Unsteady

I’m exhausted.

I’m sure there are tears leaking from my eyes but my skin is so clammy I don’t think I can tell the difference.

“Again.”

His voice isn’t booming, it’s calm. I wonder exactly how much pressure it would take to cut him with my blade if I spun a little too close.

“I have to—”

“I didn’t ask.”

My lips part like I might scream and whatever he reads on my face makes him gleam, practically giddy as he claps his hands.

He starts my music, the heavy beat of the instrumental wild against my chest, in my throat. Kelley doesn’t even give me a second to find my position, he doesn’t care about it. All he wants out of me is power.

And it works—like it always does. I hit every jump better than I have all night, every pose is powerful, thrilling even. I feel electric, so much so that there’s a bright smile on my face after it’s over as I head towards him.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I smile and nod, because it does feel good—it feels amazing. Kelley’s praise is just the cherry on top. I go to grab my water, but he stops me with a hand on my arm, and then clasps my chin to meet my eyes.

“Beautiful, okay? You are so strong.” If possible, my smile grows wider. But then he adds, “See how capable you are when you’re not so distracted. Leave the stupid boy in the past, yes?”

I jerk my head out of his grasp because just the mention of Rhys is enough for a bolt of longing to wrack through my chest.

“Yes,” I mutter, pulling my guards from the board they’re resting on.

“Have you given any more thought to what I offered for your brothers?”

Yes, and the answer is and will always be no.

“I’m thinking about it,” I lie.

I haven’t told Coach Kelley about the meetings with the lawyer, or accidentally stumbling across Liam’s birth mother and basically blackmailing her into signing away her parental rights. Not that it would’ve taken much convincing. “I haven’t made a decision.”

He says he knows a lawyer who would help me make sure they go to a family who can properly care for them.

It doesn’t matter. I’ll give Coach Kelley every part of me to succeed. But I won’t give up my brothers.

“You know I am only thinking of you, my terror.” He’s called me that since I was twelve, probably because I was terrorizing every other girl in my age bracket at the time. “I have your best interest at heart.” He touches my shoulder as he walks by, leaving me in the arena alone.

I sit on the bench for a long moment, trying not to overwhelm myself with the sudden racing thoughts he’s left me with. But, when I realize I’ve left my phone in the locker room— which means I’ve had no contact with my brothers, or Miss B, or Aurora—then I shoot up, sliding my left guard on as I step.

There’s a figure in the stands, just above the tunnel, still seated quietly. I squint up at him in the muted light of the arena.

“You can’t be in here—it’s a closed practice,” I grumble, loud enough to be heard.

A smoky chuckle reverberates in the empty room.

“I can see why,” he says with the kind of voice that makes my subconscious scream DANGER.

“Who the hell are you?” I bite, feeling myself raise up like a feral animal.

He jumps over the lowest railing, which still sits fairly high, and lands like a jungle cat. He straightens, towering over me in black track pants and a black Dri-Fit, looking so much like what meeting the devil might look like.

Especially his eyes—bright gold, almost ethereal even in the dark. His mouth is tilted half up, a crooked grin that looks like an insane GQ model just finished a killing spree.

“Kane,” he supplies. “And you’re the little figure skater that knows all of Captain’s secrets.”

He’s unfortunately attractive, golden tan skin and black hair, slightly shorter on the sides and a rasping mess of waves on the top that looked repeatedly combed through. His face is all sharp angles, highlighted by a scar down one side of his cheek and jaw, another nick on the skin of his neck, a small one pulling at the cupid’s bow on his pouty lips.

“Are we on a fucking pirate ship? You’re pulling a real evil villain thing right now.”

He shrugs and rolls his eyes, still grinning, crossing his arms casually.

“Aren’t I always?” He’s speaking more to himself as he rolls a stick between his sharp, gleaming teeth—a lollipop, I realize with a jolt.

Satan is sucking on a lollipop.

I almost want to laugh, but I’m anxious enough in this rink alone with him that I manage to snuff it out before it bubbles over.

“Look, I don’t know who you are or what your deal is, but I’ve got all the annoying assholes I can deal with right now, okay? Move.”

“Does your perfect little boyfriend know that your coach overtrains you?”

I growl, which in this face off probably looks like a feral toy poodle barking at a German Shepard.

“One—he’s not my boyfriend—”

“Does he know that?” he asks, removing the lollipop, it’s purple so I assume it’s grape flavored, before swirling it on his tongue and biting lightly on the stick as he smiles.

“And second—my coach doesn’t overtrain me. I’m just the best one on the team.” I grin brightly at him, eyebrows fluttering in my taunt. “Jealous? What? Is your coach too busy with his star center not to mess with whatever the hell you are?”

