Chapter 26 Janie #2
And then, like magic, the rink bursts to life.
Strings of holiday lights flicker on around me, and I turn in a slow circle, taking it all in.
The entire rink is lined with glowing Christmas trees, their lights reflecting off the ice in a kaleidoscope of colors.
Even with his teammates’ help, it must have taken him hours to set this up.
And then, the music starts—and it sounds suspiciously like my infamous Christmas playlist, the one I made him suffer through on the way to Santaville. Mariah Carey croons through the speakers like this is a holiday movie, right before I spot Rourke skating toward me.
He’s swapped his jacket for a Crushers sweatshirt and—I can’t believe it—is that a Santa hat? Despite his issues with the man in the red suit, he somehow makes the hat look adorable.
“Rourke,” I gasp. “You did this…for me?”
He slows beside me. “You’ve been trying to get me to like Christmas by showing me the best parts.” He rubs his neck, looking away. “I figured I should do the same. This is me, trying to make hockey feel a little more like home for you.”
Something blooms in my chest. He decorated an entire hockey rink in lights so I would feel more comfortable here.
I reach up and straighten his hat. “I never thought I’d see you in a Santa hat…by choice.”
“Trust me, this is a deeply humbling chapter of my life.” Then his smile turns soft. “To quote a famous movie…I’m just a boy. Standing in front of a girl. Asking her to love hockey.”
I press my lips together, trying to stop from laughing, even though I could kiss him right now. “So what does this private lesson involve?”
“Well,” he says, skating a lazy circle around me, “we’ll see if you’ve improved at all since your last lesson.”
Under the Christmas lights, he looks completely in his element. Confident, graceful, and breathtaking.
“You saw me last time. I couldn’t even let go of the wall.”
“But this is lesson two, and you should be better.” He stops only inches away from me now.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, but it immediately falls again. Somewhere between the kissing session at Marco’s and here, my ponytail started coming loose.
“Here,” he says, reaching up to pull the scrunchie from my hair. “Let me fix this for you.”
My hair tumbles down around my shoulders, and for a moment he goes completely still, his eyes darkening as he takes me in. Then he gathers my hair, his fingers brushing the nape of my neck as he smooths it down around my shoulders.
“Better?” he asks, and I nod. “I’ll keep this safe for you,” he says, sliding my scrunchie onto his wrist.
He holds his hands out to me, and I realize this isn’t just about skating anymore. I accept his help and glide forward without falling.
A smile pulls at his mouth. “See? You’ve improved since last time. You’re going to be playing hockey before you know it.”
“Playing hockey? Let’s not get carried away.” I attempt to speed up and he easily matches my speed.
“Save the fancy moves for when you can actually stop, Bennett.”
“I can stop,” I argue, pulling away to prove it. “I just choose not to most of the time.”
He lifts a brow. “Okay, then show me.”
I skate forward with a confidence that quickly crumbles while mentally calculating which would hurt less—falling or crashing.
He catches up to me before my body collides with the wall, wrapping me into his chest while taking the brunt of the hit against the boards.
“That was stopping?” he asks, grinning down at me. His arms are still wrapped around my waist, and I can feel the solid line of muscle under his sweatshirt.
“Well, sort of?” I say with a breathless laugh. “I have a very special technique.”
“Special, huh?” He laughs. “We do have a name for that in hockey. Body checking.”
My mouth drops. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
He brushes his finger across my nose. “Don’t look so offended, Bennett. I never said I didn’t like it.”
My heart stutters, and I look away, trying to steady my pulse. “Okay, back to actual hockey. When do we get to use the equipment?”
“You think you can handle a stick while on skates?” he asks with an amused glint in his eyes.
“Probably not,” I admit. “You know, I’m perfectly happy to admire the light display.”
“That’s why I did it,” he says, studying me. “I figured if you hated the hockey lesson, at least the lights would make tonight worth it.”
“I don’t dislike hockey anymore,” I say quietly. “Just like you don’t really hate Christmas, right?”
The moment I say it, something shifts in his face. The playfulness fades, and he looks down at the pattern the lights make on the ice. “Yeah, well…Christmas and I have a complicated history.”
“Because of your father?”
He nods once. “On Christmas morning, I never knew which version of my dad I’d get. The one trying to pretend things were fine or the one passed out before noon.”
His mouth twists at the memory as he leans against the wall, letting go of me. “The worst part was that I kept hoping. Every year, I thought maybe this time would be different. Maybe this Christmas would be happier.” He shakes his head. “It took me way too long to stop hoping.”
I reach for his hand, lacing our fingers together. It’s a small act, one I know can’t erase the pain. Some scars are too big to heal, even with time.
