Page 34 of On the Brink of Passion

Okay then. That’s pretty direct, but—

“I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to see you. I don’t want you to send me e-mails, or text messages, or presents, and I swear to god if you send me a singing telegram or some shit, I will tear the messenger limb from limb and send them to you in a box. I don’t want to have any contact with you whatsoever, so please leave me alone.”

That doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for argument. I mean, I guess I could ask about the validity of smoke signals, but she’d probably use one of the nearby wires to strangle me. But she can’t mean this about all the time. Right?

“Um, okay. But you’ll still have to see me at the rink. Can’t really be skating partners without, you know, looking at each other. I’m good, but it’s kind of important to look at you, say, during a triple twist lift. So, you’ll have to just deal with it then. But—”

She shakes her head and looks at the floor. Her wiry arms that had looked defensive a minute ago now look protective, comforting, like she’s hurting and is afraid she’s about to hurt more. “No, Beckett. I can’t skate with you anymore.”

There’s all kinds of noise in the studio, but I can hear her clearly. There’s no reason to ask what came out of her mouth, because I heard her. And yet. “What?”

“You heard me, Beck.”

Cool, just stick in a knife in my already bleeding heart. Just twist it and use it to pull it out of my chest, heft it in the air and let the blood run down your arm while I watch. I mean, fuck, that would be an awesome sequence in an action move and I’d totally watch it, but right now it sucks. If you’re going to tell me to fuck off and leave all this behind, at least don’t call me Beck while you’re doing it. Christ.

“I heard you, I just don’t understand.”

Her eyes flash at me, dark and shiny as she lifts her head just enough to see me. “What is there not to understand? I can’t skate with you anymore.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t matter why not. I just can’t.”

“That’s ridiculous, and you know it. It took you months to find me. You think you’re going to find someone better? Who’s better suited to you? Who works as hard as I do? Who knows your body and your rhythms like I do? You honestly think you’re going to find someone who can make you as much of a contender as I have?”

“I did it before.”

My insides are going to be in ribbons by the time she’s through with me. If I were a different kind of man—less stubborn, less proud, maybe a better kind of man—I might fall to my knees and beg her to tell me I’m special. But despite having all the confidence in the world that I am in fact one of the best in the world at what I do, I also know I’m this good partially because Jubilee has always given me something to work with, against, and for. If some other guy had the raw ability and let her shape them like clay?

“I guess you did.” And she could do it again, because she’s incredible.

I’m ready to walk away, to be done with this, but before I can, I want her to hear me.

“I don’t understand this, Jubilee. If you’re lucky enough to find someone to be your partner—and I’m not just talking about on the ice—why would you not grab that with both hands and hold on with everything you’ve got? Maybe I’m making stuff up, but I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure you love me and I’m damn sure I love you.”

She flinches, which is not really the reaction a guy’s looking for when he says the L-word. “I don’t. Love you.”

Her voice is halting, on the verge of breaking, because the girl is lying through her teeth. There’s not a damn thing for me to do about it, though. If she’s not ready, if she’s too afraid, then she is. Nothing I do or say is going to make a damn bit of difference until she’s ready. She works that way on the ice too. New skill she’s not ready for? She’ll wait. And wait. Put together the components, process it in her head, watch tapes of it on loop, skate right up to it and stop a thousand times. But you’re not going to get her to do it until she’s goddamn good and ready. Not like me who’ll try it straight out, fuck it up, fuck it up a thousand times more, and then finally get it right.

If both of us were faced by a huge wall, I’d put a shoulder into it or take a sledgehammer to it until I busted through, cursing and losing my temper periodically. Jubilee would either walk around it or engineer some way to get over it. We’d both end up on the other side, but the way we got there would be completely different.

Thing is, Jubilee can outlast me any day of the week. On the ice, in bed, her mental and physical fortitude is out of this world. She’s frigging superhuman. And me? I’m just a man. But maybe I can wait her out. Let her walk around that wall. In the meantime, just hope against hope that she’s working on a way to get to the other side and not just sitting against it with her head in her hands. That is, I suppose, the risk I’ve got to take. But one I think is worth taking. It’s the only way I can see to getting what I want for the foreseeable future, which is her.

“Okay.” Even though I know I’m in this for the long haul, it hurts to give in, and judging by the look on her face, she’s surprised and not a little disappointed that I’m giving up.

Not forever, Jubilee, I swear.

“Just like that?”

I nod, slowly, and crunch my brows together. “Yeah. I mean, I’m not the kind of guy who thinks no means yes. You say no and I’ll respect that. I don’t like it, because I think you’re wrong and believe pretty strongly we’d be happier together, but forcing myself on a woman isn’t how I operate. If you don’t want me to look at you or touch you, if you don’t trust me . . .”

I chance a look at her, and her top teeth are sunk hard into her bottom lip, her hands curled into fists, her eyes glistening. If I thought it’d work, I’d beg and plead with her, but the only thing that’d get her to do is hold onto that wall even harder. She’s not ready. It sucks, because I am so frigging ready, but it doesn’t matter. Like I told her, it only matters whatwecan do andwearen’t ready yet. I’ll give her the space to decide it’s something she wants and then even more time to let her work on her approach. Over and over again, until she’s ready to take the leap. I’ll be there to catch her whenever she is, but I’m not going to get her to jump any faster by pressuring her.

“Yeah, it’s, uh, probably not a good idea for us to skate together if that’s not the case. So we’ll do what we have to do with the press and the endorsements and all that, but aside from that, I’ll let you be. If—”Please, for the love of everything holy let it be when and not if. Let me not have miscalculated severely.“—you change your mind, you know where to find me. Have a good trip home.”

I lean forward, brush my lips across her cheek and have to hold my hands behind my back so as not to touch her, hold her, sling her over my shoulder and run. That’s not going to help anything, though, so I restrain myself. I’m doing the right thing, I know I am. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. I straighten up, give her a tight, pained smile that feels like it’s going to make my face crumble, and then I turn around, head back down the studio hallway and away from the woman I love.

Chapter Seventeen

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