Chapter 35 Alex #2
After brunch, the kids tore outside, Leo leading the charge with a battle cry about “summer planning,” Ava following behind him like a tiny blue-haired general taking notes. The screen door slammed, and their voices drifted into the backyard, high, happy, utterly absorbed in their own little world.
Which left the kitchen quiet again.
Eleanor stood beside the table, coffee mug in hand, sunlight catching her streaks of blue. She looked like she’d stepped into a version of herself she was still getting used to. A version I couldn’t stop looking at.
I stepped closer before my brain could talk me out of it.
“How are you feeling about tryouts?” I asked, voice softer than I intended.
She sighed, leaning slightly into the counter. “Nervous,” she admitted. “But . . . good. Excited. Scared. All of it.”
I reached out, slow enough to give her time to pull away, fast enough that I didn’t chicken out. My hands slid around her waist, settling there like they belonged.
She melted into me.
Not dramatically, just this subtle softening, her shoulders dropping, her breath easing out against my chest. Like being held was one of the few places she could stop bracing for impact.
“You’re going to be great,” I murmured into her hair. “You really are.”
Her hands lifted, curling against my back. “You think so?”
“I know so.” And I meant it.
She tilted her head up, and that was all it took.
I dipped my forehead to hers first, just a breath, a pause, a question, then kissed her.
And the world stopped. Again. Like it always did with her. I wanted more. God, I wanted so much more. Which is why it was exactly the perfect moment for—
“GROOOOSS!”
We jerked apart.
Leo was standing in the doorway, covered in grass stains and joy, and Ava was beside him, holding a clipboard like she was documenting our crimes.
“We’re going over there,” Leo announced, pointing toward the other house. “I need my art set. We’ll be right back.”
Ava nodded solemnly, as if confirming this was official business.
Eleanor flushed beautifully. I rubbed a hand over my face.
“Okay,” I said, trying not to laugh. “No running.”
“No promises,” Leo called back, already sprinting. Ava followed, more controlled but equally determined. We watched them go, the screen door banging shut again.
Eleanor exhaled, half-laughing. “So much for romance.”
I slipped my hand back into hers, gave it a squeeze, and said quietly, “It’s still there.”
And she smiled, soft, shy, world-stopping in its own way. “Yeah, it is.”
After Ava and Leo had been deposited safely at Becca’s, and the car door shut, it was just Eleanor and me.
She sat in the passenger seat quietly. Too quietly. Her hands rested in her lap, thumbs picking at the edges of her nails the way she did when she was holding too much inside.
I glanced over as I pulled onto the road.
“You ready for this?”
She didn’t look up. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
So I slid my hand over and took hers.
Then she turned her hand and held mine with both of hers, squeezing like she needed the anchor. The blue streak in her hair caught the sunlight coming through the window, and for a second, I forgot how to drive.
“You’ve got this,” I murmured, thumb brushing her knuckles.
Her voice was small but sure. “Thank you.”
The rest of the drive was quiet. Her hand in mine said everything we didn’t need to speak out loud.
When we pulled into the rink parking lot, she exhaled shakily.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“I’ll be in the stands,” I told her. “Cheering. Very loudly.”
She rolled her eyes like she didn’t believe me, but the tiny smile tugging at her mouth said otherwise.
Inside, the rink was already buzzing with women in pads and helmets, voices echoing, wheels clattering on polished floor. Eleanor checked in with one of the Reapers, then disappeared into the locker room to change.
I found a seat on the bleachers close enough to watch her, far enough to pretend I wasn’t ready to fight anyone who looked at her wrong.
Five minutes later, the locker room door swung open, and the warm-up skaters trickled onto the floor. And then I saw her.
Eleanor glided out onto the rink, not wobbly anymore, finding her rhythm. The blue streaks flashed against her helmet. She looked determined. Focused. Beautiful.
She didn’t see me at first. She was too busy watching her feet, adjusting her pads, testing her edges.
Then her eyes lifted, scanning the bleachers . . .
And landed on me. Her face opened into a soft, surprised smile. My chest did something stupid in response.
I lifted my hand in a small wave.
She waved back, small, shy, but real.
From my spot on the bleachers, I could see everything. The warm-up laps, the drills being set up, the nervous clusters of women stretching or adjusting pads, all of it. But all I could really see was her.