He smirks, eyes light fire. “Considering I’m on this team at all, I don’t think Coach gives that big of a shit about Rhys.”

I wait for a moment, trying not to let my confusion show. I’m not very good at it.

His eyes light up. “Oh my god.” He laughs, and I get that same flash of a sinister comic book villain trapping the hero. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Who I am?”

“I don’t really give a shit—”

He holds a hand up, smile widening until I can see a slip of sharp canines that somehow just add to his villainous look. “You will. Google him—or better yet, Google me. Toren Kane, I’ve got better articles. Just see what you can find.”

He pushes past me, reaching beneath the end of the home team bench furthest from me and grabbing a bag. I realize he’s putting on skates, and I’m dumbstruck and a little shaken by the conversation, before taking off to definitely not Google him.

I have First Aid Kit blaring, windows rolled down so that by the time I stop in front of my assigned parking for the dorms, my cheeks are pink and flushed from the wind.

I’m quick, rushing and very nearly forgetting to put my car in park before lurching out and towards the dorms, catching the door from someone on their way out.

We’re on the third floor, but I take the stairs anyway to avoid any waiting time.

I have exactly zero texts from Aurora or Rhys, which gives me just as much anxiety as if I’d missed an emergency text. But I’m already extremely late for my meeting with the lawyer. So, I spent most of my definitely-speeding drive here planning exactly how to beg Rora to bring them food and spend the night with them at our house—something I would never ask her to do otherwise, so that I can still possibly try to make the meeting.

When I burst through our door, Aurora is in the kitchen and the smell wafting over is mouth-watering.

She gives me a bright beaming smile that I definitely don’t deserve, considering the amount of her texts and calls I’ve let go unanswered as of late.

“Hey,” I drag out, slumping against our wrapping paper decorated door.

I wait for the onslaught of noise from the boys that is normal for nights they spend here.

She’s got a wooden spoon in her mouth, like she’s just finished tasting whatever’s in the pot on our sketchy stove, and a bright orange scrunchie keeping her hair up high on her head.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, mumbling around the spoon as she drops everything she’s doing and comes towards me. “Everything is okay.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Where… The boys. They aren’t here? What the hell?” I rake my hands through my hair, pulling out my bun and redoing it again. “I need to call Rhys, and then after I’m done losing my shit with him, I have to meet with the lawyer—”

“Hey. It’s okay—my, uh, seminar went over and Rhys offered to grab them food.” Rora smiles, but there’s a hesitancy in her eyes. “Actually, I’m going to go pick up the boys in, like…” She glances at her watch. “An hour. Trust me, he’s probably showing Oliver some fun hockey moves while Liam laughs like it’s the funniest thing ever.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. Because she’s right; as much as I’m furious with the hockey boy haunting my every thought, I do trust him. Especially with the boys.

Even if this feels like a trial by fire.

“And I made you dinner. So, eat,” she says, shuffling me to sit at our little table. “And then sleep. I’ll take care of everything, okay? Trust me.”

There’s a sinking feeling in my gut, a slight unease. But if there is anyone in this entire world I trust, it’s Rora.

“Okay.”

“Good.” She smiles. “I’ll call the lawyer and reschedule. Now eat.”

I smile as she sets a heaping plate of chicken pesto pasta in front of me. “Smells amazing.”

She bats her hands at the compliment. “Yeah, yeah—you know cooking isn’t my thing. But, I need to keep my little skating rock star fed.”

She sits to eat with me and we talk about everything. It feels good, and I find myself relaxing and getting more tired as I polish off the entire bowl. Soon after, she leaves to get the boys and I set up their cots in my room, laid out like a big pallet on my floor.

It used to make me happy to look at it, because I knew they’d be here with me; safe. Now, it fills me with dread. Can I do this? If I get custody of them, can I even stay here?

I know the answer already; which is why I overloaded my courses this semester to try and graduate in the fall. But I’m already just off academic probation, barely clearing my check-ins with my counselor and Coach Kelley. Which is ridiculous for a simple communications major.

By the time I’ve circled my thoughts back around, I’m standing dead on my feet. So I laze to the shower and then back to bed, only waking briefly when I hear the pitter-patter of little feet.

Oliver crashes to the floor almost instantly, quietly begging Liam not to wake me. But Liam ignores his every plea and walks right over to my bed. I shut my eyes tight, feigning sleep, and he presses a little kiss to my forehead before whispering, “Sweet dreams, sissy.”

I don’t know how I’ll manage it. But I know I will, somehow.

Because those two boys deserve so much more than this.