Chapter 19 #3
We fall into a quiet place after that, but it’s not because the music is filling it.
It's like a living thing, this energy between us. I think about the glide of the ice underneath, the warmth of his hand in mine, steady and grounding in a space that should feel cold but doesn’t anymore. And I let myself be there for a second.
We drift for a few more minutes, the moment settling into something quieter. Ty’s thumb brushes lightly against mine, almost absentminded.
“Tell me about yours,” he says.
I glance over. “My what?”
“Your mom.”
Ah. I let out a small breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Oh…boy. That’s a harder one to process, Ty.”
He doesn’t push right away. Just watches me, and he stays steady, open.
“I don’t really like talking about it,” I add, shifting my weight slightly. “She’s…she knows how to cut deep.”
Ty waits, his eyes searching mine before he looks forward again. “I’m listening.”
I nod once, then tug gently on his hand, guiding us toward the boards. The ice slows beneath us until we come to a stop, leaning back against the rail. The cold seeps through the sweatshirt at my shoulders, grounding me in a way that helps.
“There’s not too much to say, really,” I begin, eyes drifting out over the empty stretch of ice. “My dad passed away when I was young. Eleven.”
The words land without drama. They always do now.
“My mom, well, she’s an overachiever and a great long-distance runner.
” I shrug lightly. “When I was about twelve, she was offered a promotion at her job, as a Foreign Service Officer, and it wasn’t long before she became a Consular Officer.
She’s made it a career. A whole life out of it.
She just chose to do it when I needed her most.”
I pause, pressing my lips together for a second before continuing.
“I like to think it’s because she just doesn’t want to deal with the realities here,” I admit. “My grandma says sometimes she thinks my mom was so hurt when my dad died, that it was just easier for her to run. To close off from everything else.”
I glance down at our hands, still loosely linked.
“But at the end of the day…” I lift one shoulder. “She doesn’t really know how to be a mom. She’s tried. In her way.” A small, almost amused breath leaves me. “There are parts of her that can’t even really be a daughter to her own mother.”
I tilt my head slightly toward him. “That’s why I’m with my grandma. That’s why I’m here. And I’m okay with it.”
Ty studies me, quiet, taking it in.
“That’s it?” he asks gently.
I shrug again, a little more firmly. “Yeah. Really. No big dramatic fanfare. No lingering sadness.” I give him a small smile. “That’s just who we are.”
I look out over the ice, then down, then finally back at him.
“I learned a long time ago not to want things from her,” I explain. “It was easier that way. Instead, I put that energy into what I do have. My grandma. My life here.” My smile comes a little easier this time. Realer. “And that makes me happy.”
For a second, neither of us moves. Then, he gently tugs me forward.
“I’m starting to realize that you make me happy, Vivian Sullivan,” he says, his voice low, scratchy in a way that goes straight to my bloodstream.
I go with it, more instinct than decision, and suddenly, I’m closer. Close enough that I feel the solid warmth of him through layers that now don’t feel like much at all.
His arm comes around me, steady, sure, pulling me in just enough to say something without actually saying it. He keeps it around me for a second longer, like he’s giving me time to pull away if I want to.
I don’t.
Instead, I tilt my chin up just slightly—offering, tempting. His attention narrows until it feels like I’m the only thing in the room.
He adjusts us without a word, turning just enough so the boards are behind me, the rail at my back. One of his hands slides up, fingers brushing lightly at the edge of my hair, tucking a piece behind my ear before lingering there.
“Vivian,” he says, low, like a warning and a question all at once.
I don’t answer. I don’t think I could if I tried.
His gaze drops to my mouth, before he drags it to my eyes, giving me a half-second to make a choice before he leans in.
The kiss lands soft at first, almost careful, like he’s testing the space between us. But the second I respond—tilting into him, closing that last inch—it changes. Deepens.
His hand slides fully into my hair, fingers threading through it, holding me there as his other arm tightens at my waist, pulling me closer until there’s no mistaking this for anything but what it is.
I make a small sound, and his mouth curves against mine like he felt it.
This is not controlled. My hands come up without thinking, sliding around his neck, fingers curling at the back of it as I lean into him, matching him, meeting him with just as much heat as he’s giving.
The cold air, the ice, the empty rink—it’s all gone.
Fallen to the wayside and it’s only him.
Just this.
He shifts suddenly, and before I can fully process it, his hands drop to my hips and he lifts me clean off the ice.
I gasp against his mouth, breaking the kiss for half a second. “Ty—”
He doesn’t let me go.
