Page 165 of Ice Dance Hockey

“Why are you here, Scott?”

“I thought you could use a friend.” He’s got a blue and gray scarf swooped around his neck, and his blond hair softly feathers backward from his forehead.

“We’re not friends.”

“We spend a lot of hours together. We’re something.”

“Co-workers. Now, leave.”

He catches the door swinging toward his face with a sturdy palm and invites himself inside. His judge-y eyes take in my travesty—darkness, Rhett and Jack on my computer screen, sad Madonna music playing in the background. Yeah, even I can admit that I’m tragic, but anyone would be. The love of my life was torn from me in the most brutal manner possible. No warning, no explanation.

“I’m not taking no for an answer. Put some pants on and douse yourself in anything that doesn’t smell like the City of New York on a hot day. God, you could blend in with the vermin, Lowey.”

I don’t have the energy to fight with him. I close my laptop, pull on a pair of sweats, change out of Rhett’s jersey and into a sweatshirt that I’m pretty sure I stole from Jack. Belatedly, I remember to grab a ballcap and some sunglasses. I layer my long woolen coat overtop. Depression isn’t the only thing holding me hostage in my room. The world’s been waiting for a reaction from me, and I haven’t given them one. Well, “I” have, via the Elkington family PR team, but it wasn’t me, and the skeptics have been waiting for something directly out of my mouth.

I follow where he leads, refusing to talk to him, but the fresh air ends up being a welcome change of pace. Winter is coming, but the crisp fragrance of a New York fall lingers in the afternoon zephyr. He brings me to the last place I want to go—the school cafeteria—and points for me to sit while he forages for food.

The plethora of food scents hit me hard, making my stomach growl—again—and roil with nausea at the same time. Scott returns with a plain bowl of soup and some crackers.

“You’re paler than usual. Eat that or I’m ratting you out to Coach.”

“Surprised you want me to eat, Scott. Figured you’d be happy.” I’ve lost the five pounds he wanted me to lose—not on purpose.

He shakes his head. “I was wrong about that, and I’m sorry. Now, eat.”

I spoon the salty broth into my mouth, not because of Scott’s threat, but so I can tell Mercy I ate something. He’s worried to death. No one likes my eating habits generally, and no one believes I haven’t stopped eating on purpose. He’s threatened to pull me out of school.

The broth coats my stomach warmly and because it seems to be staying down, I attempt crackers.

“Rhett’s too much drama. I don’t know what you see in that guy.”

“That topic’s off limits.”

“No one else will say this to you and you need to hear it—you have real potential as an ice dancer, Logan. But look at you, you’ve been slower in practice, distracted. Months of training has just … fallen out of you. Don’t ruin your career over a guy who can’t seem to let go of his ex. You deserve better.”

Scott needs to keep his mouth shut, especially about that. I hate that my brain’s already had that thought all on its own.

“Let me guess, you’re the something better I deserve?” Anger ferments in my belly, bringing my appetite roaring back. I drink the soup straight from the bowl.

“Definitely.”

He’s got balls, I’ll give him that, but Scott’s a fucking tool. An incredible ice-dancing tool, but still a tool. I can’t believe I ever cared about his opinions.

Slurping the last of the soup, I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of Jack’s sweatshirt. “You don’t wait long, do you?”

“I knew you two had to be fake all along. No chance Rhett would share anything, which means that was all you, doing everything you could to date me while that caveman held you hostage until his grander plan was realized.”

Oh, boy. Though, Rhett is a caveman but he’s my caveman. “Then why does my heart feel like someone ripped it to shreds?”

“I’m sure you think you fell for him. Who wouldn’t? The man has everything; money, fame, power. Bet he’s good in bed, too. You’ll get over it quickly, though, and yes, I intend to be there to catch your fall.”

I won’t let you fall.

Rhett does have all those things, and he’s damn good in bed, but none of those reasons are why I love him.

“Scott?”

“Yeah, Lowey?”

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