Chapter 19 #2
The skates feel different than the rentals—they’re lighter, more supportive, almost like they’re part of my feet instead of two iron blocks dragging me toward death. Not that it helps much, since my legs are still wobbling like that stupid baby giraffe Noelle compared me to.
Scotty steps onto the ice first, holding out his hand for me to take. I hesitate, staring at his gloved fingers, wishing I wasn't having a whole host of wildly inappropriate thoughts.
“I promise I won't let you fall,” he says gently.
That's the problem! He's too kind. Too considerate. Too freaking perfect for someone who was supposed to be a closed chapter in my life.
With a sigh of resignation, I place my hand in his. He laces our fingers together—for extra support, I hope—and then guides me onto the ice. Surprise, I immediately lose my footing.
Scotty doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t say a single thing that could make me voluntarily lock myself in the penalty box out of shame. He just steadies me, wordlessly, and helps me skate forward.
“For the first couple of lessons, I'm going to let you hold my hand,” he says. “It'll help you find your balance.”
“This isn't how you teach the kids though, is it?”
“No. They have the penguins.”
“And I can't have one of those?”
“You made it clear you didn’t want them on Friday.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he squeezes my hand. “At least this way, I've got a hold of you, so falling is less likely.”
We move slowly around the edge of the rink, and I spend the entire time focused on my feet, watching as the blades glide across the surface of the ice. We're moving slowly, just a gentle circle around the edge of the rink, but it's more controlled than any of my previous attempts.
“So, Princess Blanca on ice, huh?”
“Yes.”
“What made you pick this role over one that's not on ice?”
“I don't have a choice,” I answer honestly. “I can't get a role on campus. My boss only lets me sing at his bar because I'm his longest-serving employee. If I want to make it, I’ve got to be open to any opportunity that comes my way. Not just the ones I think I’ll be best in.”
“That makes no sense,” Scotty says. “The minute you open your mouth and start singing, everyone should know you’re the best thing about this place.”
“Stop.”
“Stop, what?”
“Praising me like you get it.” My voice wavers, but I keep my chin up. “Singing isn't everything, Scotty. I haven't had a single successful audition since I got here. All the while, I have to smile and cheer for everyone else while they live my dream and pretend I’m not dying of embarrassment.”
He doesn’t flinch. “Other people's success doesn't make you a failure, Laura. You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “But it's hard to see everyone else moving forward while I'm stuck in a mindset that keeps me there.”
I take a deep breath and force myself to meet his eyes. He’s quiet, but he’s not looking away. He’s watching me like he’s seeing every crack in my armor.
“I want more,” I say, my voice steadying. “And I promised myself I’d start saying yes. To opportunities. To chances. To things I’m scared of, instead of shutting them down before I even try.”
There’s a beat.
“So, does that mean if everything that happened between us happened now, I might have a chance?”
I take in a sharp breath just as Scotty winces.
“Sorry. Shouldn't have mentioned that. It's not why we're here.”
I look down at my skates, pretending the flush in my cheeks is from exertion and not from him possibly being right. Do I regret not hearing Scotty out?
The answer makes my stomach ache, so I push the thought aside, and vow to never tell him that.
“Is the audition booked?”
“Yup.” I scrunch my nose, already feeling the anxiety rising. “I have twenty-eight days now.”
“And did you have to confirm your level of proficiency in skating?”
I nod, grimacing. “I lied. Obviously. They said I need to be able to skate independently.”
“Define ‘independently.’”
I rub my glove against my leg. “Forward and backward crossovers, one- and two-foot glides, a one-foot spin, swizzles, a sit spin, and mohawks.”
As I rattle off the list, I swear I see Scotty’s eye twitch.
“It's all things Noelle said I should be able to do within a month,” I add quickly.
“And was that before or after she saw you skating?”
“Before.”
I wait for it—the joke, the punchline, the confirmation that yes, I look like a baby seal trying to walk on stilts.
He doesn't say anything, though. He just squeezes my hands through our gloves. “Well, then, let's prove your sister right. We'll have to speed up the learning process…but we can do it.”
He lets go of one of my hands, and for a split second, I think I'm going to fall, but he moves around me and places the other hand on my hip.
If I knew what I was doing, this might look graceful, since I don't, I'm just happy I'm still standing up.
“You're doing great.” His other hand unclasps from mine and lands on my hip. He's fully behind me now, barely helping me as I glide across the ice.
“Now, I'm going to make some minor adjustments to your posture that will help you feel more confident on the ice. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes.” the word comes out shaky because I feel myself potentially falling. When my back straightens, Scotty reaches his hand around me and moves my center of gravity forward.
“Your torso needs to lean slightly forward for balance.” Still skating, I follow his instruction as his other hand moves down toward my tailbone. “You also need to push your butt out a little.”
I whimper and nod, preparing myself for the inevitable stroke of his hand across my ass, but it doesn't come.
“Beautiful,” he purrs.
I know he's talking about my skating, but since I can’t see him, it feels like he's talking about my ass.
Which…embarrassingly…my brain goes there.
