Page 130 of Unsteady

“Stop,” she whispers, and for a moment I think I’ve held her too tight, that I’vehurther. My arms drop from her as if I’ve laid flat against a burning stove.

It only takes a moment for me to realize she’s warning me off her coach.

“He can’t touch you like that, Gray,” I whisper, albeit a bit harshly.

Her back is up, again, the divot of her brow that I love so much taunting me as she crosses her arms. “You don’t know him. He just cares about me. He wants me to do well, work hard.”

“You work harder than most of the athletes I know, Gray. And I know a fucking lot.”

“He just doesn’t want me distracted. He’s focused.”

“Youare focused. No one is more determined than you.”

What I want to say is that what her coach had the balls to do in front of me is only the tip of the iceberg, that it can only mean how he treats her behind closed doors is worse. And sure, I didn’t figure skateever, but I grew up in a rink. I went to a goddamn private hockey academy with some of the strictest coaching staff I’ve ever experienced.

And not one of them ever raised a hand to me.

But she’s about to skate, and the last thing I want is to pull her down. Never again.

So, I swallow my words for another time and press a deep kiss to her forehead, before tilting her chin up.

“You’re a killer, Gray. Say it.”

“I’m a killer,” she mutters, rolling her eyes even as I bottle up the slipping smile.

“Good girl.” I smirk. “I’d kiss you but I don’t want to mess up your lipstick.” As I say it, she presses a dark red kiss mark into my palm, so I can hold it.

“I’m proud of you, and so are your brothers. Now, go show them their sissy is a badass.”

She does.

By the time I’m back to my seat—with hot chocolates for the boys, she’s next.

Without the jacket, Sadie is dressed in a strappy black mesh dress that matches the thin black of her tights, long mesh sleeves that sit just on the cusp of her shoulders, strategic panels of thick black covering some, while the other see-through panels display the hard lines of her stomach and waistline.

She takes her place at the center, poised and beautiful, before the speakers begin blasting Metallica's “Enter Sandman,” which sends a vibrating laugh through both my father and I.

And just like the first time I saw her skate while hiding in the tunnel, Sadie Brown skates like she’s on fire. Pure passion, pure unrelenting strength. Her movements are hard and fast, her spins so quick she turns into a blur. She hits every jump hard, but lands them. Every. Single. One.

My fingers are melded into the chair by the end of her program from keeping myself seated when I want to jump up every time and scream, “That’s my girl,” at the top of my lungs.

Liam cheers just as loudly as he promised. Oliver grins happily, watching his sister with wonder in his eyes.Me too, bud.

By the end of it, my cheeks hurt from my uncontrollable beaming smile. I’m so goddamn proud of her, so lucky to call hermine.

So lucky that she calls me hers.

She bows and looks over at us, winking at her brothers and blowing a snarky little kiss that I know is all mine. I clench my hand a little tighter where her dark lipstick mark still lies.

It doesn’t matter how much distance there is right now, as long as she’ll have me, I’ll be right here. Waiting and cheering from the bleachers, if that’s what she needs.

* * *

Another anxiety disappears overnight.

Kane isn’t just opting out of the Harvard game—Freddy apparently did some digging, as he hurried to inform me when I enter the Hockey House.

Toren Kane isn’t allowed to play at Harvard.

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