20. Ethan
Ethan
Natalie's legs tighten around my waist as I thrust into her, her nails carving lines down my back. The headboard knocks against the wall with each stroke, and she matches my rhythm, her hips rising to meet mine.
We've been at this for almost an hour. Building each other up, pulling back, and then starting again. Her skin glistens in the low light, and her breath comes in ragged gasps that sound like music.
I slow down, burying myself deep and holding there. She whimpers and squirms beneath me, trying to create friction.
“Ethan, please.”
I pull back and drive forward again, harder this time. Her mouth falls open, and her eyes squeeze shut. I do it again and again. Her walls start to flutter, and her thighs shake against my hips.
“I'm close,” she cries.
She shatters with a cry that makes me feel like the most powerful man alive. I come edge seconds later, my release pulsing through me as I bury myself deep inside her.
“Ethan?” Natalie says a few minutes later.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
My heart stumbles over itself. We've been dancing around this for weeks, saying things like ‘I'm falling for you’ and ‘you mean so much to me’. But neither of us has said the actual words until now.
I tilt her chin up so I can look into her eyes. “I love you too.”
A beautiful smile comes over her face. She kisses me, then settles back against my chest with a contented sigh.
“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” she asks.
Tomorrow is my first time back on the ice. The thought sends a jolt of anxiety through me that I try to hide.
“Fine.”
“Liar.” She props herself up on her elbow. “Talk to me.”
“I have a few insecurities.” I take a deep breath. Voicing my anxieties out with Natalie is easy, but it also makes me vulnerable as fuck. “What if I can't do it?”
“You can.”
“What if I get out there and my knee gives out? What if my body doesn't remember how to skate?” The fears I've been pushing down for months come spilling out. “What if everything I've worked for means nothing and I'm done?”
“Then we deal with it.” Her voice is calm. “But that's not going to happen.”
“You can't know that.”
She puts her hand on my chest, right over my heart. “I've worked with you for months. Your body is ready, Ethan. Your knee is strong. The only thing that can hold you back is fear.”
“Fear is a pretty big thing.”
“It is. But you're bigger.” She kisses my jaw. “Tomorrow, you're going to step onto that ice and remember who you are. And I'm going to be right there, cheering you on.”
I pull her closer and hold her tight. I don't know what I did to deserve this woman, but I'm never letting her go.
The arena is empty when I arrive at six in the morning.
Coach Reeves is waiting for me at the entrance to the ice. He trained me when I first joined the Renegades, and he's the only person I trust with this moment.
“Ward.” He nods in greeting. “Ready to get back out there?”
“As ready as I'll ever be.”
Natalie appears at my side, dressed in her Renegades polo and holding a clipboard. She's here in her professional capacity, ready to assess my movement and flag any concerns.
“You've got this,” she says quietly.
I sit on the bench and lace up my skates for the first time in five months. The familiar motions calm my nerves. Pull the tongue forward. Thread the laces through the eyelets. Tie them tight, but not too tight.
I've done this a thousand times. My hands know what to do even when my brain is screaming with doubt.
Coach Reeves opens the gate to the ice and stands aside. “Take your time. There is no pressure. Just get a feel for it.”
I stand on shaky legs and approach the entrance. The ice stretches out before me, waiting. I've spent my entire life on surfaces like this. It should feel like home.
Instead, it feels like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff.
My first stride is tentative. I push off with my good leg and glide forward, my bad knee taking the weight for just a moment before I shift again. The sensation is strange and familiar at the same time, like hearing a song I haven't listened to in years.
The second stride is easier and the third even more so.
By the time I reach center ice, something clicks into place. My body remembers the balance, the rhythm, and the way my edges bite into the surface and propel me forward.
It's not perfect, and my knee aches with the effort, but I'm skating. I'm actually skating.
I pick up speed, testing my limits. A crossover to the left. A crossover to the right. My knee protests, but holds. I push harder, circling the rink with increasing confidence.
Then I try to stop.
My edge catches wrong, and my knee buckles. I go down hard, sliding across the ice on my hip until I slam into the boards.
“Ethan.” Natalie's voice echoes across the empty arena.
I lie there for a moment, staring up at the rafters. My knee throbs, my hip aches, and my pride is definitely bruised. But when I take inventory of my body, nothing is seriously damaged.
Coach Reeves skates over and offers me a hand. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I let him pull me up. “Just rusty.”
“You pushed too hard, too fast. That's normal.” He pats my shoulder. “Try again. Slower this time.”
I glance toward the boards where Natalie is standing. Her face is pale, but I grin at her. Then I try again.
This time I'm more careful. I focus on form over speed and on control over power. The stops come easier when I don't rush them. The turns smooth out as my body remembers the mechanics.
