Chapter 21 - Mel
Chapter twenty-one
Mel
Walking into my department felt like stepping into a courtroom where I was both the surprise witness and the rumor exhibit, but no one had called my name yet.
The few people I passed greeted me the same way they did last week: How was the drive? Are you on call for rink logistics this week? My impending public humiliation must still be loading.
Sean’s ex had “moved up the ladder,” the article said.
Yes, she’d cheated on him—called it a fling, like that excused it—but I’d never thought ill of her beyond that.
Still, those people knew how to twist the knife, didn’t they?
Flash the CEO title, frame her as the winner, make Sean look like the small-time coach in comparison, and, by extension, make me look even smaller.
I took a slow, deep breath. If anyone had seen the headline, they were either pretending really well, or they truly didn’t care.
Still, my palms stayed clammy, and my chest tightened even more as I knocked on Maria’s office door.
“Come in,” she called.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Maria looked up from her screen, calm as usual, her expression impossible to read.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice as even as I could. “Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.” She gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Sit.”
I did, knees locked, spine straight.
“I wanted to come to you first, before you hear it from someone else, or worse, from your inbox.”
Her eyes narrowed with interest.
“There’s a headline making rounds,” I continued. “It’s sensationalized, but the part that matters is… Sean and I are seeing each other.” I took a quick breath. “I didn’t want it to blindside you.”
Maria leaned back in her chair. “Thanks for the heads up. As far as the team is concerned, there’s no policy against that unless it interferes with your work. And yours, if anything, is ahead of schedule.”
Some of the tension in my shoulders loosened.
“You’re assigned internally this week, right?”
“Yes. Someone’s out.”
She smiled. “Let the noise run its course. People get bored quickly.”
“Thanks,” I said, standing.
I left her office with a little more oxygen in my lungs.
The day didn’t let up. Between chasing rehab updates, inputting last week’s drill notes, and fielding way too many questions about Thursday’s postgame dinner, I was running on autopilot.
All while pretending my flinch reflex wasn’t overcaffeinated every time someone lingered two seconds too long in the hallway.
I was living a full split-screen life: top half, functional development assistant; bottom half, cautionary tale in a side-by-side breakup meme. Even if no one said a word about the article, those photos kept flashing in my mind, parading like entries in a public contest I never agreed to join.
For some reason, the image of Sean and his ex reminded me of a similar photo of me and Vince that still floated somewhere online.
It was taken the day of our engagement brunch—everyone was laughing and clinking mimosas, the patio strung with white lights and pink flowers.
Vince had pulled me in close for the shot, his arm firm around my waist. I’d crossed my ankles to show off the shoes, a gift from his mother.
That frozen moment had lived online ever since.
Would that be dragged into my present too?
By mid-afternoon, my shoulders ached from bracing for questions that never came. Each time a notification came through on my phone, my pulse jumped. Sean’s plan to see me tonight should’ve settled my nerves. Instead, it felt as if I was preparing for another conference room reveal.
Just days ago, I’d woken up next to him in a hotel suite, sleep-ruffled but warm and at peace. Not today. How many people would screenshot that headline? And the story behind it wanted to prove my mom right: Sean wasn’t “me.” Too old. Too public. Too complicated. Damn it.
Before I knew it, the office had emptied. I stayed at my desk to kill time until I heard from Sean. And because I’m nothing if not emotionally consistent, I opened a tab for job listings for women over sixty.
Mom wasn’t in a hurry to find work. She was stewing—bitter about the fallout from the investment she cosigned with Dad.
Starting a new job at sixty-one wasn’t anyone’s life plan, but she needed to start working again, rebuild their finances, and maybe then she’d finally stop trying to edit my life into the version she didn’t get to write for herself.
Sean’s text finally came through.
Sean: Hey, at the rink.
At the rink? Please don’t let this mean what I think it means.
Me: On my way.
I gathered my things slowly, nursing a dull ache in my temples from too much tension. Outside, the sun-streaked gold across the side of the building as I pulled into the arena lot. The light was gentle, like nature was determined to mellow this day for me.
Sean had said we’d stand together through that ridiculous headline, but the thought of our faces splashed across the jumbotron made my stomach flip.
