Page 109 of Tiny Fractures

“We decided to go skating today.” Vada brings Ronan up to speed on our plans for the day.

Ronan leans back a smidge to look at me.

“I’ve never been,” I tell him. “So, you’ll need to teach me.”

“Oh, I’ll teach you, baby,” he says suggestively, his voice low, and I swat his shoulder playfully, rolling my eyes.

“Jesus,” Steve says with a huff. “Maybe you two should stay home and only Vada and I go skating.”

Ronan shrugs. “Works for me.” He plants a kiss on my temple while I inhale him. “But if you really want to go, let’s do it!”

It takes us an hour before we’re finally ready to head out the door. Ronan scarfs down a hastily made turkey sandwich as he and I sit, squeezed in the back of Steve’s Challenger while Steve drives us to the ice rink.

It’s freezing when we step into the ice center. I’m not sure what I expected, it being an ice rink and all, but I didn’t think I would be shivering within the first three minutes of arrival. I certainly understand now why Ronan grabbed not one, but two of his hoodies before we left, and I gratefully accept a navy-blue sweater Ronan hands to me with a knowing grin.

“What size shoes do you wear?” Steve asks me while Ronan, his fingers interlaced with mine, leads me down a narrow walkway adjacent to the icy rink where people, young and old, are already exhibiting varying levels of skating prowess.

“Eight and a half,” I say.

Steve gives me a quick nod. “Perfect. We’ll be right back.” He pulls Vada with him to the counter where people can rent ice skates. “Oh, wait,” Steve calls out to me, “what kind of skates do you want? Hockey or figure skating?”

I shrug and look at Ronan. “What’s the difference?”

He smiles that sexy half-smile at me that always makes my head go all mushy. “Go with hockey skates,” he says, then quickly pulls my hand toward him, and with it my whole body, stepping around a burly guy who didn’t look like he had any intention of avoiding a collision with us. He’s tall and wide, his stature familiar, and for a second I think it’s Adam. My body tenses, the hairs on my neck standing up when I look back at the guy who’s walking away from us, head ducked, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Okay,” I say, still craning my neck, but the guy’s head is covered by a hood. Before I can make out details, he disappears from my view, and I quickly shake off the eerie tension in my body. There’s no way Adam could be here in New York, let alone at the same ice rink I’m at right now.

“Get her hockey skates,” Ronan yells at his brother, who gives me a quick salute. “Hockey skates are easier to learn with,” Ronan explains to me, not picking up on the momentary change in my demeanor as he continues leading me down the walkway. “Figure skates have toe picks in the front,” he says as he holds open a glass door and I step into a small room.

“Oh, it’s warm in here,” I remark gratefully.

Ronan chuckles. “That’s probably because this is the warm room,” he says, and I give him an incredulous look. “I swear,” he says, amused by my expression, “it’s called the warm room.” He laughs now, and it’s infectious.

“Got it,” I say, sniggering at him. “The warm room. I’m learning,” I say proudly, and he plants a kiss against my temple. “Teach me more,” I urge while I touch the spot where his lips just met my skin. “What are toe picks?”

“Toe picks are those little zigzag things on the front of the figure skate blade. They allow figure skaters to dig their toes into the ice and then do their fancy jumps and stuff,” he says, and motions for me to sit down in a chair.

I sit and begin to untie my shoes, slipping them off one by one.

Steve and Vada join Ronan and me in the warm room. “Here you go,” Vada says, and drops a pair of black hockey skates in front of me.

I give her a smile but turn my attention back to Ronan. “And hockey skates don’t have those,” I observe, scanning the blade of one of the skates Vada just dropped in front of me.

“No. Hockey skates are shorter and more rounded, making them ideal for speed and quick maneuvering,” Ronan says, sitting down next to me. A tingling sensation moves up my leg when his knee touches mine while he takes off his chucks.

“Do you think I should be using skates that are made for speed and ‘quick maneuvering?’” I ask, eyeing the skates with a concerned look on my face.

He laughs again. “The toe picks on figure skates tend to trip people up, so yeah, I think you’ll be more comfortable with hockey skates.” He puts on his skates, tying them quickly and skillfully while I fumble around with the seemingly yards-long laces on my own pair.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his eyes a liquid green. I could get lost in those eyes, swim in them like an ocean. Ronan takes a knee in front of me, then helps me slide first one foot, then the other into the skates before he laces them for me.

“You never lace my skates sexy like that for me,” I hear Vada complain to Steve, who snorts a laugh.

“I’ll tie your laces for you next time,” Steve laughs.

“Ready?” Ronan asks, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say hesitantly, and follow Vada, Steve, and Ronan out of the little room and to the ice rink. I feel wobbly on the thin blades, but nothing prepares me for my first time on the ice. Ronan steps on before me and immediately spins around to face me. He looks absolutely comfortable on the ice as he holds out his hands to me, and I take them. I step onto the ice and immediately lose my footing.

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