Chapter Forty-Eight Sadie
It’s the last Learn to Skate of the season, and I really shouldn’t be here.
In fact, the handsome coach currently out setting up cones on the ice specifically told me not to come.
To save my strength for my last practice before the Christmas Gala.
But I made a promise to these kids that I would be here, and I intend to be—even if he doesn’t let me step a toe pick onto the ice.
Logically, I should stay silent over here, waiting to sneak on as the kids finish tying up their shoes and putting on gloves in the slightly warmer concession area before heading down the ramp.
And yet, as Rhys bends over at the waist to grab a stray mini cone left over from the hockey kids earlier, I can’t help the loud wolf whistle I release. Because I want to mess with him.
With everything that’s happened, Rhys has treated me like glass. I want to rile him up a bit.
He jerks upright, head shooting over his shoulder with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow that would be intimidating if it weren’t for the blush coloring his cheeks.
For all that he is the hockey hotshot, the brilliant golden boy Rhys Koteskiy blushes more often than I’d thought possible. And when I’m the cause of it, it feels like I’m flying.
He spots me quickly, eyebrows shooting up as I lean over the ledge of the bench area with a little smirk, eyes dancing at his flustered expression.
“Hey, hotshot.”
It’s only a moment before he’s abandoned his entire task, skating over to me quickly, stepping off the ice seamlessly, grabbing me around the waist, and lifting me off my feet.
“Pretty sure I told you not to be walking around on it.”
“On what?” I ask, relaxing into his easy way of carrying me back into the locker room I’ve just come from.
He levels me with a dark, disapproving stare. “Sadie.”
“Real name?” I question, my hands delving into the curls at the base of his neck. “Damn, I must be in trouble.” No part of my voice sounds even a little sad about being in trouble with Rhys. Mostly because I know that his kind of trouble is something I like.
And because I know for a fact that my ankle got approved for skating this morning, in my early practice at the university rink.
“Be serious about this, please,” he begs, letting me down as I start to squirm. Even though he lets my feet touch the ground, he backs me up against the wall so I lean on it. “I saw how swollen that thing was. He nearly fucking broke it—”
I put my hand to his chest, seeing that there’s a tinge of hurt in Rhys’s eyes, not determination or anger. Hurt and fear, I realize.
“Hey, Rhys,” I coo gently. “It’s okay. It was barely a sprain. Team doctor gave me the go-ahead to get back on the ice.”
The tension he’s wearing like a coat starts to slide off him, just a slight hesitance as he reaches for me again; this time his hand combing through my loose hair, tucking it back behind my ear.
My eyes shutter closed at the soft, intimate motion, before his hand trails to grip my chin and tilt my eyeline to his.
“Really?” he whispers. “You’re okay?”
“I promise.”
There’s a smile now working its way across his lips so beautifully I can’t help but reach out for him and press my lips to his. Once, twice—the second one lingering like a gentle caress.
A pinch of anxiety threatens to burst my perfect little bubble as I spot my bag in the corner with my skates propped up against it. It’s not anxiety about skating, but it’s the fear that maybe I was only so good because of Coach Kelley. What if I am truly nothing without him?
What if he was right?
“I’m so proud of you,” Rhys whispers into my hair with a happy, pleased expression.
His eyes are the warmest brown I’ve ever seen, a smile stretching his lips and letting both his dimples gleam brightly. Rhys is handsome, yes, but he is also everything warm and good and kind-hearted, and I never want to let go of his hand.
“I love you.”
I don’t think I’ll ever get over the way he relaxes, melts completely into goo in my hands when I’m the one to say it first. It’s like every line of stress and anxiety melts away.
And I know Rhys has heard the phrase “I love you” a good amount from his parents.
I know that they love him, that they both show and tell him so.
Which, somehow, makes the value he clearly places in my words mean more.
Because I eat up every scrap of his affection like a starving animal, and though I try not to let it interfere with my relationship with him, sometimes I do try to use sex with Rhys to drown out the worst of my feelings, the most overwhelming.
But I’m getting better, each and every day. I am.
So, instead of sinking against his body for the little time we have, to selfishly calm my nerves, I push away from him with a gentle smile.
“Come with me.”
He shoots me a puzzled look as I head over and grab my bag and skates in one hand. “We’ve got our last class.”
I smile. “I know. I arranged a little surprise for them.”
It was the last official finals day Friday, so it was hard to swing it, but as we head back out into the cold of the rink, most of the Waterfell Wolves hockey team is present, wearing their skates and warmup jackets with the Waterfell logo emblazoned on the pockets.
Rhys looks around, eyes wide as Freddy passes by us with two giggling kids holding on to the end of his stick as he gently pulls them along.
Bennett, still just as hulkingly tall without the goalie gear, quietly kneels to help a little girl re-lace one of her skates while she uses his shoulder for balance.
Surprisingly, even Toren showed, which is unexpected, considering how much he’s kept his distance. I tried to say a quick “thank you” to him once, but he brushed it off, basically pretended it never happened.
I try, but I cannot figure him out. Toren is harsh, doesn’t get along with a single one of his teammates… and yet he saved me that day. Not only that, but he called out my overtraining far before—like he knew the signs of it. Like he’d experienced it.
He’s standing on the ice in a corner now, dressed in all black with his arms crossed tightly, as Holden skates in circles around him while holding up one of our usual students, the kid who skates more like Liam, a little behind the rest of the class.
“You organized this?”
I nod, lifting a shoulder toward his coach, who is speaking to a few of the parents just by the open entrance at the boards. “He helped. You said that…”
My voice trails off, feeling stuck in my throat slightly.
“You mentioned that you hadn’t felt close with them all, not like last year, really.
And I think working with the First Line Foundation and being on the ice when you’re not playing hockey is what helped you get back.
I thought it would be something good for the team, for you to spend non-practice time with them.
And,” I say with a shrug, “it’s something that helped you.
Maybe it would be good for them too. Make them remember being this age. ”
He crushes me into his side with a hard-pressed kiss to the top of my head, before nearly shoving me onto the bench in his excitement, kneeling to help me put on my skates.
I laugh a little at how ridiculous it is, knowing I’ll probably need to re-lace them the way that I like before I can properly skate, and definitely before I show him my new routine later.
But for now, they’ll work.
He takes my hand in his, and we step onto the ice together.
From now until… forever.