Unsteady

My skate slides again, not catching the edge in the slightest, and I tumble onto my back and across the ice.

I close my eyes and it’s there again.

A flash of a dimple, eyes like chocolate, massive hands gripping my waist so hard I swear I can feel it even now. Rhys, using my body, tossing me around like I’m light as air, his voice a smooth tease in my ear. Calling me his “new favorite distraction” before he flips me over and takes me again from behind.

The same fucking fantasy that’s been haunting me for days.

The same fantasy I regrettably indulged in last night, alone in my bed, fingers fast between my thighs.

Just the thought of him had me coming harder than I had in months.

I try to catch my breath and shove the image of him—the invented one that I could swear he’d never truly be like in bed, out of my mind.

Rhys is too golden to fuck me hard enough that I feel nothing.

That’s why he scares you.

Shutting my eyes tightly, I try to focus on the music still playing before it cuts off.

Fuck.

Coach Kelley is standing over me now, arms crossed and eyes narrowed even as I refuse to look at him, like a child avoiding reprimanding.

“You’ve gotten sloppier,” he says, reaching down and roughly jostling my shoulder to pull me to sit up. I shrug him off and stand on my own, skating to the bench for water.

“I’m just tired.”

He follows behind me, and only when he’s nearly in my ear he adds, “Weigh-in. Tomorrow.”

I hate the ease with which that threatens me, the sick feeling that riles in my gut at the obvious implication. I fell because I wasn’t paying attention to my edge, treating the axel like it’s second nature to me, when it’s my worst jump. I fell because I was distracted.

I did not fall because I’ve gained some miniscule amount of weight.

“Do it one more time, Sadie. Make it fucking perfect,” he whispers in my ear, before jolting back.

He cues the music and grabs the water bottle from my hands, tossing it over the bench.

It’s always like this with him. My scheduled time is always last so that he can push us over my time, messing with my carefully created personal schedule.

Which is why I find myself grateful for Victoria’s late arrival, meaning we’ve overlapped and she has the last fifteen.

I finish my routine—almost perfect by my own standards and a barely-there improvement by Coach Kelley’s. Still, he has to focus on Victoria now, so I rest gently on the bench, scraping the ice from my blades with my plastic guards.

“I thought your attitude was just for me on the ice, but it seems like you’re just as prickly here.”

My heart races, my entire body lighting up like a Christmas tree at the sound of his voice.

He’s still my Rhys, but he’s more now—Rhys Koteskiy, captain of the Waterfell University hockey team. His hair is combed, still shagging a bit, eyes bright and without their usual deep pit of sadness. He almost looks refreshed.

His hand pats his chest as he looks down at me affectionately. “I’m hurt, Gray.”

I can’t help but match his smile with one of my own.

“I think you’ll survive, hotshot.” I pat my hand on the bench. He sits beside me, pressing his thigh to mine. “Besides, I save my really really bad attitudes for you. No need to get jealous.”

Victoria’s music cuts off, followed by some loud yelling that carries easily across the cavernous rink. As much as the girl annoys me, she takes his brutal corrections in stride, with a quick nod and a frozen smile, hands clasped.

“Is he always like this?” Rhys’ mouth is nearly on the skin of my ear, breath cool. I shudder.

“L-like what?”

“So…intense?”

“No,” I say, a fake little smile gracing my lips. The part I don’t say is that he’s usually worse, especially with me.

But, I need that. Coach Kelley’s unflinching severe support only shows his dedication to my success. He’s like that because he believes in me. He’s the only one who does.

“Here early then?” I ask as he settles his body against mine.

“Actually.” He smirks. “You’re the one on my ice time.”

As if planned, the stern-faced hockey coach I’ve seen around a few times comes from the tunnel with a frustrated sigh. His hand taps lightly on Rhys’ shoulder as he steps past us to talk with Coach Kelley, who is blatantly attempting to ignore him.

