I hesitate.
Rhodes’ voice drifts over. “Yeah, Coach Monroe. Show ’em what you got.”
I cut him a quick glare before exhaling, nerves still prickling.You’ve done this a thousand times.
I nod and push off, gaining just enough speed before snapping into a tight, controlled spin, my arms tucking in perfectly as I turn. I finish in a solid landing position, the smallest smile tugging at my lips.
The kids erupt in excited cheers. Rhodes grins.
“See?” I say to the kids, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Easy. You’ll get there in no time.”
“Easy,she says,” Rhodes mutters, skating behind me after one of his hockey girls.
One of the boys on his side raises his hand. Rhodes slows to a stop and gestures toward him. “What’s up, Dylan?”
The kid hesitates for half a second before blurting out, “Can I go over to Coach Monroe’s team?”
Rhodes fake-gasps, pressing a hand over his heart like he’s been personally victimized. “Dylan. Buddy. You wound me.”
I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “Stick it out over there, Dylan. I’m no good at the hockey tricks.”
“Yeah, bud. Give me a chance here,” Rhodes says, tapping Dylan’s helmet lightly. “I swear I know what I’m doing.”
Dylan sighs but nods, pushing off again with a little more confidence.
By the end of the clinic, my cheeks are warm, and I know it has nothing to do with skating.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rhodes
I see Monroe stiffen on the ice as the last of the kids exits the rink, clinic day one complete. My head whips around to see what caused the reaction, and I spot them immediately.
Monroe stays frozen in place, shoulders tense, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. I skate a little closer, dropping my voice low enough that only she can hear.
“You good?”
She doesn’t answer right away, eyes locked on the group near the bleachers. The Nationals girls are huddled together, talking in hushed tones, but it’s Aaron standing beside them that makes my blood run hot.
The overwhelming urge to protect what my body has decided ismineis threatening to take over my sensibility. Aaron’s posture is too casual, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable, gaze lockedon Monroe. I’m not sure how long they’ve all been standing there, how much they watched.
Monroe inhales sharply through her nose, straightening her spine like she’s steeling herself for battle. “I’m fine,” she mutters.
“Yeah, that’s convincing,” I deadpan, my eyes flicking between her and Aaron. I don’t buy thatfinefor a second.
Elsie calls to the last few volunteers from across the rink, giving me the perfect excuse to steer Monroe toward the exit. “Come on, let’s—”
“Monroe.” Aaron’s voice cuts through the rink like a blade, stopping us both in our tracks.
Her head turns slowly, deliberate. “Aaron.” Her tone is flat. Emotionless.
The Nationals girls watch closely, thinly veiled amusement and curiosity written all over their faces. I want to take Monroe and hide her away from their judgment. Natalie stands in the center, arms crossed, lips quirked in something just shy of a smirk.
It’s wrong of me to hit a woman. It’s wrong of me to hit a woman. It’s wrong of me to hit a woman.
“You look good out there,” Aaron says, tilting his head. His eyes flick to me briefly, confusion crossing his features, before settling back on Monroe. “We had to come and see you back on the ice for ourselves.”
Monroe’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the way her jaw tightens, the way her fingers curl into the fabric of her long sleeves. “Well, now you’ve seen it,” she says. “Hope you liked the show.”