Chapter 8 Collin
COLLIN
The sound of blades cutting across ice fills the rink as I watch Iris attempt the entrance sequence for the fifth time.
Her brown curls have started escaping from her ponytail, a few strands clinging to her neck with sweat.
She’s offbeat again, her movements choppy and uncertain where they should flow.
My hands itch to reach for her, to steady her like I did last week at the ice cream shop when Jamie accidentally bumped into her leg.
After that shit with Owen in the parking lot I’d practically dragged Iris and Jamie to Sweet Scoops.
No way was I letting her spiral after that mess.
The guy is a total ass. That much was obvious.
“Stop, stop!” Diane calls from the boards, her blonde curls bouncing as she waves her arms. “Iris, honey, where are you today? This is supposed to be sultry, seductive! You’re moving like you’ve got rocks in your skates!
” Iris’s phone chimes again—the sixth time in the last hour—and I watch her face pinch as she glances at the screen before shoving it back in her jacket pocket.
The royal blue fabric crinkles with the force of the movement. She’s been doing that all night.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, rolling her shoulders back.
“Let’s go again.” Bobby Brown’s voice fills the rink as we reset our positions.
Last Saturday she’d laughed when Diane announced the song choice, “My Prerogative,” teasing me about playing up my bad boy reputation. Today, she can barely meet my eyes.
“Remember,” Diane calls out, “this is a conversation between lovers. The tango is all about the push and pull, the chase! Collin, you’re the pursuer.
Make us believe you want her!” I reach for Iris, my pulse picking up as my hand finds her waist. She startles at the contact, missing her first step, and I have to quickly adjust to keep us both upright.
Last week she hadn’t pulled away when our knees brushed in that tiny booth at Sweet Scoops, Jamie having claimed the other side all to himself.
Now every touch has her turning stiff beneath my hands.
“Hey,” I murmur as we glide across the ice, keeping my voice low enough that only she can hear.
“You’re somewhere else today. What’s going on?
” She shakes her head slightly, brows drawn together, her eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
A loose curl falls across her forehead, but she doesn’t bother brushing it away.
“Nothing. I’m fine.” I feel her phone buzz through her pocket, and the wince on her face is immediate.
“Iris—”
“Can we just skate?” she cuts me off, finally meeting my eyes.
There’s a rawness there that makes my chest tight.
I give a small nod, letting my hand settle more gently against her waist. I draw her into the next sequence, our blades carving parallel lines across the ice.
For a moment, muscle memory takes over. Her shoulders soften, her movements finding their natural flow.
We move in sync, her hand settling against my shoulder as we glide into a series of quick steps.
The music pulses through the rink as my hand slides down to the small of her back, guiding her through a tight spin that brings her face close to mine.
We break apart, then come together again, our edges matching as we curve across the ice in a deep outside edge.
One of her curls brushes my cheek, and for just a heartbeat, I catch a glimpse of the Iris from last week.
The one who teased me over my ice cream flavor and borrowed my jacket because the ice cream shop’s heater was broken.
“Better!” Diane cups her hands around her mouth, her voice warm with approval.
“Now for the lift. Iris, you need to trust him. Let go!” But as I move to lift her, I can feel it in every line of her body—she’s not here, she’s not ready, she’s not okay.
I abort the move at the last second, drawing her into a simple spin instead.
Her relief is palpable. “Okay, take five!” Diane calls out, probably seeing what I’m seeing.
“Iris, honey, come here a minute.” As Iris skates toward the boards, her phone chimes yet again.
This time, I catch the brief flash of Owen’s name on the screen before she hurriedly silences it.
My jaw clenches involuntarily. Man, I don’t like that guy.
I take a few lazy strokes around the ice, staying within earshot as Diane leans in close to her.
“Honey.” Her sugary voice carries just enough for me to catch it.
“Something’s not right today. What’s going on?
” I glance over to see Iris worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
She mumbles something I can’t quite hear, but Owen’s name slips through clear enough.
