Chapter 9 #3
Up close, the strain was harder to miss. A flush lingered high on his cheeks beneath the arena lights, and although his expression had settled back into its usual restraint, I could still see the effort behind it.
“Hey.”
His gaze shifted to me.
“Are you okay?”
“I am fine.” Another answer delivered without hesitation.
My stomach clenched. “Luka.”
Don’t keep doing this to me.
For a moment he said nothing.
The interruption should have annoyed him. Most skaters would have glanced away, then ended the conversation.
Luka remained where he was.
Around us, practice continued uninterrupted. Music drifted through the speakers. Coaches shouted corrections. A jump landing rattled the ice somewhere across the rink.
The noise of the rink faded into the background.
Standing this close, I could see the strain beneath the composure he’d been trying to rebuild since the lift. It was like watching someone hold a door shut against a storm.
I stared at him. “You’re forcing it.”
For a moment he said nothing.
Luka Davorin was very good at ending conversations he didn’t want.
And he was still standing there.
Luka
Kvrat.
I stuck my chin out. “That is not your assessment to make.”
He stood there, his eyes locked on mine. “Doesn’t make it wrong.”
The certainty in his tone caught me off guard. I blinked. “You are watching me now?”
Dean’s gaze didn’t shift. “You’re not exactly subtle today.”
I felt that one, the accuracy of it. I held his gaze a second longer, then forced my expression back into place.
“You are… distracting.”
And so close. My heart seemed to react to his presence, thumping hard enough that I was certain he could hear it.
He surprised me with a brief smile. “Oh wow. ‘Distracting.’ I’ll try not to let that go to my head.”
I couldn’t hold back my smile. Then I remembered where I was.
I glanced over to where Mila stood with Sokolov, willing her not to see, not to read too much into this.
She was staring at me, eyes wide.
Kvrat.
I sucked in a breath. “You should concern yourself with your own training.”
“I am.” Dean folded his arms across his chest. “That doesn’t stop me noticing yours.”
Every instinct I possessed urged me to retreat.
I remained where I was.
“That is a mistake.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Dean moved closer.
The shift was small. Anyone watching from the boards would have missed it.
The sounds of the rink seemed suddenly sharper: the scrape of blades across the ice, music pulsing through distant speakers, growing dimmer, a coach calling corrections somewhere behind us.
“You don’t look convinced,” he said in a low voice.
I should have stepped back.
I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Dean’s smile disappeared. I could smell cold air on his jacket, detergent, the faint trace of whatever soap he used after practice.
I swallowed. “This does not concern you.” The words came out rough.
Dean tilted his head. “Looks like it concerns you plenty.”
Do kvrata.
I speared him with a look. “That is where you are wrong.” The words didn’t come out as steady as I’d hoped.
Mila’s voice carried across the rink. A skater landed hard somewhere behind us. Music restarted over the speakers.
Neither of us looked away.
“Step back.” My voice sounded strained to my own ears.
Dean held my gaze. “No.”
He didn’t raise his voice. He said it as though the answer had never been in doubt.
That refusal hit hard, and I couldn’t explain why.
He wasn’t angry. There was no trace of mockery in his tone. He wasn’t trying to win.
He simply stayed exactly where he was.
My pulse hammered against my ribs. Every instinct I possessed told me to leave.
The problem was that none of them seemed interested in obeying.
I looked away first.
“Luka.” Mila’s voice cut across the rink.
I stepped back so quickly my blade caught for a fraction of a second.
The distance between Dean and me returned all at once.
Mila stood a few feet away with her arms folded. “Coach is waiting.”
“Of course.” No tremors this time. I turned before Dean could answer and headed for the exit.
Mila said nothing as we walked across the rink.
Neither did I.
The doors were only a few strides away when I made the mistake of looking back.
Dean hadn’t moved. He was still watching.
The sight of that nearly stopped me where I stood. Then I turned away again and pushed through the doors.
The corridor felt cooler than the rink. For several seconds all I could hear was the echo of our steps and the distant noise of practice continuing behind us.
I should have ended it.
The opportunities had been there. A sharper answer. A colder one. Any number of ways to make it clear that whatever was happening between us needed to stop.
And yet every time Dean Foster stepped closer, I found another reason not to push him away.
What scared me was how little I wanted to.
Dean
Across the rink, the door had already closed behind him.
Then Mark called my name from the far end of the ice, and I pushed away from the boards.
The problem was that I knew exactly where Luka had gone.
And for the rest of the session, part of me kept tracking the door anyway.