Chapter Forty-Four Rhys
It takes one sentence out of my mouth to convince my parents to let me bring the boys to Sadie’s competition. Even more, they decide they want to be there as well.
My mom, most of all. Something about Sadie turns her fierce in her protectiveness, stronger than it was over me as a child. She doesn’t tell me anything about it, but I can see the way she feels written across her face and in her frequent—beyond the normal amount—questions about my girlfriend.
So, Thursday, the day of Sadie’s long program for the competition, we leave before the sun is up. While the boys sleep in the car my dad ordered, I chat quietly with my parents.
The rink is slightly crowded, but the majority of people in the ice plex are coaches and teams. There are a few news crews and reporters preparing for the streams, and a rather small live audience.
Which means we get good seats.
“I’ve never got to do this before,” Liam says, kicking his feet back and forth in the seat next to me. My mom sits on his other side, only because Oliver opted to sit between my father and me.
“What?”
“He means see Sadie skate,” Oliver says, eyes scanning the far boards as he searches for his sister. I’m doing the same, but neither of us has spotted her yet. “We never get to. Not like this.”
Another lump forms in my throat, and my mom clearly picks up on it as she jumps in with, “Well, then this will be a first for all of us. And we have to cheer really loud for her, okay?”
Liam howls and elbows me in the side. “I’m gonna be the loudest one so Sissy knows it’s me.”
The competition is slow as they move through each group. But about an hour in, Sadie appears in the warm-up skate with her group block.
She’s wearing a Waterfell zip-up over her dress, so I can only see a bit of black fabric beneath it. Her legs are in black mesh instead of the tan of her competitors. Her hair is braided tight against her head and pulled back into an equally tight and shiny bun, not a strand out of place.
She isn’t smiling—none of them are as they take to the ice and skate. She throws a few jumps, spins a bit, but I can tell by the lines of her tight-clad legs that she’s waiting. She’s holding it all back right now.
I spot Victoria skating around as well, looking just as focused and determined. I see their coach too, his arms crossed as he stands at the boards and watches. I keep my eye on him for a few minutes and realize he’s only watching Sadie.
Judging by the jackets, half his team is out on the ice, and yet he’s focused solely on her. Correcting her, calling her over repeatedly.
I wait. And still, he never does it for another skater. Luc’s words haunt me again. “Kelley’s not normal. And if you don’t know what’s going on in that fucking rink…”
I cross my arms, heat licking the back of my neck as Coach Kelley speaks harshly to Sadie. I see her roll her eyes, and it almost makes me smile, until I see him grip the sleeve of her jacket and twist it until it works like a leash.
What the fuck?
Standing before I can think twice about it, I excuse myself for the bathroom and instead head straight to the side entrance where the teams are. I wait for someone to stop me, but then realize wearing my Waterfell athletics jacket is working in my favor.
Sadie spots me before I make it to the boards, her eyes shooting wide as she jerks back from Kelley and skates briskly toward the gate.
There’s a mix of apprehension and excitement across her face, like she might want to smack me, but she also can’t believe I’m here.
Because no one ever has been before.
I wait for her coach to spot me and kick me out, but another one of his skaters is too busy arguing with him at the gate—or maybe they’re just talking, but he’s spitting his words.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sadie asks. Her cheeks are flushed as she pulls me along into a spot against the wall, away from the clamor of skaters and the smell of fresh ice and hairspray. “Where are my brothers?”
I smile and put my hands on her shoulders, spinning her so I can point to the group of my family and hers on the far right.
“They wanted to see their sissy skate.” I pause, dipping my head into her neck to breathe in her perfume against her skin. “And so did I.”
“You’ve seen me skate a thousand times,” she murmurs, but softens under my hands, relaxing slightly.
“Not like this.”
“You never know. I might suck,” she retorts, turning to gaze up at me, eyes more intense with the darkened shadow and glitter. Her lips are still the same signature dark-cherry color, more matte and looking fiercer now against her very pale skin.
I raise my hand almost subconsciously, finding my favorite little patch of freckles beneath her eye and letting my palm graze her face just slightly.
“You’ll be the best one out there,” I whisper. “Okay?”
“You’re not allowed to be back here,” her coach scolds as he approaches from behind, standing so close that, if Sadie stepped back, she’d bump into his chest. “You’re third, my terror.”
He bites out the nickname, and fury—white-hot and terrifying—crawls up my spine at the sound of it. At the implication. His hand wraps around her neck before coasting down her spine and pressing into the center until she straightens, shoulders back.
