Chapter Eight
Rhodes
Fuck, she’s going to have to skate.The thought keeps rolling over and over in my head.
She didn’t skate with me yesterday, despite my invitation, and I haven’t seen her since our impromptu ambush meeting with Elsie. It was obvious she hadn’t expected to skate while working here—let alone teach a clinic.
Iloverunning the hockey clinics. The kids are a blast, they actually listen, and it’s gratifying as hell to play a small part in shaping their love for the game. I sign up to coach every chance I’m able to. This time of year is tough with playoffs coming up, and all the ice time I’m clocking as captain. But still, if Elsie wants me to teach, I’ll do what I can to make it work.
Monroe used to teach them too, but we’d never taught a tandem clinic together. I know she was good at them—the clinics she taught before her accidentalways had giant wait lists. Elsie was like a grumpy but proud mom when it came to Monroe. Between her and Coach Abrams, it had seemed like I was constantly inundated with Monroe-facts back then, slowly filing them away in my brain for later, I guess.
I look at the time on the alarm clock next to my bed.Nine-fifty-eight p.m.
I was struggling hard with sleep these days. Between the stress of the team, Kelsey breathing down my neck with dozens of interviews and panels and sponsorships, the constant calls from my dad, my head just refuses to shut down for the night. I squeeze my eyes shut and count backward from one hundred, willing sleep to come.
When I get all the way down to one and I’m still just as wired as I was before, I decide to say fuck it and head to the rink.
I wasn’t technically supposed to use it this late after hours, but Elsie had given me a key a long time ago. She’d been there for me my first year on the Wolverines, and helped me become less of a punk. She realized quickly that I was less of a menace if I had more ice access.
“Don’t wear this key out, McKnight,” she’d warned. I’d ignored her. I used that key all the time. I knew she knew, because there are cameras all over the rink, but she’s never said a word about it to me. Just let me clock the ice time I needed to burn off extra energy.
The drive to the arena is short and quiet in the dark, the hum of my heater blasting full heat the only sound.
I park, brave the cold, and grab my skates from my passenger seat. There were a few lights still on in the main lobby, which surprised me. It should be totally dark this time of night. I don’t know of anyone elsewho’d have a key, unless Elsie is working late for some reason.
I take a left in the hall toward the rink, and the lights in there are on, too. Not the full set—just enough to dimly illuminate the arena.
I see her sitting in the dark on the bench. Monroe’s back is to me, and she’s staring at the ice.
I suck in a breath, pausing. I lean my shoulder against the doorway, and my eyes rake down her back before landing on her feet. No fucking way.
Skates.
It’s clear she thought she was going to be alone here for this, and I almost feel bad for intruding.Almost.
“You gonna get on the ice, Abrams?” I say, startling her. “Or are you just going to stare at it?”
Monroe whips around so fast I’m shocked she doesn’t get whiplash. “Oh my God,” she says sharply. “Why are you everywhere?”
I huff a laugh. “Fate, probably,” I reply, walking and dropping down onto the cold metal bench next to her.
“Fate’s got a messed-up sense of humor then,” she mutters, frowning.
“You’ve got skates on,” I note.
“You’re well-known for your brains, I see,” she deadpans. I nudge her with my shoulder and she shrugs me off. I don’t take it personally. That’s just how Monroe is. I like the sass.
“So?” I raise my eyebrows at her in challenge, trying to get her to take the bait.
“What?” she snaps.
I tilt my head toward the dim rink. “You gonna get on the ice?”
She shrugs, like this isn’t a huge deal. I take my time lacing up my own skates, letting the silence stretchbetween us. She watches every move, eyes locked onto my hands as I pull the laces tight. I slow my movements, feeling her gaze track every shift.
Good. Let her think about it.
“Well, I’m skating,” I say with finality, slapping my hands on my knees. “Come join me.” I stand and offer her a hand.