Coach Abrams (1:02pm):My office. 4:00.
For the last three hours, I’ve been pacing, trying to figure out what I screwed up this time.
The rink is quiet when I walk through, heading straight for his office. Monroe won’t be here this late, since she usually works mornings. Her Jeep wasn’t in the parking lot, anyway. I already checked. I haven’t seen her one-on-one in two weeks, aside from a glance here and there between my practices and her school and work schedule. I was finding that I really didn’t like the space. I planned on asking her to do another late-night skate soon since asking her out directly seems like the exact kind of thing that would make her bolt. I’m taking what I can get.
I knock lightly on the door and wait.
“Come in, Rhodes.” His voice is gruff, direct. “Sit.”
I shut the door behind me and drop into the chair across from his desk. He hasn’t looked up from his paperwork yet.
“So,” he starts. His stare is making me nervous, and his expression isn’t giving anything away. I wait for him to continue. “You got Monroe on the ice.”
I choke on air. Okay, so we’re doing this.
“Uh—” I fumble. “Yes, sir.”
I settle on being honest, because what the hell else am I supposed to do? If Monroe wants to be pissed I said something, she’s going to have to be pissed at her dad. He nods like that was the right answer, but his expression doesn’t shift.
“She hasn’t touched the ice in almost a year,” he says, flipping a paper over. “Figured putting her back in the rink might help.” His eyes lift, sharp. “I did not, however, anticipate my captain taking an interest.”
I force myself to sit still, even as my shoulders tighten. I clear my throat. “No interest, sir. Elsie paired us together for the skating clinic. Figured I could help her get ready.” Most of that was true, but theno interestfeels like sandpaper in my mouth.Lie. Lie. Lie. There was absolutely interest. So much interest it’s driving me to distraction.
I stop my thoughts before they get out of control. His gaze is unreadable, but I don’t dare break eye contact.
Then he exhales, shaking his head like he already knows what I’m thinking.
“Do not set her back, Rhodes,” he warns. “You have no idea what the last year has been like.” He cuts me with a look that lands like a weight in my chest. “You wanna help her skate again? Fine. But stay in your lane.”
What if I don’t want to stay in my lane? What if I want to be inherlane?
“Yes, sir.” But even as I say it, something cold settles in my stomach.
Monroe’s under my skin, wrapped around my ribs like barbed wire—unyielding, impossible to ignore. She’s prickly and snarky and gorgeous—and everytime I’m around her, I want to be the one to help her put her pieces back together.
But there’s no way in hell I’m letting the coach know that.
Chapter Thirteen
Monroe
I’m in the middle of scrubbing the floor outside of the women’s locker room when I see Elsie’s shoes walk up beside me. Her perfectly white sneakers stop directly in front of me.
“Come to check in on my janitorial duties?” I grit out. It’s the end of my first full month of work and I’ve been coming in earlier and earlier so I can avoid the skaters.
“Get up, Mo.” Her gruff voice carries down to the floor I’m still level with. I push myself up onto my knees, then stand, dusting off my leggings.
“I’m trying to get out of here before six, Elsie.”
“I know what you’re trying to do. Shut up while I’m talking, would you?” I roll my eyes and glare at her. She exhales a breath. “I wanted to tell you I’m glad you’re back on the ice.”
I freeze. “Who told you?”
“Nobody had to tell me, you dimwit,” she says. “I’ve got security cameras all over this place. Your key card alerts me every time you open the damn door at eleven at night.” Oh.Shit.
“I’m sorry. I should have asked if I could use the rink that late.”
“You know damn well I don’t care about you using the rink. This is a good thing,” she says, softer this time. I hate it.