Chapter 7 #2
Brooks was accustomed to this sort of thing.
Which didn’t mean he liked it, but he’d learned over the years he had to control his reactions lest he end up in the media for simply being human.
For the most part, he’d learned to ignore it.
This was part of the price he paid for being a somewhat public figure.
But it was clear Aspen was uncomfortable.
The relaxed posture that had led to her thoroughly trouncing him in their friendly competition with bows had disappeared.
She shot one more glance over her shoulder at the group before refocusing on the target and drawing.
On an exhale, she released. The arrow whizzed through the air, hitting the outer ring of the target instead of near the center like all her previous efforts.
She made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat.
Brooks was sorry for his role in bringing her into the public eye. Not that he’d have traded a moment of their time together. But he could tell the additional attention was diminishing her enjoyment of the game. That would never do.
“Are you wedded to staying here at camp for the duration, or are you game for a bit of a field trip?”
Aspen turned her attention to him. “What kind of field trip?”
“A surprise.” He’d need to get back to camp proper, where there was a better signal, to call and see if it was actually a possibility.
“You’re full of those. But okay. I trust you.”
And wasn’t that a freaking miracle?
They turned their equipment into the attendant at the gear hut and made their way back toward the center of the resort. Just in case, he’d done a little recon on this for his own purposes before he’d come out here. But taking Aspen would be that much more fun.
As soon as he had a signal, he stopped. “Why don’t you head on back to the cabin? I’ll be right behind you.”
“I can’t hear your phone call?” Her voice was full of teasing instead of pique.
“As it would ruin the surprise, no, you can’t. Go on.” He nudged her up the trail.
Crossing her eyes, she stuck her tongue out at him. Damn, she was cute.
Brooks returned the gesture. “Be a good girl and go back to the cabin.”
Aspen heaved a put-upon sigh. “Fine. See you in a few.”
He waited only long enough to see her get out of earshot before he made the call and asked to speak to the manager. Once the guy came on the line, he explained what he wanted, asking whether it was possible. Assured that it absolutely was, Brooks promised they’d be there within the hour.
Back at the cabin, he found Aspen lounging on the bed, legs crossed. “Put on the warmest clothes you brought.”
She stared at him as if he were a lunatic. “You are aware it’s July, right? I didn’t pack warm clothes.”
“Do you have jeans?”
“Yeah.”
“Then put those on.”
Aspen continued to pepper him with questions all the way out to his G-Wagon.
Brooks firmly refused to say anything but, “You’ll see.”
When they pulled up in front of the long, windowless building a little over half an hour later, Aspen frowned. “Where are we?”
“Well, I’m going out on a limb here, but given that you didn’t have frozen lakes where you grew up, I’m banking that you probably didn’t have an opportunity to learn how to ice skate. So I thought I’d teach you.”
She blinked. “I say again… it’s July?”
Brooks grinned and gestured to the building. “This is an ice rink.”
“There are places you can ice skate in the summer?”
“Careful, Fairchild. Your Southern is showing. Yeah, rinks are a lot more common up north. You can go year round.”
“I guess it makes sense that you can’t just practice hockey when it’s cold outside.”
“True enough. We’ll have the place to ourselves today.” He didn’t add that he’d rented the whole facility for the rest of the day to make sure of it.
Sliding out of the SUV, he circled around to pop the back hatch. He rarely traveled without his gear, so he grabbed his bag and led Aspen inside.
The manager, a middle-aged white man with thinning brown hair and wiry build, was waiting in the entryway. “Mr. Hennessy, so nice to meet you. Miss, welcome to Dinsbrook Memorial Arena.”
Aspen was looking everywhere at once, arms wrapped around her middle against the chill. “Thank you.”
“She’s gonna need fitting in some skates. I brought my own.”
“Of course. What’s your shoe size?”
She told him, and he disappeared behind the counter to retrieve some skates.
Brooks set down his bag and pulled out one of his jerseys. “C’mere. This will help with the cold.”
He tugged the jersey over her head. It hung halfway to her knees, but it would do the trick to keep her warmer on the ice.
Aspen worked her arms through the sleeves and did a little spin. “How do I look?”
A possessive thrill shot through him, seeing her with his name on her back. “Would you think me entirely caveman if I said I really want to see you in this and only this later?”
Her eyes flashed with heat. “Maybe. But I find that works for me.”
“Good.”
“Here we go!” The manager offered up a pair of skates. “Rink access is just through there, and if you want any concessions, just let me know.”
Without taking his eyes off Aspen, Brooks thanked the guy and led her to a bench beside the ice.
The small rink was dimly lit but for the lights over the ice that made its surface gleam like a sheet of polished glass.
There was little he loved more than being the first blades on a new surface.
The tug he felt surprised him. And maybe relieved him a little, too.
He hadn’t been on the ice at all since that disastrous playoff game.
He’d thought maybe all of it had been tainted by his mother’s death.
