CHAPTER SEVEN
CONNOR
The lights buzz to life when I step into the rink, one strip after another flooding the empty stands and untouched ice in harsh white.
The building is completely still, nothing but the faint hum overhead and the soft scrape of my shoes against concrete.
I breathe in deep, the clean bite of the ice filling my lungs. No music pounding through the walls, no shouting, no Marcus laughing loud enough to hear from three rooms away.
No Theo.
Just me and enough silence to think.
I shrug out of my hoodie and shove it into my backpack, not bothering to fold it. Cold air scrapes over my bare arms, goosebumps rising in its wake, and I close my eyes, letting it bite.
The cold finally starts to settle some of the restlessness beneath my skin.
The scratch of a blade cuts clean across the ice, breaking the silence apart, and my eyes open, another following it, louder this time.
I stare out towards the rink, the quiet I came here for already slipping away.
Theo cuts across the ice, carving around in a wide turn before slowing near the boards.
Theo looks up towards the stands, his hand lifting against the glare, and whatever ease there was in his movement changes when he spots me, his head tipping slightly to one side.
He pulls off his helmet, pushing a hand through his hair, shaking out the damp curls flattened beneath it. His face is flushed from exertion, dark hair sticking around his forehead, and apparently there is nowhere in this entire city I can go without running into him.
“What’re you doing here, Reid?” he calls, his voice cutting straight through what little quiet I had left.
Reid again.
I push away from the railing and start down the steps, taking my time even when I can feel him watching me come.
By the time I reach the boards, I’ve managed to shove everything from earlier somewhere far enough down that I can pretend it isn’t still circling my head. I drop my backpack onto the bench behind me and look at Theo across the barrier.
“I could ask you the same.”
That familiar smirk pulls at Theo’s mouth around the end of his glove where he grips it between his teeth, pulling it off.
“Not really, princess,” he drawls once his mouth is free. “Me being here makes complete sense.”
I manage not to roll my eyes, though the lift of his brow suggests the effort isn’t nearly as subtle as I’d like.
Theo hums, his eyes moving slowly over me, and my fingers find the hem of my t-shirt, tugging absently at the crease across my stomach before I catch myself reaching up to fix my hair.
My hand drops straight back to my side.
“You, on the other hand,” he adds, still slightly out of breath.
I grab his water bottle from the bench and throw it at him.
He catches it one-handed without so much as fumbling, that stupid pleased grin spreading across his face while he lifts it towards me in a mock toast.
Next time, I’m aiming higher.
I turn towards the ice before he can see the smile threatening at my mouth.
Silence settles between us again, but it isn’t the same silence I walked into.
Theo’s skates scrape quietly against the surface whenever he shifts, his breathing still slightly uneven from whatever he was doing before I interrupted him, and I can feel the question sitting there even though he doesn’t ask it.
Eventually, keeping it in takes more effort than saying it.
“It’s easier to think here.”
My voice drops on the last few words.
Theo stays quiet, no teasing comment following.
He lifts the bottle and takes a long drink instead, watching me over the rim. His throat moves when he swallows, and I drag my eyes over his shoulder before they can linger there.
“You know where’s even better to think?” he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching up.
I look back at him, already suspicious of the amusement pulling at his mouth.
Theo sweeps an arm towards the rink. “The ice.”
My eyes follow his hand out towards the empty sheet.
Oh, no.
I turn back to him, and then face the ice again, following the shallow tracks his blades have carved through an otherwise perfect surface.
It’s been years since I put on a pair of skates, but not long enough to forget Dad standing on the other side of the boards, disappointment getting harder to hide every time I failed to do something Marcus had picked up without even trying.
I stopped asking to come with them eventually.
I catch my bottom lip between my teeth, worrying at the skin before looking back at him. “You’re not serious.”
I’m not entirely sure when this stopped being an immediate no.
Theo skates closer, stopping against the boards and folding his forearms over the top, those green eyes far too bright when he tips his face up towards me.
