CHAPTER 7 On Thin Ice
The private rink looked abandoned.
That should have been comforting.
Instead, it made the entire situation feel more suspicious.
I parked beside Mason’s SUV and stared through the windshield at the low concrete building surrounded by dark trees. The main entrance was lit by a single yellow lamp, and there were no other cars in the lot.
My phone buzzed.
**You planning to come inside eventually?**
I looked toward the doors.
A second message appeared.
**Or are you scared?**
I typed back immediately.
**Of skating? No. Of your ego? Constantly.**
The door opened.
Mason stepped outside.
Black hoodie.
Gray sweatpants.
Baseball cap backward.
No suit.
No hockey gear.
No cameras.
Just Mason.
And somehow that version of him was becoming my favorite.
He held up his phone.
“Very brave from inside a locked car.”
I got out.
“It was climate control.”
“You were hiding.”
“I was reconsidering my life choices.”
“You do that a lot around me.”
“For obvious reasons.”
He smiled.
Then his gaze moved over me.
I had worn leggings, a fitted sweater, and a winter coat.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is never nothing.”
“You look good.”
My pulse jumped.
“That was suspiciously normal.”
“I can insult you if it helps.”
“There he is.”
He held the door open.
I walked past him.
The rink was smaller than the professional arena.
Maybe two thousand seats.
Completely empty.
The ice glowed beneath bright overhead lights.
Our footsteps echoed through the building.
“How do you have access to this place?”
“Friend owns it.”
“That is an annoyingly wealthy sentence.”
“He runs youth hockey camps.”
“Less annoying.”
Mason led me toward the bench area.
Two pairs of skates were waiting.
I stared.
“You already knew my size?”
“You told the rental guy at the lodge.”
I frowned.
“When?”
“When you were complaining about your boots.”
“I did not tell a rental guy my shoe size.”
“You told the tow driver.”
I thought about it.
Damn.
“You remember everything.”
“Not everything.”
“Enough to be unsettling.”
He sat and began lacing his skates.
I picked up mine.
“I should warn you.”
Mason looked up.
“This sounds promising.”
“I can skate.”
His expression immediately became disappointed.
“What?”
“I thought tonight would be entertaining.”
“It still might.”
“How well can you skate?”
“I grew up with Noah.”
“That didn’t answer the question.”
“I can move forward.”
“Can you stop?”
“Yes.”
“Without hitting a wall?”
“Usually.”
He smiled.
“Excellent.”
I threw a glove at him.
He caught it.
Five minutes later, I stepped onto the ice.
And immediately remembered that technically knowing how to skate and actually skating were two very different things.
My legs wobbled.
Mason glided backward in front of me.
Effortless.
Of course.
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m happy.”
“You’re enjoying my suffering.”
“Also true.”
I pushed forward.
The blade caught.
I nearly fell.
Mason grabbed both my hands.
“Easy.”
His voice changed.
No teasing.
He skated backward slowly, pulling me with him.
“Bend your knees.”
“I know.”
“You’re standing like someone shoved a broomstick down your coat.”
“That is incredibly helpful.”
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You look terrified.”
“I’m not terrified.”
I slipped again.
Mason caught me around the waist.
We stopped.
My hands landed against his chest.
His arms stayed around me.
Everything changed.
Again.
It was ridiculous how quickly that happened.
One second we were joking.
The next, I could feel his breath against my forehead.
His hands at my waist.
The solid warmth of him beneath my palms.
Mason looked down.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Neither of us moved.
The rink was silent around us.
No crowd.
No music.
No brother.
No reporters.
Just blades resting against ice.
Mason’s thumb moved lightly against my side.
“You’re staring.”
I looked up.
“So are you.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I’m allowed.”
I smiled.
“According to who?”
“Me.”
“There’s the ego.”
His mouth curved.
I should step back.
I didn’t.
“Why did you bring me here?”
He looked toward the empty seats.
“Because nobody comes here this late.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I know.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“I wanted somewhere we didn’t have to look over our shoulders.”
The honesty took the humor out of me.
“No cameras?”
“None.”
“No teammates?”
“No.”
“No Noah?”
“Definitely no Noah.”
I smiled.
Then it faded.
“Is this what dating you would be like?”
Mason went still.
I had not meant to say dating.
Apparently my mouth had decided to become reckless.
“I mean…”
“I know what you meant.”
His hands remained on my waist.
I swallowed.
“So?”
He studied my face.
“I don’t know.”
“That sounds promising.”
“I’ve never done this.”
I blinked.
“Skated?”
He gave me a look.
“Relationship.”
That surprised me.
“Never?”
“No.”
“You’ve never had a girlfriend?”
“Not really.”
“What does not really mean?”
“It means there were women I saw more than once.”
“That is an incredibly Mason answer.”
He smiled.
“But nothing serious?”
“No.”
“Why?”
His expression became quieter.
“You know why.”
Lily.
Loss.
Temporary doesn’t hurt anyone.
I remembered.
“Do you still believe that?”
