Page 29 of Unsteady

“You sure? I need to practice my lifts. Was looking for a partner.”

I roll my eyes as we slug slowly behind the rest of the team. The innuendo is one I’m unfortunately familiar with. Usually, I’m quite repetitive in my motto of not mixing business with pleasure, but in this case I have already mixed. Which makes it easier to say yes.

And yet, I’m hesitating.

And a stupid pair of brown eyes are taking over my entire brain.

So I shake my head and shove Luc’s shoulder. “I’ve got to get home.”

* * *

It’s a pancake breakfast morning, which, by my brother’s standards, assures it will be a good day.

Ms. B, our neighbor who often helps us, offered to watch them today. I don’t usually need her on the weekends before noon, but Coach Kelley called a last minute practice at the other rink in a midnight email.

Which means I need to be there a few hours early to make sure my current jump combo—and my spiral—are as clean as possible. I’m desperate for this year to be different; starting with not disappointing Coach Kelley.

But then, I see his car.

Emotions soar through me too quickly to hone in on just one—anger, frustration, fear, worry… excitement and anticipation.

I want to see him, I realize, as much as I want to scream at him to get out of my rink and out of my head.

You can’t touch him. Stop it.

I try to chant it, as I march into the rink and down to the locker rooms ready to be firm. To tell him we can’t skate together anymore, for my sanity.

Fuck.

He’s laying against one set of lockers, bent and sweating, skates on, legs splayed out as he hefts breaths like he’s been drowning.

My bag falls off my shoulder. My anger falls away into nothing.

The sound alerts him, brown eyes shooting towards me in panic—then slumping half-lidded as he realizes it’s just me.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he mutters, his plump mouth arching into what I assume to be some sort of smile, even if it’s barely there in exhaustion. My stomach hurts. Finding him like this again… a week before he’s going to play—

My heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat.

“Rhys,” I barely get out, my hand reaching for his face. It’s only as he circles my wrist that I realize I’m shaking.

“Worried about me, Gray?”

“Terrified,” I admit. “I thought it was better.”

“S-so did I.” He groans, his head slumping into my palm, as if it’s the only thing keeping his neck upright. “Today is just a bad day.”

“I should’ve brought you pancakes,” I say, not realizing how insane that sounds on its own.

He laughs, breathless but happy. “Please explain that one.”

“Liam thinks when I make pancakes, it’ll be a good day.”

He smiles at me, doe eyes glittering, dimples deep. “I’ll try that one next time. I bet you make the best pancakes, though.”

“I’ll make you some, sometime,” I whisper, sitting next to him as he wipes off his forehead and leans back. “You okay?”

He nods. Sitting up, he takes a few gulps of his water. “Yeah. But just a fair warning, I will take you up on that. I love breakfast food.”

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