“It’s why I don’t do Christmas,” he admits, studying our joined hands. “Why I’ve spent my whole adult life avoiding anything that looks like commitment. I’m worried I’ll disappoint someone the way he did us.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “You’re not him,” I say, wishing he could see himself the way I do. “You’re nothing like him, Rourke.”
“I know, but you’ve heard the phrase like father, like son? How can I be sure I won’t turn out like him?” He bites his lip. “Do you think it’s a coincidence I’ve never had a serious relationship? That I’ve spent years avoiding commitment? I was protecting people from me.”
“Rourke.” I slide my palms to his shoulders.
“You're not protecting people from you. You’re punishing yourself for something you didn’t do.
” I search his face, needing him to hear this.
“I’ve seen who you really are—the way you showed up for me and Aria when you didn't have to. The way you held my daughter when she was sick, how you are with her when no one’s looking.
You’re not your father, Rourke. You never were. ”
He meets my eyes then, and there’s only gratitude in them, like he needed someone to see the light in him, the goodness underneath all that pain. “You make me want to believe that.”
“Then believe it,” I say with conviction. “Because I do.”
For a moment, we stand there in the glow of the lights, the arena quiet except for the soft music in the background.
“You know,” he says softly. “I’ve never told anyone about my dad. Not in that way.”
I tilt my head. “What made you tell me?”
His gaze searches mine. “Maybe it’s because you don’t judge me for it. I can hand you the ugly parts and you don’t run.” He drops his chin to his chest, before giving me a crooked smile. “Unless I already scared you off?”
I shake my head firmly. “You can’t scare me, Riley.”
“Good. Because you’re basically stuck with me until the pageant is over.”
“Only until the pageant?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Well, I might be convinced to stay a little longer,” he teases.
“At the very least until Christmas. I need someone to break my bad streak with the holidays.”
He studies me for a moment, like he’s not going to let me dodge with humor. “Bad streak? I thought there was just one.”
I exhale, looking down at the ice. “There were others before it. Warning signs I should’ve noticed.
Like the year we went to Nick’s holiday work party and he told me he didn’t feel attracted to me anymore.
” I grab the wall, leaning against it. “I thought if I just tried harder, worked out more…maybe I could fix whatever was wrong with me.”
Something twists inside me at the memory.
“Then there was the Christmas Eve he said he had to work late, when really he was with Lia.” I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the dull ache inside my chest. “I started to wonder if anything between us had ever been real. It only confirmed what I was starting to suspect—that I wasn’t really what he wanted.
That I was just…” I stare at the ice. “The woman he settled for.”
“Stop.”
When I look up, his eyes are blazing. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not okay.” He steps closer and frames my face with his palms. “Janie, when I saw you coming down those stairs tonight, I literally forgot how to breathe. You weren’t just beautiful—you were devastating.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to get emotional. “You don’t have to say that—”
“I’m not saying it to make you feel better. I’m saying it because it’s true.” His thumbs stroke my cheeks lightly. “Look at me.”
When I do, he’s watching me.
“You want to know what you do to me?” He takes one hand and places it flat against his chest, over his heart. “This is what happens every time you’re near me. Every time you smile, every time you laugh, every time you look at me.”
His heart thunders under my palm, but it’s his expression that shakes me to my core.
“Your ex was an idiot,” he says, unflinching.
“And if he couldn’t see what he had, that’s his loss.
Because, angel…” He shakes his head like this moment is breaking and healing him all at the same time.
“You see the man I could be, and you make me believe it too.” He tucks a wisp of hair over my ear.
“And I want to spend the rest of my life showing you what it feels like to be treasured.”
The rest of his life.
The words feel like an earthquake. No one has ever said anything like that to me. Not even Nick on our wedding day.
These tears that always seem to be hovering on the edge of my eyes are about to spill over.
I let out a half sob-laugh, unable to hold back the emotion that clogs my throat. “Rourke…”
He tips his forehead to mine, brushing away the tears with his thumb.
“Janie, this is all new for me, caring about someone this much. I want to try to be part of your life, yours and Aria’s.
Because I want all of you. The good. The hard.
Every single part of you.” He pauses, and in his expression is something so raw, so hopeful, it cracks something open inside my chest. “Which is why I need to tell you…”
“Don’t say it,” I murmur, putting a finger to his lips. “Not yet. Not until I’m ready to say it back.”
I know what he’s about to confess—those three little words I haven’t said to anyone since my ex.
Maybe I’ll always carry some scars. Maybe I’ll always hesitate before leaping. But if anyone could help me learn to trust again, to believe I’m whole and worthy of love, it’s him.
“Instead, show me,” I say quietly.
“Show you what?”
“What this could be.”
He presses his lips to mine, a promise in his kiss. “I will,” he murmurs. “For as long as you’ll let me.”