“Give me five and we’ll be off,” my coach finally snaps, thundering over the surprisingly soft voice of Rhys’ coach. He doesn’t argue with him, only comes back to us.

“Koteskiy.” The coach nods, scratching at his beard. “And?”

“Sadie,” I offer.

I take a sip of my water and nearly spew it back out when his coach asks, “Girlfriend?”

Rhys blushes and I find myself suddenly aching to say yes and tackle him to kiss his heated skin. My fingers twitch because just the thought is so intensely overwhelming—to see Victoria’s face of shock, Coach Kelley’s fuming at my disgusting, unprofessional behavior.

To feel him again… suddenly my cheeks are the ones heating.

“A friend,” Rhys corrects. “Her brothers play. They, uh, practice at the foundation.”

My stomach churns, the implication of my brothers as charity cases shines like a flashing sign announcing every shame I carry every day. I hate it.

The girl who kisses his sadness away and needs help with her little brothers.

Pathetic.

“Actually, I have to go.” I jump up from the bench with my guards on my blades. “See you around, hotshot.”

I don’t need him or his help.

Or his stupid dimples.

I’m barely through the tunnel, heading towards the girl’s locker room, which is a ridiculous distance away from the ice—mostly because the hockey team gets most of the arena space, when he catches me, grabbing my arm.

“Listen, Rhys—”

“How humiliating,” a different voice sneers into my ear, fingers curling into my bicep. “My office, now.”

He jostles me hard, and I duck my head following behind the lean body of my coach as he strides forward. Victoria passes me, flickering her gaze over me sympathetically.

When he turns into his office, I pause, but only because Victoria is reaching for me.

“Your practice slot is over.” She clears her throat, looking at me a little hesitantly. I don’t blame her; not only are we not friends, I don’t think I’ve ever been nice to the girl.

She looks around again, before dropping her voice. “You don’t have to follow him in there. He’s our coach, not our parent.”

He’s been more of a parent to me than my own father, I think but don’t say.

Instead, I shrug off her concern with an eye roll.

“I can handle Kelley. Worry about yourself.”

I straighten my stance, like preparing for a battle march, before entering his office and closing the door behind us.

“I’m sorry I was distracted—”

“Who’s the boy?” He cuts me off harshly. I turn and watch as he strips his skates off and shoves his feet into overly expensive sneakers, tossing the black skates into his bag.

“What?” I blanch, my face burning.

He sneers at me. “Who is the hockey boy you’re wasting time by making passes at in my practice?”

“I don’t— I’m not—”

“Do it again, you’re back on probation,” he says, snapping his fingers at me. As if this conversation is done.

“You’re not being fair.”

I’m not arguing about Rhys, but one day being a little off center isn’t going to destroy years of skating ability, years of complete dedication.

“Not fair?” He slams his fist down on the metal desk between us, standing and hovering over me. “Victoria lands her axel better than you every single time. Want to talk about fair?” His voice raises with every word, anxiety rushes down my spine. “I’ve put years of money and time and effort into you and you’re so ungrateful I can’t keep your attention for an hour.”

“Kelley—”

“You’re back on probation.”

I open my mouth, feeling my entire body shaking with the effort to hold back a scream, maybe even a full-blown tantrum.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t thank you or I’m sorry, then I don’t fucking want to hear it.”

I hold it all back for a minute, souring my stomach as I do, like swallowing bile.

It’s quiet for a moment, and angry tears start to burn the backs of my eyes, until one traitor escapes.

Kelley sighs, standing and crossing his arms as he comes around his desk and stands in front of me. “My terror, come here.”

His arms open and he tucks me into a tight hug. More tears escape, my arms stationary at my sides as I absorb the comfort I don’t even know if I want.

“Now,” he says, angling me back and petting my hair. “Go home. Sleep. And then be back here tomorrow morning. Early.”

My stomach cramps from holding in everything I want to say, to scream. But as usual, somehow I hold it in.

He is the only one who cares. Who knows everything about my fucked up life. He loves me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, the words burning like acid as they fall from my lips.