“Oh, princess,” he drawls. “I’m deadly serious. Get on the ice.”
“No.”
I step backwards, finally making myself do what I should’ve done the second he suggested this.
Theo’s fingers hook into the front of my t-shirt before I get anywhere, yanking me straight back towards the boards.
My stomach bumps against the barrier, a startled breath catching in my throat while my hand shoots out to brace against the top.
“Get on the ice, Reid.” The teasing disappears from his voice. “Or I’ll drag you onto it.”
I look down at the fingers still twisted into my shirt, then back at Theo.
He makes absolutely no move to let go.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Marcus keeps spare skates here, along with enough other hockey stuff to outfit half the team, and I drop onto the bench before reaching beneath it.
My hand closes around a pair.
Fuck.
I’m actually doing this.
I haven’t worn them in years.
My fingers move quickly over the laces, pulling each one tight before moving onto the next, but the familiar motion does nothing for the unease beginning to knot in my stomach.
I sit there staring down at the skates, but they aren’t the problem.
They’re fine.
I push up from the bench, my fingers curling around the top of the boards, the ice stretching out in front of me, my pulse thudding against my throat.
I used to hate this part.
Marcus never did. He’d step onto the ice and go, even when we were kids. Dad barely had to teach him anything before it started looking natural, while I spent every session concentrating on where my feet were supposed to go, how far to bend my knees, where to put my weight.
Until it was easier to stop trying.
“You can skate, right?”
Theo’s voice pulls me back to the other side of the boards, where he’s waiting with his forearms resting across the top and his eyes fixed on me.
I nod.
“Technically.”
My fingers ease slightly around the barrier while I look at him.
“Right.” Theo pushes away from the boards, rolling his shoulders. “Then hop over.”
He pats the top of the barrier.
I stare at the hand, then let my eyes travel several feet to the left where there’s a perfectly functional gate designed for this exact purpose.
Theo follows my attention and rolls his eyes. “I’m not wasting my time, Reid. Use your damn legs.”
“I don’t think—”
His hands slide beneath my arms.
“Theo, what the fuck are you—”
The floor drops away.
My stomach lurches as he lifts me clean over the barrier, and my hands grab at his shoulders on instinct, fingers digging into solid muscle while he swings me onto the other side.
I barely have time to register the humiliation of being hauled over the boards before my blades hit the ice and shoot in opposite directions.
My stomach drops, arms jerking out, searching for anything to stop the sudden slide beneath my feet, but Theo’s already there, one arm locking around my waist and hauling me firmly against him.
My fingers dig into his shoulder and hold on while his arm stays firm around my waist, keeping me upright until my skates finally stop trying to tear me in half.
For a moment, all I can hear is my own breathing.
I force my attention down to my feet. One blade straight. Then the other. Knees bent slightly, weight centred between them instead of fighting against the ice.
The panic starts to loosen.
I’m fine.
Except I’m still holding onto Theo.
My fingers are curled into his shoulder, his arm is still wrapped around my waist, and at some point in the scramble he pulled me close enough that there’s barely any space left between us.
I lift my head, his face right there.
Close enough that the green of his eyes breaks apart into colours I’ve never noticed before, flecks of gold cutting through the darker green beneath the harsh rink lights.
My eyes flick between his, Theo’s brow lifting.
“Thought you said you could skate?”
I clear my throat, loosening my grip on his shoulder, heat creeping beneath my collar when I realise quite how hard I’ve been holding onto him.
“It’s been a while.”
Theo’s hand stays against my waist even after I let go, his grip easing until his palm is simply resting there, keeping me steady while I concentrate on getting my feet back where they’re supposed to be.
I know how to do this. My body just needs to remember.
His thumb shifts against my side, barely more than a small sweep against my t-shirt, but whatever comes after knees bent disappears somewhere beneath the pressing awareness of his palm still resting against my waist.
I stare harder at the ice.
Weight centred.
That was it.