She tries to hide it, but I see the wince. My eyes shoot to her coach’s with a threat pooling in my mouth. I pull Sadie into my arms, but before I can say a word, he storms off. A legion of skaters exit the ice behind him, the warm-up likely over.
“Stop,” she whispers, and for a moment I think I’ve held her too tightly, that I’ve hurt her. My arms drop from her as if I’ve touched a burning stove.
It only takes a moment for me to realize she’s warning me off her coach.
“He can’t touch you like that, Gray,” I whisper, albeit a bit harshly.
Her back is up, again, the divot between her brows that I love so much taunting me as she crosses her arms. “You don’t know him. He cares about me. He wants me to do well, work hard.”
“You work harder than most of the athletes I know, Gray. And I know a fucking lot.”
“He just doesn’t want me distracted. He’s focused.”
“ You are focused. No one is more determined than you.”
What I want to say is that if what her coach had the balls to do in front of me is only the tip of the iceberg, then it can only mean how he treats her behind closed doors is worse.
And sure, I didn’t ever figure skate, but I grew up in a rink.
I went to a goddamn private hockey academy with some of the strictest coaching staff I’ve ever experienced.
And not one of them ever manhandled me like that.
But she’s about to skate, and the last thing I want is to pull her down. Never again.
So I swallow my words for another time and press a firm kiss to her forehead before tilting her chin up.
“You’re a killer, Gray. Say it.”
“I’m a killer,” she mutters, rolling her eyes even as I mentally bottle up her slipping smile.
“Good girl.” I smirk. “I’d kiss you, but I don’t want to mess up your lipstick.” After I say it, she presses a dark red kiss mark into my palm, so I can hold it. “I’m proud of you, and so are your brothers. Now, go show them their sissy is a badass.”
By the time I’m back to my seat with hot chocolates for the boys, she’s next.
Without the jacket, Sadie is dressed in a strappy black mesh dress that matches the thin black of her tights.
Long mesh sleeves sit just on the cusp of her shoulders.
Strategic panels of thick black fabric cover some of her torso, while the other see-through sections display the hard lines of her stomach and waistline.
She takes her place at the center of the ice, poised and beautiful, before the speakers begin blasting Metallica’s “Enter Sandman,” which sends a vibrating laugh through both my father and me.
And just like the first time I saw her skate while hiding in the tunnel, Sadie Brown skates like she’s on fire.
Pure passion, pure unrelenting strength.
Her movements are hard and fast, her spins so quick she turns into a blur.
She takes every jump with jarring speed, but lands them. Every. Single. One.
My fingers feel like they’re melded into the chair from keeping myself seated when I want to jump up every time and scream, “That’s my girl,” at the top of my lungs.
Liam cheers just as loudly as he promised. Oliver grins happily, watching his sister with wonder in his eyes. Me too, bud.
By the end of her program, my cheeks hurt from my uncontrollable beaming smile. I’m so goddamn proud of her, so lucky to call her mine .
So lucky that she calls me hers.
Sadie bows and looks over at us, winking at her brothers and blowing a snarky little kiss that I know is all mine. I clench my hand a little tighter where her dark lipstick mark still lies.
It doesn’t matter how much distance there is between us right now; as long as she’ll have me, I’ll be right here. Waiting and cheering from the bleachers, if that’s what she needs.
Another anxiety disappears overnight.
Kane isn’t just opting out of the Harvard game—Freddy apparently did some digging, as he hurries to inform me when I enter the Hockey House.
Toren Kane isn’t allowed to play at Harvard.
It took some intense scouring of the internet to find a video, as it seems someone tried to have it covered up. But there is a quick clip of the incident, shot on a shaking cellphone.
An opposing player says something taunting, spitting in his face.
Kane grasps the kid’s cage and flings him away like an irritating insect before entering some trance, clearly visible with his helmet discarded.
There’s a girl, a redheaded Harvard student by the sweater she wears, sitting two rows from the glass, staring at him in the same wonder-filled way.
His teammate yanks on the collar of his jersey, pulling him out of the staring contest, and suddenly, he jerks forward and slams his glove against the glass.
“Get the fuck out of here!” he screams, and the already-pale girl goes nearly white. She stands and stumbles up the stairs to the exit, the boy next to her following blindly.
Still, Kane continues to whale on the glass for a moment before it shatters under his blows and the video cuts off.
“At least we won’t have to deal with him tomorrow,” Freddy says.
It’s a small gift, but I’ll happily take it.