I won’t let you fall #3
I grip his hand tighter, and my other flies to his shoulder without thinking as I push to my feet. I wobble immediately, and his hand tightens around mine.
“Oh no,” I mutter. “I—I can’t do this.”
He rises, and his hands settle at my waist before I can tip sideways. “I got you.”
I can feel him trying not to smile, which makes my own mouth twist. “You better, Prince. I don’t wanna fall on my ass.”
The ice is harder and slipperier than I anticipate when I step onto it, and the second my blade meets it properly, my balance shifts in a way my body doesn’t expect.
I grab his shoulders without thinking, and his hands instantly tighten at my waist.
“Easy,” he murmurs.
“I hate this already.”
“You’ve been on the ice for three seconds.”
“It’s enough to know.”
He adjusts his stance slightly, one skate angling outward to steady both of us. I can feel the strength in his body, the grounded way he absorbs my wobble without overcorrecting.
“Look forward,” he says. “Not at your feet.”
“That feels irresponsible.”
“Come on, give it a go.”
“I’m going to fall.”
“Maybe.”
“That is not the motivational speech I was hoping for, Prince.”
His mouth tips at one corner. “Do you need me to doodle you a note to remind you you’re brave, too?”
“I am brave… But I’m also attached to having all my teeth.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, and it vibrates through him and into me.
“I promise I’m not letting you fall.”
Promise.
I force my eyes up and focus on the opposite boards because if I don’t, I’m going to be swooning over this sweaty hockey-playing firefighter who is actually my boss and who I therefore have absolutely no right to be mooning over.
The rink lights reflect off the ice in long streaks, the kids already sliding past us in chaotic loops with Colt and Luke.
“Okay,” I say, mostly to myself. “Lemme try this again.”
“Shift your weight,” he instructs, hands still at my waist. “With small slides—don’t try to stride yet.”
“I don’t know what a stride is.”
“Good. Then you won’t try it.”
I attempt a push, and it is not elegant. My foot skids sideways, and I let out a startled sound that is absolutely not dignified.
His grip tightens just enough to pull me back into alignment, one hand sliding from my waist to the small of my back.
“I got you, Pen,” he says again, lower this time.
I believe him, which feels about as dangerous as the fact that he just nicknamed me.
A streak of black flashes past us as Frankie screeches and nearly collides with Mason, who pivots smoothly, catching her hands before she can tip sideways.
“Okay,” he says, grinning down at her. “We’re not attacking the ice. We’re making friends with it.”
“I was making friends!” she protests.
“You declared war.” He laughs, catching her elbows as she wobbles again, then lowers his voice. “You’re fine, baby. Knees soft, eyes on me.”
Remi stands near the boards with Zela still tucked against her chest, laughing softly while Max shuffles determinedly along, holding Colt’s gloved hand.
Elle skates past us with determined concentration, tongue poking out slightly as she navigates a careful curve. She looks steadier and much more professional than I ever will.
Evan shifts behind me, repositioning so he’s slightly to my side instead of directly behind me.
“Okay,” he says. “Again.”
His hand stays at my back, and the other drops from my waist but hovers close enough that I know he’ll catch me.
I push again, and this time, my skate glides forward properly.
“There you go,” he says quietly.
I grin before I can stop myself. “I’m practically Olympic material.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
I push and glide, again and again. Each time, he gives me a little more space, and each time, I feel the absence of his hand where I want it.
On the fourth attempt, I wobble hard to the left, and instinct takes over. I grab fistfuls of his hoodie without thinking, but he plants his weight and absorbs it.
For a second, I’m pressed fully against him, breath coming faster than it should for something this slow. His hand slides back to my waist, gripping lightly.
“Told you I wouldn’t let you fall,” he says, and that damn dimple returns.
My throat goes dry. “You’re very smug for someone in rental skates.”
“They’re not rental.”
“Oh, sorry. They’re personal ice knives. Much less alarming.”
His mouth curves slightly deeper, and I don’t let go of his jacket right away.
Mason glides past us backward, holding Frankie’s hands to tug her along. “Prince, you teaching or proposing?”
“Keep skating,” Evan replies evenly, but his eyes stay on mine.
Across the rink, I see Tucker watching from the boards before he heads for the exit, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder. He doesn’t look back, and I turn back to the ice to push forward again.
This time, Evan lets his hand drop completely, and I glide three full seconds on my own before realizing I’m actually skating solo.
A loud and unfiltered laugh leaves me. “I’m doing it!”
“You’re doin’ it.”
He watches me with that same quiet pride I’ve only ever seen him give Elle, and I feel the soft recalibration under my ribs.
Dangerous, probably. But I let it stay anyway.