Chapter 38
Gracie
My mouth falls open as Braxton flails, arms pinwheeling, and his expression a picture of pure panic.
His legs are sawing back and forward, the blades of his ice skates scraping against the ice.
He tilts forward at a precarious angle, his legs moving faster and faster to try to get him back upright, but he’s not going anywhere.
“I got it,” he grits out. “I’m good. I got it.”
Before I can argue that he does not look like he’s “got it,” a girl who looks about five passes by, staring at him with wide eyes. “Mom,” she turns to the woman at her side, “is he okay?” The question is a whisper, but it’s loud enough to have Braxton’s cheeks flushing.
“I’m sure he’s fine, kiddo. Everyone’s learning, even adults. Maybe his friend will get him a skate helper.” The mom locks eyes with me, her expression amused.
The girl nods. “That’s probably a good idea.” She looks back at Braxton just as he regains his balance, his arms spread wide and knees bent to stop from falling again. “I like the seal one,” she announces. “It’s cuter than the penguin.”
I open my mouth as they skate away, but Braxton cuts me off with a dark glower. “No, I do not want a helper.”
I mime zipping my lips, and he inhales deeply before attempting to move forward, just as if he were walking on the ground. He only gains an inch before his knee buckles, and he lunges for the side of the ice rink.
I skate closer, voice vibrating with humor as I ask, “Are you okay there?”
Braxton pins a baleful look on me, but he can’t hide the way his mouth twitches, his ears red under his knit cap. “I’m fine,” he says grimly. “There’s something wrong with my skates.”
“Oh, sure.” I bob my head. “A size too small, maybe? Laces too tight? Blades too sharp?”
His brow knits together as he thinks before he declares, “Yes.”
“Which one?”
Braxton’s smile widens before he can stop it. “All of them.”
I laugh, shaking my head, coming closer and stretching my hands out, wriggling my fingers. “Here, I’ll help you.”
He doesn’t look sure, his eyes flicking between me and the railing he’s clutching with a white-knuckled grip and my hands. “You’re small,” he says reasonably.
“And?”
Braxton heaves out a breath. “I’ll be fine on my own,” he says gruffly. “Look, I just need to—” He drags himself along the railing, one hand after the other, his legs shakier than a newborn lamb’s.
I follow at his side, stopping frequently so I don’t get too far ahead, amusement bubbling through my chest at every frustrated noise he makes when his feet slip out from under him.
“Why did you choose to go ice skating?” I ask after a couple of minutes. “If you don’t know how?”
Braxton kept me waiting another week after I told him to take me on the date, but I suppose that turnabout was fair play considering how long I made him wait for an answer.
I’m not sure what I was expecting when he knocked on my door this morning, two coffees from Frothy Cakes in his hands, but driving to the ice rink in Ashland wouldn’t have even made the top ten.
He doesn’t answer as we reach one of the gates leading out of the rink. Two teenage girls giggle to each other as they step out onto the ice, making it seem effortless as they smoothly glide away.
Braxton watches them go, his brow furrowed. “Seriously? They’re, like, ten. How do they know how to do this?”
I roll my lips inward at the petulant tone, not offering to help as he stretches out to grab the other side of the gap, pulling himself awkwardly across.
“I remembered something you said,” he says softly when he reaches the other side, and it takes me a second to realize he’s answering my question.
I frown. “About ice skating?”
Braxton doesn’t look at me, still dragging himself steadily along the edge of the rink.
“It was when we first started dating,” he says steadily.
“We didn’t know each other well, so we were swapping stories.
Memories.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye.
“You know, small snippets of our lives that tell us everything and nothing at once?”
“I guess.” A couple is standing in our path, clutching each other as they slowly shuffle forward. I go around them, turning around and gliding backward to face Braxton, finding him leveling a scowl on me.
“Show off.”
I lift my brows. “You gonna finish telling me why we’re here or not?” I demand playfully. “Because right now, you look like you’re being tortured.”
“It’s fine,” he insists. “I just need a little more time to get used to the skates.”
I roll my eyes. “Braxton,” I prompt impatiently.
“Okay, well, you told me about the first time you ever went ice skating,” he says, blowing out a heavy breath as he comes to a halt.
His face is shining with sweat, even though he’s been moving as slow as a molasses.
I shake my head as I close the distance between us, resting my hip against the railing.
