20. Austin
AUSTIN
F uck. What did I do?
The thought’s been on a loop in my head since last week. Since I touched her face and tipped her head back, getting lost in those ocean-blue eyes. Since I kissed Maisie in the damn library like a complete idiot, and then ran off like an even bigger one.
I’ve spent the last seven days pretending I’m fine. Like I didn’t completely ruin something good. Like I haven’t replayed that kiss a hundred times and regretted every second that came after.
I haven’t texted her. Haven’t seen her.
Not on purpose, anyway.
I skipped tutoring on Friday. Told myself it was because I was slammed with practice now that Coach cleared me to skate again. But that’s bullshit. I’m avoiding her.
Every time I go to type something, I stare at the blinking cursor for ten full seconds, then chuck my phone across the room.
Because I don’t know what to say.
Because I don’t know what it meant.
Because she deserves better than fuck, I panicked and my bad and please don’t hate me, you’re the only thing that makes me feel like I’m not completely losing my mind.
Because I don’t want to make things awkward when I don’t even know what the fuck that kiss was .
All I know is I miss her.
I lean forward, scrubbing my hands down my face, trying to shake it off, but all I see is her. Standing in the library. Those bright blue eyes on mine. Lips pink and parted when I cupped her face. The sound she made when I kissed her.
Christ.
Ryan skates up beside me and nudges my shoulder. “You good?” he asks.
I nod, my eyes fixed on the scratched glass behind the boards. “Yeah.”
“Are you sure?” Logan asks, peeling off his gloves. “Because you haven’t smiled once today. It’s not like you, Rhodes.”
“Give him a break,” Nathan says. “He just got cleared to practice again. Probably still adjusting.”
I shoot Nathan a grateful look.
He shrugs in response and leans over to re-tape his stick.
Because yeah. I am adjusting.
I’m back.
Back on the ice. Back at practice. Cleared to play again once Coach gives the official go-ahead.
After weeks of suspension and tutoring and trying not to crawl out of my skin, I finally feel like myself again.
Or… close to it.
If I could just get her out of my head.
I spend the next fifteen minutes on solo drills, pushing hard, ignoring the burn in my legs and the sweat dripping down into my eyes. Coach is barking orders—he clearly missed yelling at me. But I don’t mind. It feels good to move. To breathe. To chase something.
For a while, it even works.
Until I hear the doors open behind the glass.
I glance up, watching people trickling in. Mostly figure skaters, a few staff. But my eyes find her immediately.
Maisie.
Walking into the rink with her head down and earbuds in, connected to her iPod. My heart stutters and I slow my pace without meaning to.
She looks up, and for a second, our eyes lock. Just a single second. Feels like eternity, though. A million-and-one questions fly between us, before she looks away.
Isabella waves her over, and Maisie heads toward her, smiling as she approaches her. That crinkly-eye, scrunched-nose, full-face kind of smile.
Fuck , I miss her.
It’s insane how much I miss her.
Like a week without her has sucked all the color out of everything. Food tastes dull. Music’s quieter. My chest feels too tight half the time. And I keep checking my phone for messages I know aren’t there.
Because I’m the one who disappeared. I made it this way.
She’s the reason I passed that test. The reason I’m back on the ice. The reason I didn’t completely lose it.
And I haven’t even thanked her.
Because I’m a fucking coward.
Great job, Austin.
I let my stick drop to the ice and skate over to the bench. Pretend I’m thirsty. Truth is, I just want a better angle to look at her without it being obvious.
Maisie doesn’t even glance my way.
Good. I don’t deserve her attention.
Isabella wraps her in a hug and says something else that makes her laugh. A real one. Bright and loud, her face lighting up.
It’s the same smile I haven’t seen in a week.
And I want it back.
I want to walk over there. Say something. Anything .
But my feet stay glued to the floor, because I don’t know how to fix what I broke. And I’m scared shitless of what happens when I try.
Coach shouts for a line change, and I stay out too long just to burn it off.
Whatever it is. Guilt. Regret. The ache that’s been sitting in my chest since last Tuesday.
I told myself kissing her was a fluke, that I was just caught up in the moment, but even now, a full week later, I can still feel the softness of her lips.
Still remember the warmth of her cheek under my palm when I grabbed her face like I needed to touch her.
And I did. I still do.
But I can’t. I can’t want both. I can’t be thinking about Maisie like this and still feel what I feel when I talk to?—
Coach blows his whistle signaling the end of practice, and I shake off my thoughts, skating off behind the others.
My eyes flick back toward Maisie again. I watch as she waves goodbye to Isabella and walks toward the locker room. Her eyes meet mine for another second and my heart jumps, before she looks away and follows the other girls inside.
I should head to the locker room. Should rip my gear off and get this practice over with. But I’m still standing there, my chest heaving and my eyes locked on the door she just walked through like maybe—just maybe—she’ll turn around.
She doesn’t.
The door swings shut behind her, and I’m left staring at nothing.
I hear the Zamboni in the distance, and glance over my shoulder watching as the surface is smoothed over again and again.
I wish I could do that with my brain.
Smooth out all the static and just know what I want.
Cherry.
Maisie.
Fuck .
I rub my glove across my mouth, like that’ll erase the memory. Like it’ll stop me from wanting her.
But it doesn’t. Not even close.
So I drop my stick, drag a hand through my hair, and skate off into the locker room, trying really fucking hard to stop thinking about that kiss.
And failing.