“Hold on,” he murmurs, already moving.
My legs instinctively wrap around him, anchoring myself as he skates, smooth and steady even with me pressed against him.
His hands slide up to my thighs, firm, fingers flexing just enough to keep me there.
I feel it everywhere, the heat of his grip sending a sharp, fluttering rush straight through me.
It knocks the breath right out of me for a second, turning it into a laugh before I can stop it.
One of my hands grips his shoulder, the other still tangled in his hair, holding on maybe a little tighter than necessary now, and I can’t even pretend I’m not laughing, breathless and a little wild.
“This feels like a terrible idea,” I say, even as I lean back in.
“Yeah?” he says, like he doesn’t believe that for a second.
But we don’t stop. We don’t slow.
His mouth finds mine again, and this time there’s nothing careful about it. There’s heat and want and something that’s been building since the second he texted me on Sunday and finally snapped into place. By the time we reach the bench, I’m already gone for it.
He sets me down, so I’m sitting on the edge, and he steps between my knees like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Still a bad idea?” he asks, voice rougher now.
I don’t even pretend to think about it. “No.”
He kisses me again, hands braced at my waist, pulling me forward until I’m right there at the edge of him. My arms slide around his neck, closer now, easier, like we’ve already crossed whatever line there was to cross.
There’s a rhythm to it now—less rushed, but no less intense. Like we’re both aware this isn’t just a moment anymore. He doesn’t give me space to second-guess it.
Not when I’m already leaning into him. Not when his hands are still at my waist, pulling me forward like he’s already decided this is where I belong.
I shift on the bench, and he follows, sitting down in front of me in one smooth motion. Somehow, without either of us really thinking about it, we end up facing each other, knees brushing, then closer—
Closer.
My legs slide around him, instinct taking over, and his hands tighten at my hips like he’s anchoring me there.
“Vivian…” he murmurs, but it doesn’t sound like a warning this time.
I don’t answer. Instead, I kiss him again.
Slower now, but deeper. Like we’ve both settled into it, like we’re not rushing anymore because there’s nowhere else we need to be.
His hands move, one sliding up my back, the other still steady at my waist, and I feel the flex in him when I tip my head to one side, giving him the space without even realizing I’m doing it.
His mouth trails from mine, warm against my skin as he brushes a kiss along my jaw. Then lower.
My breath catches.
“Ty…” It comes out softer than I mean it to.
He doesn’t stop.
His lips drag slowly down the side of my neck, not rushed nor careless. It’s like he’s paying attention to every single reaction. Like he’s learning me in real time.
My eyes close before I can stop them, my fingers tightening at the back of his neck as I lean into it, into him, into the way everything suddenly feels a little too good and not nearly enough at the same time.
“Oh—” The sound slips out of me, quiet, breathy, honest. His grip tightens just slightly, pulling me closer again, like he’s not done. Not even close.
And I’m not stopping him. Not when my head falls back a little further, not when my hands slide into his hair, not when I forget entirely that we’re in the middle of an arena and—
“Excuse me.”
I freeze at the same time Ty stills, his forehead dropping lightly against my shoulder for half a second like he’s deciding whether to pretend he didn’t hear that.
“Excuse me,” the voice repeats, a little louder this time.
I open my eyes slowly. Very slowly, and turn my head. No way we’re getting busted for making out in public again. Are we?
A man wearing a name tag that says "Building Manager” stands a few feet away, arms crossed, expression caught somewhere between unimpressed and trying not to be amused.
Let’s be clear, this is not the same guy who let us in. My jaw goes slack, and Ty snorts.
“Well,” I say, because apparently, that’s what I’ve chosen to lead with here, “this feels like a bad time for everyone involved.”
Ty exhales a quiet laugh against my shoulder, not even bothering to fully pull back yet.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Timing could be better.”
I drop my head forward, pressing my forehead briefly against his, fighting a smile that is absolutely trying to take over my face.
“Your arena,” I whisper. “Your responsibility.”
He finally leans back just enough to look at me, his expression still a little wrecked in a way that does nothing to help the situation.
“But this was worth it,” he says, without hesitation.
I stop a laugh before glancing back toward the very-much-still-there building manager.
“Give me five seconds,” Ty calls out, lifting a hand in a vague gesture of apology. “We’re…wrapping up.”
There’s a pause.
“Please do,” he says dryly.
I look back at Ty.
“You are unbelievable.”
“Not what you were saying thirty seconds ago.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
He just grins.
And somehow, despite everything—
I’m still not moving.