17 - Wesley
Wesley
The arena is dark when we walk in. The quiet doesn’t feel eerie, but I move with caution. I don’t belong here.
The overhead lights flick on as Nathan leads me through the tunnel, the hum of electricity echoing up into the rafters. The sound travels through the empty space, bouncing off thousands of empty seats that would normally be filled with screaming fans.
The Revere Center is bigger than I thought. Having only seen it on TV or from the street, I wasn’t expecting to feel so small walking through it completely empty. It’s like I’ve stepped into something not meant for outsiders.
“This is insane,” I whisper.
Nathan grins over his shoulder like he’s been waiting for that reaction. “Wait until you see it with the ice lit.”
After spending time at home, I had planned to keep our workout today strictly professional. Keeping my distance from him was the only choice. The kiss had played on repeat far too often for me to let it happen again.
We were going to work out, make small talk, and then go our separate ways. Instead, I found myself wanting to open up to him about my family and drag the workout on longer. It’s stupid.
And because I’m stupid, now I’m here. Spending time with Nathan outside of the arrangement. This isn’t training, and it’s not fake dating. So, what the hell is it?
A man pushing a wide mop bucket looks up as we pass.
“Morning, Nate.”
“Morning, Cal,” Nathan says easily. “How’s your knee?”
Cal snorts. “Still attached.”
Nathan laughs, claps him on the shoulder like they’ve known each other forever, and keeps walking.
I glance back. “You know his name.”
“He’s been here longer than I have.”
That’s not the Nathan most people see. The one who knows the custodial staff well enough to ask about their knee. No, that Nathan is reserved only for the people who really know him. Warmth spreads through me as I realize I’m becoming one of them.
He moves through this place as if it belongs to him, not in an entitled way, but in a familiar way. It makes sense that he’d know this arena like the back of his hand, but it’s also kind of endearing.
A heavy door swings open, and he gestures for me to go inside. The rink opens up in front of us, smooth and untouched, the surface glowing faintly under the lights. There is no music or fans, just the faint hum of the refrigeration system beneath the ice.
It’s beautiful.
Nathan studies my face instead of the rink. “Told you.”
Before I can say anything else, he disappears down the hallway toward the locker rooms. I fold my arms and try not to look like I’m trespassing. Without Nathan by my side, I’m even more convinced I shouldn’t be here.
This place must sound crazy when it’s packed with fans. Every sound echoes, and there’s nowhere for it to escape. I spin in a circle, taking it all in until a noise in the corner makes me jump. Nathan reappears with two pairs of skates slung over his shoulder.
I blink. My gaze flicks from his shy smile to the extra pair of skates in his hand.
He tosses them gently toward me. “They should fit.”
I stare down at them. They’re clean, maybe even brand new.
Suspicion creeps in. “When did you get these?”
He drops onto the bench, already unlacing his shoes. “After our lunch date.”
“You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head, focused on threading the laces through his fingers. “Figured if I asked enough times, you might eventually say yes.”
I like the idea of that far too much.
“You bought me skates,” I say, sitting down across from him.
“I bought a size that might fit you,” he corrects. “Very different.”
“We’d only just agreed to do this.”
He glances up at me. “Yeah. I thought ice skating would be a good fake date sometime, given what I do.”
“There’s no one here.” I gesture vaguely to the empty arena around us. “It doesn’t count as a fake date.”
“Caught red-handed.” He shrugs.
I narrow my eyes.
His smile is unbothered. “We’re just friends. Friends can skate.”
“I’m not going out there.” I point to the ice as if it’s insulted me.
“Oh, come on, Miller. You run circles around me regularly. It’s my turn.”
“You asked me to train with you. It’s not my fault you’re slow.” I unlace my shoes, realizing that I’ve started a competition I won’t back down from.
He scoffs. “You think I’m slow?”
“On your feet?” I glance up, sliding the skates onto my feet. “You’re the one who said I run circles around you, not me.”
The skates fit. Of course they do. Nathan pays attention more than anyone gives him credit for.
He stands up, now multiple inches taller than normal with his skates on, towering over me.
“Out there, I’m the fastest there is.” He points to the rink, flashing a cocky smile and determined eyes.
That look, the one that says he’s the best and knows it.
That’s the Nathan that Boston sees. The one who might only actually feel that way on the ice.
The one who doesn’t seem to truly feel that confident at all anymore.
Something about his competitiveness has me spurring him on. “That’s only because I haven’t had a chance to kick your ass out there yet, too.”
I pull the laces tight and stand up. Even standing, I’m forced to look up to him.
Before stepping toward the ice, I test my balance on the rubber mat. Nathan is completely at ease, like the blades are extensions of his body. Leaning forward, I reach out as if I might grab his hand, but instead, I push open the door and skate past him onto the ice.
Only once I reach the middle do I turn back to face him.
He hasn’t moved, still standing at the bench, but his arrogant grin is replaced with something far more dangerous.
It's the same look he had after we kissed. The look that’s been circling my mind for days.
Warmth spreads low in my stomach as his eyes trail me.
I shouldn’t be here.
“What, Wilder? Afraid that you can’t keep up?” My voice echoes against the boards, spurring him into action as he steps onto the ice with a gracefulness I hadn’t expected.
I’m utterly unprepared for the image of Nathan Wilder gliding toward me as if skating were as easy as walking.
“You can skate.” His voice is low as he reaches me in the middle.
“You don’t grow up in Colorado and not know how to skate.” I glide backwards to create space.
The action breaks the tension that’s been building between us. Nathan’s easy smile returns as if it never left. I should feel relieved.
He pulls back, skating a slow circle around the ice, letting his hands hang loose at his sides.
I might know how to skate, but Nathan is another story. I can easily see why he’d fight to keep this. It’s a part of him.
“You move like the ice is your home.”
Nathan circles back toward me, skating backward like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “It’s more of a home than anything else I have.”
“What about your actual home?”
“My apartment is just a place to sleep.” He pauses as if he might stop there, but then continues, “I don’t go home to my parents’ house very often. We don’t really get along.”
I let it drop, sensing that he doesn’t want to say more. My feet follow the path that his blades have left behind, and he slows to match my pace.
The arena feels impossibly big and impossibly small at the same time with him standing right next to me.
“Okay, let’s see how fast you really are.” I stop at the end of the ice, nodding toward the length of the arena.
“You want to race?” He lifts a brow.
“Yeah, I want to fucking race.” I nod enthusiastically.
This is where I thrive. Competition.
“I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck, clearly worried about blowing me out of the water.
He will. I know he will, but also one day, when this is all over, I want to be able to say I raced one of the best hockey players of all time, and he barely beat me. That’s my goal. Barely lose.
“It’s a win-win for me,” I tease. “Either I win, and I get to say I beat an NHL player in a race. Or I lose, which is what’s expected anyway.”
He laughs, tossing his head back. The way it echoes around me scratches a part of my brain that I hadn’t realized needed it.
“You really want to race me?” He skates back against the wall, crossing his arms.
“Unless you’re scared.”
“God, that smart mouth of yours.” His eyes darken, focusing on my mouth.
My heart skips involuntarily. I can’t seem to keep my senses around him, so I settle for turning away and getting into position.
“What’ll it be, Wilder?”
“If I win, you have to admit that this was a good idea.”
“What do I get if I win?” I raise my eyebrows.
He meets my eyes and holds them. “Anything you want.”