At the reminder, grief socked him in the chest like a sucker punch. He breathed through the ache, focusing on the task at hand. “Sit.”
With a smirk of amusement, she did so. “I do know how to tie shoes.”
“But you don’t know how to tie skates. I’m here to make sure you don’t injure yourself.
” Kneeling at her feet, he removed her shoes, one at a time, and slid the skates on, which felt weirdly intimate.
Maybe it was this bubble of isolation he’d arranged after being surrounded by people the last few days.
Maybe it was just her and this connection between them.
As if Aspen sensed it too, she reached out to cup his face, stroking her thumb along the curve of his cheek. “Thank you for this.”
Brooks leaned into the touch, just a little, soaking up the contact. One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Don’t thank me yet until you see if you actually like it.”
Tying the laces—tight enough for proper ankle support, but not too tight—he quickly slipped on his own skates, then held out his hands for hers. “Take my forearms. You’re gonna want to brace yourself on me as you stand.”
Her fingers curled around his arms, and he cupped her elbows, gently bringing her to her feet. She instantly wobbled, her grip tightening with a gasp.
“Don’t worry. I’m right here.” Brooks helped balance her as he moved the few feet to the ice. “You’re just going to step onto the ice as if you’re stepping onto any new surface. One foot, then the other.” He demonstrated, then waited for her.
She eyed the ice with a little trepidation but gamely stepped onto it… and promptly flailed like a baby deer, falling into his arms. He wrapped around her, enjoying the weight of her against him. “Whoa there. I’ve got you.”
Gasping, she shot a narrow-eyed glare at him. “I think that was a move.”
He carefully lifted her straight again and grinned. “So what if it was?”
She grinned back. “Good thing I like you.”
“Good thing. If you liked that one, you’re gonna really like this.” He slid his arm around her waist to stabilize and guide her movements. “Now, skating is all about balance and confidence.” With a few easy movements, he had them gliding slowly along the edge of the rink.
Her first strides were clumsy, her feet awkwardly shuffling as they tried to match his.
“Bend your knees a bit, and keep your weight centered over the blades.”
“Like this?”
“Better. Now, loosen up. You’re not the Tin Man here.”
Gradually, her initial stiffness gave way to more fluid motion, and she laughed—part nerves, part joy—as she experienced the sensation of gliding properly for the first time. The sound warmed something deep inside him that had been chilled beyond measure for longer than he wanted to think about.
Wanting to see her face, he pivoted, shifting his hold to both of her hands and matching her rhythm.
“You’re going backwards! How are you going backwards?”
He grinned again. “I’ve got twenty-five years of practice. This is above your pay grade for now. Keep on doing what you’re doing.”
They circled the rink, slowly picking up a little bit more speed, and Aspen’s movements became more confident.
“You wanna try it on your own?”
“Okay.” Her voice trembled a little, but her expression was determined.
So Brooks released her, continuing to skate backwards, pacing her.
Delight lit her face when she didn’t fall. “I’m doing it! I’m doing it!”
“Hell, yeah, you are!”
She put on a little bit more speed. “I think maybe I’ve got this.”
That declaration was the kiss of death. Abruptly, she stumbled, her feet coming straight out from under her so that she crashed onto the ice with a shriek.
Brooks closed the distance in an instant. “Shit! You okay?”
Aspen looked up at him from where she lay on her butt and laughed. “Toe pick!”
Assured she wasn’t seriously injured, he let himself join her with a chuckle. “My mom loved that movie, too.”
“Someone had to say it. It was practically a moral imperative.”
The grief slammed into him again, harder this time. A parade of memories scrolled through his brain of the hundreds of times he’d skated with his mother. On the pond. At countless ice rinks across the country. She’d loved skating almost as much as he’d loved hockey.
“Brooks?” Aspen’s quiet voice pulled him out of the emotional quicksand.
He realized she held out her hand, waiting to be pulled up.
This was why he’d been so determinedly focused on her. When he did, there was less room for the grief. Even sharing things about his mom hurt less with Aspen, because it was so very clear she got it.
Lodging his brain firmly in the present, on her, he lifted her to her feet, and they continued the lesson.
He taught her how to stop and start, how to turn, and eventually even how to fall safely, which resulted in both of them in a laughing heap on the ice.
All of it was an excuse to keep his hands on her.
Not that he needed the excuse since, for the purposes of the next week, Aspen was his fiancée.
Right now, she belonged to him. As the day wore on, though, he couldn’t stop himself from reflecting on how natural and right it felt to be with her.
Couldn’t stop wishing that it wasn’t temporary.
Because he liked Aspen. He liked being with her. Liked who he was with her.
Was it truly Aspen herself? Or was it simply that he was so desperate for a distraction, and she happened to be tailor made as the perfect one? Feeling more than a little guilty over the idea of that, he doubled down on his efforts to charm her.
It was, after all, the least he could do.