Chapter 16 Collin
COLLIN
Idrop onto the bench after another grueling practice, wincing as I roll my shoulder.
Hitting the boards on game day never left me this sore, but then again, hockey doesn’t have lifts like this.
The maintenance guy is already dimming half the arena lights, and tinny Christmas music drifts from the lobby where the rental counter is closing up.
My muscles protest as I shift, reminding me of that particularly brutal triple twist attempt that had us both sprawled on the ice an hour ago.
“Boys are such babies,” Iris teases, but there’s a hint of concern in her voice as her eyes catch mine.
“I didn’t kick you that hard.” She’s pulling her jacket off as she says it, and I catch myself watching how the purple fabric of her top makes her eyes look brighter than usual.
There’s a flush high on her cheeks from the countless drills we ran, a few freckles visible now that her makeup’s worn off.
“I beg to differ.” I start unlacing my skates, grimacing at the way the laces have gone stiff with ice.
“Pretty sure your toe pick left a permanent dent in my collarbone. You totally went rogue mid-rotation.” Her eyebrows practically shoot up into her hairline and I bite hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
I know I’m poking the bear, but she’s been off all night.
I’ll do anything at this point to get a real reaction out of her.
That distant look in her eyes has been driving me crazy for hours.
“I went rogue? You practically launched me into the rafters.” She settles on the bench, close enough that her knee brushes against mine. Her lips twitch with suppressed laughter. “I’m supposed to look graceful, not terrified.”
“That’s an exaggeration.” It wasn’t. Almost two months of figure skating and I still feel like a bull in a China shop most days.
“I’d say I got you halfway to the rafters, max.
” She rolls her eyes, but there’s a ghost of a smile as she cleans her skates, wiping the ice from the blades before attaching the light blue guards.
The maintenance guy dims another set of lights, leaving our section illuminated.
Most of the other skaters cleared out ages ago, coaches included.
This extra practice session was Iris’s idea trying to squeeze in more ice time before the holiday break.
Now that we’re done, though, that restless energy that made her so alive on the ice has evaporated.
She’s quiet as she tends to her skates, her movements mechanical, like her mind is somewhere else entirely.
A string of Christmas lights someone hung along the boards flickers to life, casting soft colors across the ice.
The rink looks different like this. Peaceful with the way the lights reflect off the surface.
My mom’s voice echoes in my head from our call this morning.
She’d gone on again about holiday plans, pointedly asking if any of my teammates needed a place to go, Iris included.
Mom’s always had a sixth sense about these things.
Not to mention the woman is nosy as all hell.
“So,” I venture, trying to sound casual, “what’s on deck for the holidays? Big plans?” Her hands are still in her lap, fingers absently tracing the edge of her blade guard. The silence stretches a beat too long.
“Oh, you know... just me, my couch, and a box of Christmas cookies. Trying not to think too hard about the fact that I’ll be alone this year.
” Something in her voice makes me sit up straighter.
The way she said ‘alone’ like she’s trying too hard to make it sound casual.
Like she’s been practicing how to say it.
She’s still not looking up, curly tendrils of hair falling forward to hide her eyes.
“Hang on, you’re spending Christmas alone? Iris, you can’t spend Christmas alone, that’s depressing.”
“Well, Jamie’s with his dad this year and I don’t know.
..” She shoves her skates into her bag and busies herself with pulling on her boots, zipping one after the other.
“My sister won’t be coming home either and the spotlight will be entirely on me.
” She shakes her head, and I catch a glimpse of something raw in her expression before she looks away.
“I can’t spend another holiday listening to my mother criticize me for my divorce and my father passively humming his approval while he carves the turkey.
Max has always been my buffer, she’s two years younger but she’s so much better at handling our parents.
She makes these events bearable, you know?
” She shrugs, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“Being alone is the best option.” I watch her carefully as she picks at her nails, knowing it’s another excuse to keep her hands busy.
In the dim light, the green of her eyes looks darker, sadder.
She reaches for her scarf, and I catch her wrist.
“What if there’s a better option?” She stills under my touch, finally meeting my eyes.
“Like what?” I let go of her wrist and take a breath, already hearing my mother’s delighted voice in my head.
The words are right there, but suddenly my throat feels tight.
I hadn’t planned this, hadn’t let myself think too far ahead.
Now that the moment’s here, the possibility that she might say no makes my stomach twist.
“Come home with me.”
“What?” Her hands freeze, tangled in the tri-colored yarn.
“Come home with me.” It comes out softer the second time, but more certain, as I watch her process what I’m saying. Because yeah, I don’t want her to be alone at Christmas, but more than that, I want her there. With me.
“You can’t be serious. Collin, I can’t just invade your Christmas with your family.”
“Sure you can, Mom loves strays.” I wink, watching some of the tension ease from her shoulders as she fights back a smile. “I’ll pay for the ticket.” I already know Mom will have the guest room ready before I even call her. She’s been not-so-subtly hinting about meeting Iris for weeks now.
“I can’t ask you to do that, really—”
“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” I pull out my phone, already pulling up flights.
“And I’m booking.” My name echoes in a shriek through the arena as she launches into a stream of “please donts” and “really it’s fines,” each protest making my grin wider.
The sound bounces off the empty bleachers, and I catch the maintenance guy trying not to laugh as he works.
She makes a grab for my phone, jumping up and down, reaching for it.
I hold it easily out of reach, trying not to notice how close she is now, how my pulse kicks up, how she smells like vanilla and cold air.
A strand of hair brushes my arm as she reaches up, and I notice absently that it’s as soft as it looks.
“It’s adorable you think you can stop this from happening. ”
I pat her head, earning an indignant sound that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.
The last of the arena lights casts a halo around her hair as she drops back onto the bench, trying to look annoyed but not quite managing it.
And maybe I’m pushing my luck here, but watching the smile she’s trying to hide—the real one, not the polished one she uses for the cameras—makes it worth it.
For the first time all night, that spark is back in her eyes, and I feel like I can breathe again.