“What?”
“That temporary doesn’t hurt.”
Mason looked away.
“No.”
The answer was soft.
Something tightened in my chest.
“When did you change your mind?”
His gaze returned to me.
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
My heartbeat changed.
“That is unfair.”
“What?”
“You can’t look at me like that and expect me to keep thinking.”
“I like when you stop thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Usually.”
He leaned down.
I placed a hand against his chest.
“Wait.”
Mason stopped instantly.
No frustration.
No disappointment.
Just stillness.
“What?”
“This can’t only be kissing.”
His expression changed.
I hadn’t planned to say that either.
But once the words were out, I knew they were true.
“I don’t want to keep sneaking around for kisses and pretending everything else doesn’t exist.”
Mason’s jaw tightened.
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“Emma.”
“I’m serious.”
I stepped away carefully.
He let me go.
“I like you.”
Mason stared.
I hated how vulnerable that sentence felt.
“I like talking to you. I like being around you. Which is incredibly inconvenient.”
His mouth twitched.
“Glad we agree.”
“But there’s Noah. There’s Lily. There’s the media. There’s whatever this rivalry is.”
“Yes.”
“And you live in Portland.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve never had a relationship.”
“Also yes.”
I crossed my arms.
“So logically, this is terrible.”
“Very.”
“You’re agreeing again.”
“Because you’re right.”
“That does not help.”
Mason skated closer.
“But I like you too.”
My breath caught.
“More than I planned to.”
“That sounds romantic.”
“It’s horrifying.”
I laughed.
He smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“I don’t know how to do this perfectly.”
“I’m not asking for perfect.”
“Good, because that sounds exhausting.”
“I’m asking for honest.”
He nodded.
“I can do honest.”
“No disappearing.”
His face changed slightly.
That was intentional.
I knew it.
“Okay.”
“No deciding things for me.”
“Harder.”
“Mason.”
“Okay.”
“No lying because you think it protects me.”
He looked away.
“That one might require practice.”
“At least you’re honest about it.”
He smiled faintly.
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“If we’re making rules.”
I crossed my arms.
“Fine.”
“No running to Noah every time we argue.”
I frowned.
“I wouldn’t.”
“Good.”
“No pretending you don’t care when you do.”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
“That is unfairly specific.”
“You’re very good at pretending.”
“So are you.”
“Exactly.”
I nodded slowly.
“Fine.”
Mason stepped closer.
“And one more.”
“What?”
“If you want out, tell me.”
The seriousness in his voice made my chest tighten.
“Don’t disappear.”
I thought about his history.
His fear.
The things Noah said.
When Mason cares, he goes all in.
“Okay.”
His eyes held mine.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
Something shifted in his face.
Relief.
Small but real.
Then he smiled.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“You just agreed to date me.”
I stared.
“I absolutely did not.”
“You created relationship rules.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Feels official.”
“Mason.”
“Should I update Facebook?”
I shoved him.
Bad idea.
He barely moved.
I slid backward.
My feet crossed.
“Oh no.”
Mason reached for me.
Too late.
I fell.
Hard.
Straight onto my backside.
Silence.
Mason stared down at me.
I pointed.
“Do not laugh.”
His mouth tightened.
“Don’t.”
His shoulders started shaking.
“Mason.”
He lost it.
Actually laughed.
Bent over.
Hands on his knees.
I stared up at him from the ice.
“I hate you.”
He tried to speak.
Failed.
“You look very graceful.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“You fell in slow motion.”
“Help me up.”
He held out a hand.
I took it.
Then pulled.
Mason was not expecting that.
His skates shifted.
For one glorious second, the famous Mason Cole lost balance.
Then he fell beside me.
I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.
He stared at the ceiling.
“That was dirty.”
“I learned from hockey.”
“You’re evil.”
“Professional evil.”
Mason turned his head.
We were lying side by side on the ice.
Ridiculous.
Cold.
Laughing.
And suddenly I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this uncomplicatedly happy.
Mason looked at me.
His laughter faded.
Mine did too.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“No. Tell me.”
He stared upward.
“This is weird.”
“What is?”
“Being happy.”
The words broke something open.
I rolled onto my side.
“Mason.”
“I’m fine.”
“No hiding.”
He sighed.
“Already using the rules against me.”
“Yes.”
He turned toward me.
“When Lily died, I stopped letting myself enjoy things for a while.”
“How long?”
“Years.”
My chest tightened.
“Hockey?”
“Hockey wasn’t enjoyment.”
“What was it?”
“Work.”
“Punishment?”
He looked surprised.
“Maybe.”
I thought about the player everyone saw.
Aggressive.
Driven.
Obsessed.
Maybe hockey had become the place Mason could hurt without destroying himself.
“You love it now.”
“Sometimes.”
“What changed?”
He looked at me.
Again, that look.
“You are very dramatic.”
“Still true.”
I smiled.
He reached over and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek.
“Lately, things feel different.”
My breath caught.
I didn’t make a joke.
Neither did he.