Eleanor lined up with the others, her helmet slightly crooked, her mouth set in that determined line I’d come to recognize. Her first couple of strides were careful, the way someone checks for thin ice.
And then— She pushed off harder. Let herself move.
And damn.
She wasn’t just skating.
She was flying.
A laugh escaped me, unexpected, soft. Because how was this the same woman I’d met at that park gathering? The one who’d tripped over a crack, skinned her knee, and insisted she was “fine” while I tried not to stare at her with obvious concern and obvious attraction.
I remembered how she’d winced when she sat on the picnic table bench, how I’d crouched down with Becca’s first-aid kit and gently cleaned the scrape on her knee. The way she’d tried to joke through the sting, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, telling me she wasn’t used to “being athletic in public.”
And now here she was, tearing around the rink like the whole world had finally decided to stop holding her back.
She took the corners tight. Confident. Strong. Her strides were even and powerful.
When Mel blew the whistle for backward skating, I held my breath.
Eleanor hesitated for half a heartbeat, then pivoted with surprising grace and took off skating backward like she’d been doing it for years. Her arms were steady, her face focused, her legs solid.
A few of the other skaters stumbled. One spun out completely.
But Eleanor?
She glided.
Next was the obstacle course, cones, hurdles, a tight weave, and a small ramp. I remembered the first time she faced a setup like that. She’d grinned at me right before tripping over the second cone and taking Belle down with her.
This time?
She didn’t trip.
She didn’t wobble.
She absolutely owned it.
She ducked under the rope, hopped the low barrier, and turned neatly through the weaves. At the ramp, she bent her knees just right, rolling over it with a small burst of speed that made her ponytail swing.
My jaw actually dropped.
I wasn’t the only one staring. Belle nudged one of the other Reapers and pointed at her like, Watch this one. Mel crossed her arms and nodded approvingly.
Pride swelled in my chest so hard it almost hurt.
She had worked for this.
She had poured hours into drills, practices, bruises, and falling and getting back up.
And it showed.
God, it showed.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, unable to tear my eyes away from her. Watching her skate like this felt like witnessing her becoming the person she’d always deserved to be.
When she paused to grab water, she glanced toward the bleachers again, searching.
And when she found me, her face lit up.
Not a shy smile this time.
A real one. Bright. Proud. A little breathless.
I lifted my hand in a small wave again, but my heart was doing something massive, something ridiculous, something that felt dangerously like falling.
Because all I could think was that she’s one of the best out there. And she doesn’t even know it.
But I did. And I couldn’t look away.
The rink slowly emptied as Mel dismissed everyone, and the skaters trickled off the floor, some limping, some laughing, all sweaty and exhausted. I stayed seated, hands clasped between my knees, heart still pounding with leftover adrenaline that wasn’t even mine.
She had shone out there.
Every time she hit a clean turn or powered through a drill, something in my chest tightened. I didn’t know a person could swell with pride like that without actually bursting.
She disappeared into the locker room thirty minutes ago, but I could still see her skating backward like she’d been doing it her whole life, navigating the obstacle course with focus etched into her face, cheeks flushed with effort and joy.
Joy. That was what hit me the hardest. She looked happy. Alive.
I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted her to feel that.
I leaned back on the bleacher, staring at the ceiling as the fluorescent lights buzzed above. I tried to sort through the mess in my head, but one truth kept surfacing, steady and undeniable. I was in love with her.
The thought didn’t scare me as much as it should have. It just . . . landed. Like it had been waiting for me to notice.
The locker room door swung open.
And there she was.
Her entire face lit up like she’d swallowed the sun. She spotted me instantly.
Before I could stand fully, she ran.
Straight to me.
Laughing breathlessly, eyes bright, she barreled into my arms with enough force that I staggered back a step. I caught her anyway. Of course I did. My arms wrapped around her like they’d been designed for exactly this moment.
“Oh my god,” she gasped into my chest. “Alex. I did it.”
I held her tighter, dizzy with pride. “You did more than that. El, you were incredible.”
She pulled back enough to look at me, and her smile, God, that smile, hit me right in the sternum. No one should be able to smile like that after skating for an hour straight, but she could. She did.
“Really?” she asked, a little breathless, a little disbelieving.
“Really,” I said. “I watched the whole thing. You were one of the best out there.”
Her cheeks flushed deeper than they already were. “I was terrified.”