I feel it in my chest. And we still have time to get better. Coach finally blows the whistle, signaling the end of practice.
“Better,”he calls.“Much better.”
A flicker of movement behind him catches my attention, thenshe’s there. Leaning casually against the bleachers like she hasn’t been standing there for at least five minutes. Like she wasn’t just watching.
Cropped black tank top, braid looped over her shoulder, toned stomach flexing slightly as she shiftsher weight. My gaze catches for a second too long—long enough that she notices. And smirks.
Fuck.
A heavy arm slams around my shoulders, yanking me out of my trance. “Look at that,” Tyler drawls, grinning, “your girl came to watch your practice.”
“Yeah, yeah, Novy,” I mutter, eyes still locked on Monroe.
Tyler snorts. “If it makes you feel better—” he lowers his voice “—she definitely wasn’t being sneaky about watching you play. Verysubtle.” He pushes off me and laughs as he skates away.
I fight back a grin as I skate back to my guys, throwing a wink in her direction just to watch her eyes roll.
Logically? I know she’s probably here to talk to Coach.
Verynotlogically? There is a caveman, animalistic part of me that is beating on his chest right now at the idea of her watching me practice.
Chapter Twenty-One
Monroe
The clinic begins tomorrow, eight a.m. sharp.
I’ve spent weeks now preparing for this, and still, nothing about this feels easy. My anxiety is sky-high, tightening like a vise around my rib cage.
The rink at night has become my solace as I worked to prepare. My routine of school during the day and clinic prep at night has given my days some much-needed structure. Two months ago, I never could have imagined sitting here, right now, with the Wolverine’s hockey captain on speed dial.
Every now and then, if I’m at the rink during the day, I’ll see someone at the rink I used to know—a Nationals team skater, an old coach or two. It shakes me but I’ve gotten better at letting some of it go, ignoring the glances and whispers when I pass them. They can say whatever they want about me, but it’s too late for me to back out now, and I’d never do that to Elsie. So if they want to talk shit, I guess that’s on them.
I exhale, shaking my head at myself, and try to focus. My notes areeverywhere—pages spread across my coffee table, my couch, my lap. The dim glow of my desk lamp flickers over my scribbled-out diagrams, skill breakdowns, and a tentative lesson plan.
My laptop is open beside me, paused on a slow-motion video of my own skating. I’ve spent the last hour watching my old competitions and critiquing my own damn form like a judge at Worlds.
I stretch my legs out, flexing my ankle. At the very least, I’vedoneevery skill I plan on teaching in the last few weeks. I’m not a fraud, I repeat to myself for the umpteenth time tonight.
My phone buzzes beside me.
Rhodes (7:30pm):Come outside.
I frown, glancing toward my front window. I push up from the couch, peeking through the blinds. I wasn’t expecting him tonight.
Rhodes is outside, leaning against his Land Rover, arms crossed, backlit by the dimming dusk.
Rhodes (7:32pm):I can see you. Come outside. I’m breaking you out.
Monroe (7:34pm):Why? Where are we going? I have so many questions.
Rhodes (7:35pm):Ask them from the passenger seat, princess. Let’s go!
I glance at my clinic notesone more time, try to will my focus back—
Then, with a sigh, I toss them onto the couch and grab my keys.
* * **