinking rapidly. “And now?” she asked.
I smiled. “Now she’s married to Mel. They live next door. We co-parent. We’re still family. Just . . . not the version our parents planned.”
Eleanor looked up at me again.
And something in her eyes. It was a mix of awe, empathy, and something warmer that made my chest tighten.
“I can’t imagine growing up that way,” she whispered. “Or . . . finding that kind of courage.”
I shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Honestly? It’s easy when you love the people involved. You just . . . figure out the rest.”
She studied me for a long moment, like she was memorizing something I didn’t know I’d shown her.
Then, in a quiet voice that felt like a secret.
“You’re a good man, Alex.”
My breath stilled.
Because coming from her, someone who’d lost, loved, fought, and survived, it meant more than I could say.
The moment between us hung warm and fragile in the air, something gentle, something honest, when the back door banged open.
“Food for the lovebirds!”
Just then, Mel appeared, carrying a massive tray balanced with one hand. The smell hit first: chili cheese fries, hot dogs, and a level of melted cheddar that truly fit in a roller rink.
Eleanor jumped slightly.
“Mel,” I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face, “for the love of—”
“Oh, hush, Charming.” She set the tray down with unnecessary flourish. “I’m heading home to my WIFE, who is expecting me. But I just made a new batch of chili. So. You two eat.” She pointed at me. “You lock up.”
“Mel—”
“And remember,” she said, tossing her keys in an arc I barely caught, “no sex in the rink unless you disinfect afterward. These wheels see a lot of sin.”
“Mel!” I choked out.
But she was already halfway out the door, shouting, “BYE FRIENDS, HAVE FUN FINDING LOVE!” like she was narrating her own matchmaking reality show.
The door shut.
Silence fell over the rink.
Just me, Eleanor . . . and a plate of chili cheese fries steaming in the pink glow of the disco ball.
I let out a long breath, shaking my head.
“She does that on purpose,” I muttered.
Eleanor laughed softly. “Is she always like this?”
“Pretty much.” I sat beside her on the padded wall. “She and Becca . . . they’ve been trying to set me up for years.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I grabbed a fry and shrugged. “They think I’m lonely.”
Her expression softened.
“And . . . are you?” she asked.
I looked down at my hands, turning her question over. I had Leo. I had Mel, Becca, the reapers, and the kids at the Penguin Project. I had a full life.
I wasn’t lonely.
At least, I didn’t think I was.
But then Eleanor lifted a bite of cheese-covered fry to her lips, and I watched her laugh as some stringy cheddar clung to the corner of her mouth.
Without thinking, she swiped it away with her tongue.
And something in my chest . . . shifted. It wasn’t lust or infatuation. Something deeper. Something I hadn’t felt since I was young and foolish and wide open to the world.
She caught me staring, her cheeks flushing the same rosy color as the rink lights.
“What?” she whispered with a small, bashful smile. “Do I . . . have something on my face?”
Words deserted me. All I could manage was . . . “Do you know how beautiful you are?”
She froze.
Then her breath hitched, and her eyes widened, stunned.
Like no one had said that to her in a long time. Or like she didn’t believe she deserved to hear it.
Which made me want to repeat it a thousand different ways until she did.
Her lips parted, trembling just a little, and the expression she wore . . .
It was enough to undo me entirely.
She looked like she might cry, or kiss me, or both.
Which was exactly when I realized I’d stepped too close to something raw and tender inside her. Something she wasn’t ready to open yet.
So I cleared my throat and fumbled for the nearest conversational escape hatch.