My jaw locks. My breath shudders. Then I push off the wall and skate toward the middle of the ice. Rhodes’ words struck a chord in my chest.
Jump, Monroe.
I glide backward, knees bent, focus locked ahead. My right blade digs into the ice, tracing the outside edge like muscle memory, the movement so ingrained in my body that it should feel effortless. It doesn’t. This is requiring every single bit of focus and concentration when it used to require almost none. My pulse pounds in my ears.
I shift my weight, extending my left leg behind me. My skate hovers just above the surface. This is as far as I’ve been able to get. It’s the part that comes after that I struggle with.
I exhale sharply, squeeze my eyes shut, and kick off.
My toe pick carves into the ice with a sharpcrunch, the familiar resistance giving way as I push up, launching into the air. For a split second, I am weightless—suspended between fear and instinct. My eyes fly open and I instinctively look for a spot on the wall to help my balance.
Then—I rotate. Just once, in the air.
The world blurs, the cold air rushing past my skin, my body snapping tight on autopilot, arms held in front of me. One full turn.
The landing rushes toward me faster than I expect. My right blade connects with the ice, a clean, smoothkissagainst the surface. My knee bends instinctively, bending just slightly to absorb the impact, my free leg extending behind me to catch my balance.
Judges would have eaten this jump alive, I’m sure of it. A junior athlete could do better than this.
But I’m still standing. And I didn’t fall.
My breath comes in short, uneven bursts as I skate to a stop, the spray of ice flying around my ankles. The panic I expected to crush me hovers beneath my breastbone, but it’s manageable and I shove it away.
Inhale. Exhale.
I look up, and Rhodes is watching me like I just performed something spectacular, and not a trick I’ve been doing since I was nine.
“Holy shit,” he says on an exhale.
I skate backward, blinking hard, trying to process what just happened, then I slow to a stop in front of him.
My lips part, my voice barely above a whisper. “Holy shit.” My hands are shaking. I curl them into fists to still them.
Rhodes closes the little distance there is between us. “You did it,” he says, voice rough, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his hand pausing on the back of my neck.
I freeze.
“That’s enough for tonight, I think,” I whisper, looking up at him, not wanting to push my luck.
His jaw clenches, his eyes flicking down to my mouth. His thumb drags up and down my skin and I briefly, insanely, wonder what it would be like to kiss him.
“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs. Our breath is visible in the cold, mingling together between our faces.
Rhodes leans in, just slightly, his lips barely brushing mine, and for a brief moment, I lean into the kiss. It’s soft and sweet and tastes like ice and Rhodes. I feel his tongue brush the seam of my mouth, and am snapped back into reality. I pull my head back and mumble a quick,I’m sorrybefore skating back to the benches at a speed I forgot I was capable of.
He lets me sit a moment before joining me, standing back turned to me on the ice. Lucky for him, I’m back to my usual snarky self after my temporary post-jump insanity.
I got too close, too reckless.Thatcan’t happen again. I’m not going to confuse my apparent need for companionship with romantic feelings. I’m lonely, Rhodes is here, and I don’t want to give him, or me, the wrong idea about what’s happening here. I am not looking for a relationship.
I’m quiet while I take my skates off. Rhodes is quiet too, brows furrowed.
“You don’t have to pull away every time, Monroe,” he says, a frustrated edge to his voice.
I focus on undoing my laces. “You know what this is, Rhodes.”
His head snaps up. “And whatisthis?”
“This is—” I hesitate. A self-satisfied smirk crosses his face. I fight the urge to smack it off.