“You mean when I went with Elyse and her family.”
“Yeah. You told me…” Braxton hesitates, looking unsure. “You said that day was the first time you realized what a real family looked like, and that going with them was the reason you love ice skating.”
My chest pinches tightly like my ribs are digging through muscle and flesh. It sounds like something I would say, even if it was a little more vulnerable than I would usually be with someone I didn’t know well.
“Her dad kept taking our hands,” I remember quietly. “He’d spin us around and around until we were shrieking with laughter, too dizzy to stand up straight. I’ve never fallen over as much as I did that day. I was covered in bruises for about a week after…” I sigh. “Never regretted it, though.”
Braxton nods, his green eyes solemn. “You wanted to keep ice skating, but your parents didn’t approve,” he remembers. “They wouldn’t buy you the skates or take you to the rink.”
I blink rapidly, my face feeling too hot. “I was lucky my school had a program that meant I could ice skate through winter.”
I glance around the rink, my eyes flitting from stranger to stranger before finding the little girl from earlier. She’s skating next to her mother, their gloved hands clasped together and bright grins carved across their faces.
Braxton’s freezing fingers touch my cheek, pressing my face back to his.
“I wanted to give you that feeling again,” he confesses.
“I know it wasn’t about ice skating, but I thought that we could make new memories.
Give you all the experiences you missed out on.
And not just us, but Mom, Dad, and Annie, too. ”
I suck in a shuddery breath, pushing closer until my body is pressed up against Braxton’s. He wobbles, eyes flaring, one hand clamping onto the railing and the other onto my arm. I let out a wet chuckle, reaching up to press my hands to his face.
“I’d like that,” I whisper.
His eyes bounce between mine, a tiny smile peeking out.
“I know we’re not on solid ground yet”—he rolls his eyes when I giggle at the word choice—“but you were right when you said we couldn’t keep holding onto the past. I can’t promise not to screw up again, Rumpel, but I’ll never hurt you like this again.
I’ll never turn to anyone else. You’re it for me. ”
I blink several times, trying to clear my vision. “I can promise that too,” I say hoarsely. “But right now, you need to let go of the railing.”
Panic flashes through his eyes as he looks at where he’s still gripping the side of the rink with a desperate hand. “I don’t think—”
I take his other hand in both of mine and skate backwards, tugging at him. “Come on, let’s skate.”
“Gracie…” Braxton trails off warningly, but he doesn’t try to pull away from me.
“You march into burning buildings,” I exclaim. “How hard can this be?”
His brows lower, shadowing his eyes. “Fire is a lot different from ice,” he mutters, but he slowly unclenches his hand, releasing the railing.
I grin as I pull him slowly away from the side, closer to the middle of the rink.
He lets me drag him along, not moving his feet at all, and his eyes never leaving my face.
“You’re so stiff,” I tell him as we come to a slow stop, his skates bumping against mine. “You need to loosen up.”
Braxton narrows his eyes. “Is that so it doesn’t hurt as much when I hit the ice?” he asks dryly. “Because I’m more worried about my dignity than anything else.”
I laugh. “And yet, you chose this as our first date venue,” I remind him. “You could have made memories somewhere else.”
Something serious crosses his expression. “I know,” he agrees. “But there was another thought process behind coming here.”
Curiosity beats at me. “Oh?”
Braxton wets his lips, looking nervous. “I was…One of the reasons I failed us so badly was because I was so sure I could handle everything that happened after Allison on my own.”
“Arrogant,” I mumble, but he ignores me.
Braxton’s next words come out so fast, they’re all jumbled together. “I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”
It takes a second for me to untangle his words. “And you thought it would be better if you hid it all from everyone?” I ask cautiously.
Braxton looks away, his shoulders tense. “I was terrified you would walk away, Gracie. I didn’t put enough trust in you or our relationship, and I took the easy way out.”
I understand more than he realizes, having spent my entire life hiding my own hurts from the world.
I thought that if my parents saw how unaffected I was by their treatment of me, they would be more likely to approve of me.
Instead, I live with the consequences of burying that all deep, while they live on the periphery of my life, unaware or uncaring—or both—of the damage they wrought on their child.
“It’s okay,” I say softly as Braxton looks at me again. “We’re not holding onto the past, and I’m not leaning into fear of the future, either.” I exhale heavily, my shoulders lowering. “You are going to learn how to ice skate, though.”