For a split second, I imagine his hand on me. Those big, warm fingers spreading across the curve of my hip, sliding lower, guiding me the way he’s been guiding my feet on the ice. Firm and confident, like he’d know exactly how to touch me. Exactly how to hold me. Exactly how to—
Nope. Absolutely not.
I roll my eyes at myself, grateful he can’t see my face because I’m definitely blushing like an idiot.
“Now that your stance is corrected, do you think you can manage skating to the boards?”
It's only a few yards away, but the prospect still seems impossible.
“All you need to do is push your left foot forward, then your right. Keep this stance and you'll be golden.”
“O-okay.” I focus on the boards and wait for Scotty to remove his hands. When he does, I follow his instructions.
Left foot.
Right foot.
Left foot.
Right foot.
I move through the motion, surprised that I manage to reach the boards so quickly.
“Did I just do that?”
“You did it!” Scotty claps, sounding happier than I’ve ever heard him. “That was fantastic.”
I slowly turn against the boards, leaning my back against the boards and letting my head thump gently against the plexiglass. A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.
“I did it,” I breathe out. “I fucking did it.”
“Now,” he says, “I'm going to ask you to do it again. Can you skate back to me?”
I want to laugh; the prospect feels impossible. Before, I had Scotty to help push me off in the right direction. I doubt the boards have the same ability.
“Come on, Princess. I know you can do this.”
I nod, take a few deep breaths, and push off the boards.
My balance slips, so I hold my arms up.
“Look up, Laura. Look at me.”
The second I do, our eyes lock, and everything steadies. My posture fixes, my skates feel more secure, and I push forward.
Then again.
Scotty’s smile grows with every inch I manage, and by the time I reach him, I’m laughing.
“I did it.”
I don’t know why I do it—maybe it’s adrenaline, or relief—but I step forward and wrap my arms around him.
“You did,” he murmurs into my hair. “You're going to nail this audition. You're so freaking good!”
His arms tighten around me, and that’s when I realize how much I like it. Too much, and judging by the way he holds on for one extra heartbeat, he feels it too.
“Laura,” he whispers.
I don't answer. I can’t, because I know exactly what he’s asking without forming a single question. His eyes flick from my lips to my eyes, hungry and careful.
If I let him, he'd kiss me right now.
And…I wouldn't stop him.
He leans in an inch.
I take in a breath.
Another inch.
I stay still.
I can feel his breath fanning across my lips.
Still not moving.
When his lips are almost grazing mine, he stops.
Waiting.
Inviting.
Letting me choose.
My breath hitches, my fingers curl into his jacket, and just as I’m about to close that tiny, impossible space between us—
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I jerk backward, worried we’ve been caught. By who? I don't know since we're at a rink 45 minutes away.
Scotty chuckles. “Relax, Princess. It's the Zamboni.”
He reaches out like he’s ready to steady me again, but I don’t take his hand. I don’t need it. I can
stand on my own…thanks to him.
“Yeah, I knew that,” I say lightly, pretending my heart isn’t pounding out of my chest. “Good thing he broke up that little moment.” I point between us. Scotty smirks. “You were two seconds away from writing me a fan letter.”
He laughs, loud and full, and it makes all those barriers I put up crack a little. Something that can’t happen. “Maybe I already did.”
I glare at him as we make our way off the ice. He doesn't seem bothered and instead takes my hands and interlocks them again.
“I’m just saying,” he teases, “if you ever find a sheet of notebook paper folded into fourths under your door… don’t be shocked.”
My knees suddenly feel so weak, and I'm thankful Scotty's helping me off the ice because I don’t trust my legs at all. The second we’re on solid ground, though, I slip out of his hands and beeline for my bag, pretending I’m unbothered.
Scotty sits in front of me, facing the rink and the Zamboni smoothing over the ice.
Thank goodness.
If he turned around right now, I'd have to face what happened—or, at least, what almost happened.
I nearly let Scotty Hendricks kiss me.
Scotty Hendricks.
The same guy who inadvertently humiliated me…twice.
This can't happen. This won't happen. This will stay strictly professional.
I change out of the skates as quickly as my shaking hands allow, slip my shoes on, and stand. The weight of my bag is comforting—something normal in a moment that feels anything but.
“Are you still free for a lesson on Tuesday?” I ask to the back of Scotty's head so quietly, the Zamboni nearly drowns me out.
As if he knows I wouldn't be able to handle seeing his face, he doesn't turn around. He nods, though.
“Anything for you, Princess.”
A hard lump forms in my throat at his response.
“Thank you, Scotty. For all your help. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course. I'd never let you fall.”
I take a deep breath, not sure who this is going to hurt more, me or him.
“I also think we need to keep this strictly professional. Blurring the lines didn't do us any favors last time.”
Still not turning, he says, “As you wish.”
I whisper a goodbye he doesn’t hear and rush out of the rink before I can take back every word.
I can’t do it.
I can’t fall for Scotty Hendricks.
Not again.
Not when I’m still picking myself up from the last time he broke me.