Chapter 12
I’m skating around the rink casually, letting my thoughts drift as the cool air brushes past my cheeks and the soft scrape of my blades hum beneath me. There’s something comforting about the glide, like muscle memory tied to an old version of myself that only comes out on the ice.
Someone taps my shoulder.
I glance over and spot Morella keeping pace with me, a crooked grin on her face. I tug one ear of my headphones down and return the smile.
“Hey! I wasn’t sure if you got my text,” I say.
“Yeah, I saw it but got distracted almost immediately,” she admits with a small shrug. “I was gonna text you, but then I saw you were already here.”
“What made you decide to skate?” I ask, though I have a pretty good guess.
“Oh, Rafe has practice. He mentioned it on his way out, and I said I’d tag along.” She nods toward the other rink.
I follow her gaze. Through the plexiglass divider, I spot the hockey team gearing up, sticks tapping against the ice as they line up for drills. Archer stands out instantly. His helmet still off, a familiar scowl curling his lip.
“Archer looks rather chipper,” I mutter.
Morella snorts. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with him. He grabbed a full fist of candy from the front desk and just started sampling them like a little kid. I’ve never even seen him look at a sweet until recently. It was weird.”
She spins gracefully to skate backwards, effortless and confident.
I smile. She’s good. Rissa never skated, but she always cheered me on from the sidelines. Evan, though... Evan skates like he’s built for it. Fast, flashy, always showing off. He is the kind of skater you can’t ignore.
I smile wider, caught in the memory of them. My two best friends. Then my chest tightens, and the smile falters. I miss Rissa.
“You good?” Morella asks, spinning forward again, her brows creasing in concern.
“Yeah,” I lie, forcing the corners of my mouth back up. “Wanna show me your skills, Haverhill?”
Without waiting for a response, I push off hard, slicing past her with a burst of speed. I twist into a tight spin, blades carving a clean circle into the ice. My leg extends behind me as I come out of the turn, body low and fluid, every movement seamless.
Morella whistles. “Damn, okay!”
I pick up speed again, my body leaning into the rhythm I know so well. A quick jump, just high enough to impress but low enough to feel like second nature. I land clean, coasting backward for a few strokes before turning sharply into a tight spiral.
Behind me, voices murmur. At first, I ignore them, just Morella, probably. Then I catch the sound of blades hitting the boards harder than before. A few heads have turned. I can feel it.
The hockey team has noticed.
I glance toward the other rink. Archer’s got his helmet in one hand, squinting through the glass like he’s not sure what he’s seeing.
Silas stands still, stick resting against his shoulder, watching me with a look that’s less smirk and more.
.. something else. Even Rafe is looking.
Arms crossed, reserved expression. I fight the urge to flinch. Instead, I let myself breathe.
I don’t think. I just move. Spins, turns, footwork; years of practice and instinct take over. I cut across the rink, each stroke long and clean, my body weight shifting perfectly with each transition. I dance along the ice like it’s mine and mine alone.
The sound of the boys practicing fades behind me. Right now, I don’t care what they think.
Morella laughs and skates a wide circle around me, her confidence shining as she picks up speed skating backwards—her favorite way to move.
I reach out my hands to her and she takes them without hesitation.
Together, we start to spin, blades carving tight arcs into the ice, the sound sharp and satisfying beneath us.
I grin at her, and she mirrors it perfectly.
We pull on each other’s hands, my left arm over her chest, her right over mine, as we spin tighter, faster. For a few perfect heartbeats, we’re caught in the rhythm of it, two parts of the same motion, balanced and whole.
Then we push apart, fingertips brushing in a soft drag of goodbye.
Morella flows effortlessly into her signature backwards glide, graceful and quick.
I follow her lead, keeping close as we bob and weave past each other across the center of the rink, our blades nearly brushing.
We mirror each other's movements in perfect sync.
Quick pivots, short jumps, playful swerves.
When we reach the far end, I grab her hand again and she spins, transitioning smoothly from backward to forward. I do the same, falling into step beside her. Together, we dig the edges of our skates into the ice and turn hard, sending a spray of snow up against the rink wall with a satisfying hiss.
We grab onto the wall to steady ourselves, breathless and flushed. And then we burst out laughing.
“Well, that was great!” I say between deep breaths, cheeks flushed, lungs burning in the best way.
Morella’s grin matches mine. “You’re such a show-off. I love it!”
“Oh, and you’re not?” I shoot back, nudging her in the side with my elbow.
She jumps and squeals, which only makes me laugh harder. She retaliates immediately, poking me back, and soon we’re locked in a full-on poking war, clumsy and chaotic, trying not to topple over in our skates.
We’re laughing so hard we don’t even notice the sound at first. A sharp whistle slices through the rink. Both our heads snap toward the sound. Across the divider, the hockey coach is pacing in front of the team, voice raised, echoing off the walls.
“Yeah, guys. Two beautiful ladies over there are skating better than you are! Do I need to bring them over here to keep your damn heads in the game, or what? I’m pretty sure they’d skate circles around you air headed jocks!”
A couple of players chuckle. Most start moving again, pushing into drills with renewed focus. But three don’t move at all. Once the rest of the team clears from the coach’s line of sight, I see Rafe standing still at the back, scowling at me.
The joy drains from my chest so fast it feels like a plunge into cold water. My smile slips. My stomach tightens, sinking low, like I’ve done something wrong. I don’t look away. But I kind of want to.
“I think… I think I’m ready to go, M. How about you?” I tear my gaze away from Rafe and look at Morella.
She’s already nodding, slowly. “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.”
She pushes off the wall, and I follow her lead.
I glance once more toward the other rink.
Silas is still watching us, a smug grin plastered on his face.
Rafe has returned to practice, like nothing happened.
Archer’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze steady on me.
He doesn’t look smug. I drop my eyes to the ice and push toward the exit.
We make it to Morella’s car without incident. The silence between us is heavy. The kind of quiet that says we’re both thinking about the same thing and trying to figure out how to say it. A few moments pass and I decide to risk it.
“What do you think that was about?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper. The guys can’t hear us, not from here, but it still feels dangerous to say it out loud.
“I’m not completely sure,” Morella says, shaking her head. Her hands grip the steering wheel.
“I skate in there all the time, and I’ve never heard the coach yell at the guys for watching,” she continues. “I mean… At first, some of them would stare when I skated, but once practice started, they stayed focused.”
She stares out the windshield for a beat, then sighs and reaches down to start the car.
“Who cares,” she mutters, backing out of the space.
I nod and buckle my seatbelt. “You’re right. Who really cares.” But I do. I think.
We were showing off, sure but not for them. We were just having fun. Just being us.
“Do you mind if we stop by my house?” I ask, breaking the silence. “I need to grab some stuff.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
On the drive back to her place, a thought creeps in.
“Hey, are the guys gonna be at your house?” I ask, keeping my eyes on my phone to hide how much the question knots up my stomach.
“Honestly? I’m not sure. Sometimes they hang out after practice. Sometimes they go elsewhere.”
“Okay.” I nod.
“Is that a problem?” she asks, casting a quick look my way. Her voice softens. “I can tell Rafe not to bring them over if you want.”
I shake my head. “No, no. It’s fine.” I wave her off like it doesn’t matter, like my heart isn’t thudding behind my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
Back at her house, she shows me to one of the guest bathrooms so I can shower.