But, dammit, I was trying to be. Coach Abrams obviously saw something in me last season or he wouldn’t have given me the title. He’d been so excited to offer me the captaincy, to tell me how much I deserved it. Hadearnedit.
I was screwing it up so badly that I wasn’t sure my career was going to recover. Kelsey was going to have a hell of a time spinning me getting thrown back to the minor leagueandgetting my captaincy revoked. My dad would have a field day if my career went south.
I could hear his drunken voicemail now.
“What happened, huh? You finally proved what I’ve been saying all along? That you were never cut out for this shit? That you’re just another washed-up, overpaid punk who thought he was better than the rest of us? I bet you feel real fucking stupid now. All that money, all that talent—wasted. Just like that.”
I run my hands over my face and skate back to the rink gate.
I almost trip over Monroe. She’s down on the ground, scrubbing something off the rink boards, and I don’t even see her at first.
I crouch down next to her, hands on my knees.
“Whatcha doing, Abrams?” She doesn’t respond. Her headphones are in and she’s ignoring me.
I pull one out of her ear. It’s obnoxious, but I don’t care. She’s going to bite back, and I think I need that right now.
“What the hell, Rhodes?” she glares at me, eyes narrowed. Her hair is a mess, pulled into a bun that’s starting to come undone, stray curls framing her face. Her leggings are flecked with cleaner, and her sweatshirt, a faded gray U.S. Figure Skating Nationals hoodie, has a streak of dirt across the front.
“Give that back.” She makes a grab for the earbud, but I hold it just out of her reach, popping it into my own ear so I could hear what she was listening to.
American Idiotby Green Day blasts through the speaker and I grin.Nice,I mouth. She snarls.
“Why are you doing grunt work at the rink?” I can’t figure out how she went from Olympic hopeful to blackout party girl to…ice rink janitor? She should beonthe ice, not scrubbing the rink boards. I’ve been trying to ignore the question for two days, and for some unfathomable reason, it’s bothering the shit out of me.
“It’s none of your fucking business,” she snaps, her hand reaching out to snag the earbud I’d stolen.
“You can still skate, though, right?” I push. She freezes.Gotcha, Abrams.“Maybe not at the Olympics. But from what I heard, your ankle healed? Mostly? So why aren’t you skating?” My rapid-fire questions only succeed in infuriating her.
She turns slowly to face me, rage etched in every line of her face. She’s taller than the other figure skaters, five-eight to my six-three. I like that. A better man would know when to cut his losses and let it go. She clearly didn’t want to talk about this.
But I’m not a better man, and sheshouldbe skating.
The second she stepped on the ice, she owned it. Commanded the attention of everyone in the room. Made all her tricks look completely effortless. And coming from someone who had very limited knowledge of figure skating, that was saying something.
I distinctly remember asking her out two years ago. She had been a sophomore at U of C and already the best skater on the Nationals team.
“Abrams!”I’d shouted, leaning over the rink boards. She’d still been on the ice, a medal gleaming around her neck, sweat dampening the strands of auburn hair sticking to her face. My guys had whooped behind me, slapping me on the back. I realize now just how obnoxious we must have looked.
She’d turned, cocked her head, and let her gaze drag over me, an eyebrow raised. Deliberating.
The cocky NHL rookie in me had soaked up that look like a sponge.Thatlook was a challenge.
“Go out with me,” I’d said, grinning. I’d broken up with my on-again-off-again girlfriend and I’d been prowling.
A ghost of a smile had flickered on her mouth as she’d skated up—close enough that I could feel the chill from the ice still clinging to her skin.
She’d leaned in, breath warm against my ear. “In your dreams, McKnight.”
Then she was gone, gliding backward with a smirk, leaving me standing there like an idiot.
The team roasted me for weeks.
I hadn’t taken it too hard. Monroe Abrams was a long shot for any guy, and I had ended up getting back together with my girlfriend a couple of weeks later.
Her fall was something that will be talked about in the skating circuit for decades, if not longer. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned into some kind of docuseries at some point. The most promising skater in U.S. history in a freak accident on a landing with her partner that pulverized her ankle. There were a few months after the accident when her face had been all over the news.
I’m pulled back to the present when she snaps her fingers in my face.