For the next hour, I do simple drills at first, then more complex patterns. Coach Reeves calls out instructions, and I follow them, pushing myself just hard enough to improve without risking injury.
By the time we finish, I'm drenched in sweat, and my knee is screaming for rest. But I'm also smiling so hard my face hurts.
“Good work today,” Coach Reeves says, clapping me on the back. “You've got a long way to go, but the foundation is solid. We'll do this again Thursday.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
I skate toward the bench where Natalie is waiting. She's beaming at me, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“You did it,” she says.
“I did it.”
I want to grab her and kiss her and spin her around, but we're at the facility, and anyone could walk in. Instead, I settle for squeezing her hand.
“I’ll see you later.” I need to shower and change, and Natalie has to go back to work.
“See you later,” she says. “I’m so proud of you.”
I head to the locker room, still riding the high of the morning. I did it. After months of pain, doubt, and fear, I got back on the ice, and my body didn't betray me. There's still a long road ahead, but I'm going to make it.
The shower is quick, and I throw on jeans and a t-shirt, not bothering to dry my hair properly. I want to head to Theo’s and drag him out for breakfast. I need someone to celebrate with, and Natalie won’t be free until the evening.
I grab my bag and head for the parking garage. I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Theo, telling him about my morning and to get ready for me to pick him up.
The morning sun is bright as I push through the exit doors and head toward the outdoor lot. My legs are tired, but my spirit is soaring.
I pull out my phone as I walk, already composing the text to my parents.
Then I look up and stop.
Natalie is standing near a black Mercedes I don't recognize. She's not alone. A man is with her, and they’re deep in conversation, their body language tense. Natalie's arms are crossed over her chest, and she's shaking her head at something he's saying.
I stay in the shadows, not wanting to interrupt. My body is tense as I try to figure out who this could be.
Then the man grabs her arm.
I take a step forward, ready to intervene, but Natalie pulls away sharply. She says something, and the man holds up his hands in surrender. More words are exchanged. Natalie's posture shifts from defensive as she says something to him.
Then she walks around to the passenger side of the Mercedes and gets in.
The car pulls out of the parking space and drives away, taking Natalie with it.
I stand there, trying to make sense of what I just saw. That must have been Brody, but why is he in New York? And why did she get into the car with him willingly?
Yeah, they were clearly arguing, but she still got in the car. I pull out my phone and call her.
She answers on the third ring. “Hey, how are you feeling? That was amazing this morning.” Her voice is bright and cheerful, completely normal, like nothing is wrong.
“I’m feeling good. Where are you?” I ask.
“I just left the arena. Avery needed me for something, so I'm heading to meet her. Girl stuff.” A light laugh. “I'll see you tonight, okay? We can celebrate properly.”
She's lying.
I just saw her get into a car with some man, and she's telling me she left with Avery. She's lying to my face without hesitation.
“Yeah,” I say. “Tonight. Sure.”
“Are you okay? You sound off.”
“I'm fine. Just tired from the skate.”
“Get some rest. You earned it. I love you.”
The words that meant everything last night now feel like broken glass in my chest.
“Yeah, me too.”
I lean against my car and try to breathe through the pain spreading through my body.
The one person I never even dreamed would lie to me just did. She looked me in the eye this morning and told me she loved me, and then she drove away with another man and lied about it.
I don't know what hurts worse. The betrayal itself or the fact that she didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth. I would have understood if she'd said her ex showed up and she needed to deal with him. I would have offered to come with her, to stand beside her, to make sure she was safe.
Was I a fool to believe her when she said Brody was ancient history? She was engaged to this man, and she planned to spend her life with him. That kind of love doesn't just disappear, no matter how badly someone hurts you. What if she still has feelings for him?
The thoughts spiral through my head, each one darker than the last.
Brody is from her world. Charlotte society, old money, and the right family name. Her mother adores him. Her friends probably adored him, too. He fits into her life in ways I never could.
I'm a hockey player from Eau Claire, Wisconsin. My father is in a wheelchair, and I send money home every month to keep my family afloat. I don't belong at charity galas or country club brunches. I don't know how to make small talk with surgeons and socialites.
No wonder her mother keeps pushing her back toward Brody. He makes sense. I don't.
This is exactly why I don't let people in. I spent years building walls around myself, keeping everyone at arm's length where they couldn't hurt me. Then Natalie came along with her sunshine smile and her stubborn optimism, and I let her slip past every defense I had.
And now I'm paying for it.
Pain spreads through my chest. But even as the hurt consumes me, a small voice in the back of my head whispers that I could be wrong. There could be an explanation I'm not seeing. Natalie isn't cruel, and she isn't a liar. At least, I didn't think she was.
Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions. Maybe the situation isn't what it looked like.
But she lied. That part isn't speculation. That part is fact.