She ignores it, still glaring at the rink. “No.”
I sigh and step out onto the ice, gliding a full, lazy circle around the arena. I had planned to run some drills tonight, but plans change.
And now I had a new plan.Operation Get Monroe Abrams Back On The Ice.
I clearly couldn’t handle anything else going on in my life right now, but I could do this. I could help Monroe. I needed a fucking win.
I skid to a stop in front of her, leaning over the boards. She isn’t on the ice, but she hasn’t left yet either.
Progress.
“Okay, hear me out,” I say. She rolls her eyes and cuts daggers in my direction, silent and angry. She doesn’t stop me, though, so I keep going, ignoring her glare.
“One lap. Just one. Get on the ice, skate a single lap, and I’ll shut up. I won’t bring up skating again. Hell, I’ll even ignore your existence completely, if that’s what you want.”
That’s a bold-faced lie, considering the space she’s been taking up in my brain over the last week. She’s been impossible to ignore since she came stomping back into the rink, and I’ve really tried.
Whatever. If she gets on the ice, it’ll be worth the inconvenience of having her live rent-free in my head.
“Is this some kind of joke to you? Do you get off on forcing women to do things they don’t want to do?”
“Okay, well that’s insulting,” I reply dryly, lazily skating around again. “I never do anything that doesn’t have full, enthusiastic consent.” I shoot her a wink. Her eyes roll so far back into her head, I worry they’ll get stuck there.
Come on, Monroe.
“This is stupid.” Her teeth rake over her full bottom lip, and I struggle to force my eyes away from it. That image isn’t going to help with getting her out of my head. Before I can get lost in thinking about what else her lips can do, I continue.
“There’s nobody here but me, and I’m not laughing.” I let my words sink in, suddenly serious. “This isn’t a joke, Abrams.” My voice drops lower. “You getting back on the ice? That’s not stupid. It’s brave.”
Her dark lashes frame hazel eyes. I trail the light freckles on the top of her nose and follow the lines of her face with my gaze, holding my breath.
“I can’t do it,” she says, averting her gaze and looking straight past me.
“Yes, you fucking can.” God, she’s so stubborn. “Come on, Monroe. There is nobody more comfortable on the ice than you, except maybe me,” I tease, attempting to lighten the heavy atmosphere surrounding us on the ice now.
She doesn’t laugh.
“Why do you care so much?” Her eyes are back on me now.How the hell do I keep them there?
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Why. Do. You. Care.” She punctuates every word. “Why I’m here at the rink, whether or not I get on the ice. This has nothing to do with you. This affects you zero percent.” She’s exasperated, and she’s not wrong.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “It bothers me that someone like you let an injury take your ice away from you.”
Her laugh is sharp. “It wasn’t just a fucking injury, Rhodes,” she growls. “It ended my entire career. And now Elsie wants me to teach kids how to do what I will never be able to fully do again. Put yourself in my shoes for a second.”
I nod in understanding. She’d been dealt such a shitty hand.
“I think you’re selling yourself short,” I reply. “You’re better than that.”
“I’m really not,” she mutters. I groan internally.
“All right,” I say.Let’s try a different approach.“Five minutes.”
Her head snaps up at me, eyes narrowed. There it is. There’s still some fight left, some competition. This girl used to live for the ice, forwinning.I’m desperate to see that flash of defiance again. “For what?” She’s annoyed but curious. Good.How far can I push her?
“Five minutes before I shoot out a text to Elsie, telling her you’re backing out of the clinic.”