Her hands come up to grip the boards, knuckles white against the plastic.
“It’s nothing, it’s just...” She lets out a frustrated sigh that seems to deflate her whole body.
“He’s being...” She trails off with a sharp shake of her head.
Diane’s hand finds Iris’s shoulder, squeezing gently.
Even from here, I can see the concern written all over her face, fluorescent lights catching on her sparkly eyeshadow.
“Why don’t we call it a night, sweetie? The routine will still be here tomorrow.
” Instead of answering, Iris pushes off from the boards, taking long, determined strokes around the rink.
Jaw set, eyes fixed straight ahead. Same look she had last week before I managed to get her laughing over terrible ice cream puns.
She needs someone to pull her out of whatever dark corner Owen’s backed her into, even if she won’t admit it.
And hell, maybe I shouldn’t care this much, but watching her skate away, shoulders curved in like she’s trying to make herself smaller, it pisses me off.
She’s better than that. Screw it. If no one else is gonna be the one to make her smile today, it might as well be me.
Before I can think better of it, I’m after her, turning to skate backward so I can watch her face. A smirk tugs at my lips as I match her pace. Might as well see if I can irritate her into forgetting about him for five minutes.
“You know what your problem is?” I ask, matching her pace stride for stride. She arches an eyebrow, though her gaze remains fixed somewhere past my left shoulder.
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“You’re thinking too much.” I dodge smoothly as she makes a halfhearted swipe at my arm. “All that stuff in your head? You need to let it go. Just for a little while.”
“Oh, that’s your professional opinion, is it?” Her voice carries a hint of challenge beneath the weariness, and I latch onto it. It’s better than that hollow look she’s been wearing all night.
“Hey, I’m full of wisdom.” I tap my temple, pleased when her eyes lift from the ice to meet mine. Even in the harsh fluorescent light, they’re this impossible shade of green. “And I happen to know the perfect cure for overthinking.”
“Let me guess, you?” she says dryly. I wiggle my eyebrows, grinning.
“I was gonna say alcohol, but I like where your head’s at, Pretty Girl.
” A flush creeps across her cheeks, painting them a soft pink that has nothing to do with the cold.
She shakes her head, but I catch that ghost of a smile playing at her lips.
“One drink,” I say, holding up a finger as we glide past the penalty box.
My heart doing that weird stuttering thing again.
“Come out with me tonight.” When she hesitates, her blade catching slightly on the ice, I add, “I know Jamie’s with Owen this week, and it won’t be just us.
I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Scout’s honor.
” That gets me a snort, the sound echoing off the high ceiling.
“Were you ever even a Boy Scout?”
“No, but I can be very well-behaved when properly motivated.” I wink at her, trying to coax out even the smallest smile. “Come on, when’s the last time you just had fun?” She’s fighting it, but I can see the corner of her mouth twitching.
“I have fun.”
“Practice doesn’t count,” I tell her. “Neither does shooting me down. Which, by the way, is starting to wound my ego.”
“Your ego could use a few hits.” She grins, the sight of it tugs at something in my chest. Dangerous territory for a guy who’s supposed to be keeping things professional.
The smart play would be to back off, keep my distance, find the easy exit before things get complicated.
But watching her fight to hide whatever Owen's putting her through, seeing her try to make herself smaller.
.. I can't seem to find that exit. Don't even want to look for it.
“Now that’s just mean.” I press a hand to my chest in mock offense, reveling in the way her eyes crinkle at the corners.
“One drink. That’s all I’m asking.” She comes to a stop, and I press my blade into the ice to stop with her, holding my breath.
For a second I think she’s going to say no.
Going to retreat back behind those carefully built walls.
But then she lets out a small sigh that sounds almost like surrender.
“Fine. One drink.” The smile that breaks across my face is probably ridiculous, but I don’t care.
For the first time all day, the tension in her shoulders eases just a bit.
It’s not much, but it’s something. And something is better than watching her silently drown in whatever Owen’s putting her through.