I stopped at the rink entrance.
Sean stood at the edge, wearing full skates, a second pair resting beside him on the rubber mat.
“Is this your idea of public humiliation therapy?” I narrowed my eyes at the skates as if they were plotting my downfall—betrayal by footwear.
“Yes,” he said grinning. “But also, you owe me one clean lap without clinging to the boards like a life raft.”
I eyed the ice, skeptical. “One day. Maybe.”
He chuckled.
“And that wasn’t clinging. It was strategic survival from a very slippery situation,” I added.
He glided in a smooth arc and leaned casually on the boards, charm turned all the way up. “Consider this your redemption arc.” He stuck his hand out. “C’mon.”
He stared at me with the same steadiness he’d had in that hotel suite—I could unravel, and he’d still hold the ground beneath me. That look made me feel anchored, even in the middle of this emotional minefield. And I realized how much I wanted to feel that way.
Minutes later, I was lacing up a pair of borrowed skates under the watchful eyes of a man who could trip my heart faster than my feet ever could.
It was déjà vu from two weeks ago. Sean easing me toward center ice, then trying to let go of my hand.
I tightened my grip on his fingers and shot him a look. “Another one of your sneaky, coachy spins.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “If ‘coachy’ wasn’t a thing, it is now per Mel Boyd.” He bent and whispered in my ear, “I got you, always.”
His breath tickled my skin, and a warm shiver ran down my back.
I let go of his hand.
He slid behind me, placing both hands on my hips. “Same drill as last time. You’ll feel more stable for the gentle side-to-side shift. Try using your arms for balance instead of hanging on to my hand. I’ve got you.”
His voice was low and steady against the back of my neck, his hands warmer than any coach’s had a right to be—firm, guiding, his closeness radiating heat into my back. He wasn’t just teaching me balance on the ice, he was showing me how it felt to lean on someone without falling.
Still shaky, but less than before, I followed his rhythm. I could picture the subtle pull of his muscles as he swayed me left and right, the tattoo on his upper arm shifting with each controlled motion.
What did the tattoo mean? I’d only glimpsed it in the hotel room, too busy fending him off with a hair dryer to look closely. And I wasn’t about to start discussing his biceps now, even though they were definitely discussable.
With every glide, I felt less fear, less second-guessing, more trust in the ice beneath me, and in him.
He punctuated our slow laps with soft, grounding cues.
“Relax… breathe.”
“Let your body lead.”
“You’re moving with more ease now.”
“Good… let’s keep that flow going.”
His voice wrapped around me, his hands steady and strong on my hips, and everything else fell away.
The headlines, the whispers, the pressure.
It was just me and him, my body moving through space, his voice anchoring me.
The only real headline that mattered was that I felt safe with him, even on ice. Especially on ice.
After a few more slow laps, Sean guided us back to the edge of the rink. I gripped the boards to steady myself while he stepped off and reached back for me.
“You did good, for a Bathroom Girl,” he teased.
I huffed a laugh, the first real one all day. My legs were shaky as I stepped off the ice, but the knot in my chest had loosened, and the headache was gone.
We unlaced our skates and left the arena.
The sun had sunk lower than before, and for the first time all day, I truly noticed how beautiful this golden hour was. The warmth of our quiet moment on the ice lingered between us as we stopped beside my car.
I turned to Sean as he tugged on his team’s cap. “Gliding out there, away from everyone’s opinions… it’s like breathing fresh air.”
“You needed it. A little space from reality with someone in your corner.” He stepped closer, fingers brushing mine. “I meant what I said: We’re in this together.”
My heart leapt into my throat, just like it always did when he got this close.
But that promise he repeated fanned the spark higher.
He held my gaze, and the fading sunlight caught in his eyes, turning them warm and rich like dark amber.
The faint scent of the rink clung to him, clean and sharp, and I wondered if he knew how easy it was to feel steady with him.
It was almost absurd how much I wanted to lean in, to steal the moment before it slipped away.
“I know you like to stay in the background.”
I gave him a sheepish look. My secret life as an undercover wallflower was officially exposed.
“You used to be more active on social media in college. I did some research today,” he continued.
My brows lifted, the corner of my mouth curled. “You stalked me?”