Page 16 of Unsteady

I shake my head, exiting the screen as fast as I can, before looking back up at Aurora.

The girl is gorgeous, and it isn’t just her lean, athletic figure and mess of ringlet curls that somehow always seem perfectly styled into a thousand new, different ways; it’s something deeper, like sun is shining from within her bright, tawny skin, stretching out and over everything she sees.

“Yeah?”

“Gonna tell me why you’re looking him up?”

“Because I didn’t know who he was, and he’s been… bothering me lately.”

“We’ll get to the second part, but let’s start here: How in theworlddo you go to Waterfell andnotrecognize that guy! Even I know who he is, and I’ve never been to a game.”

I try to roll my eyes, because while that’s true, Rora is more aware than me. The little wallflower knows so much because she listens, she watches everything.

“You’re in that arena all the time, where I’m sure life-size cutouts of him are lining the tunnels and hallways, if the massive posters of his face on campus are anything to go by.”

God, had I been that bad last semester?

Yes. I can hear Coach Kelley’s voice invading my thoughts, telling me exactly how absent I’d been, how much of a letdown both my programs had been at the finals.

“I hadn’t noticed, I guess,” I reply, only half-heartedly, because I won’t talk about it. I’ll be better this year, for my team, for Oliver and Liam—but I won’t talk about last year anymore.

Rora has that look on her face now, the arched perfect eyebrows over her sparkling green eyes, pursed lips. She wears her every emotion on her face, andthisis her concern.

“Alright, well, you said he’s been bothering you,” she reminds me, letting whatever she was going to say die before reaching for the multicolored mugs soaking in the sink. I take the waffled wash cloth from her outstretched hand and help her dry. “Gonna tell me about that?”

“I’ve just run into him a few times lately, in my early practices. He has a tendency to beat me to my pre-skate.” I shrug again, feeling ridiculous as I turn towards her.

Rora’s squeal is immediate and I have the urge to cover her mouth, despite the closed, empty cafe around us. Whatever sharp look I give her seems to be enough as she settles.

“That’s adorable,” she offers, nodding excessively as she starts again on some home-made sunflower shaped mug that’s started to lose its color. “I mean, hockey boy and figure—”

“Nope,” I snap, cutting her off and reaching in to drain the water in the big sink. “Stop it, you cannot go around romanticizing everything—how many times do we have to have this talk?”

She looks at me like I’ve kicked a puppy, but Rora is a hopeless romantic, and she’s been my friend for three years now—my only friend, really. But it doesn’t matter how many guys she watches me take into a bathroom or sneak out of our dorm in the morning, she’s convinced that my love story is out there.

“Understood?” I ask while washing my hands. She nods almost aggressively, moving to the side to take off her apron and allowing me room.

Rora waits only a minute for me to put my apron in the little cubby next to hers and grab my backpack before the dam bursts from her pressed-closed lips.

“So… Can we go to a hockey game?”

This time, I can’t help the smile and slight roll of my eyes. But, the flutter of laughter that etches out of me and the feel of her arm looping over my shoulder as we exit together, giggling over some inside joke, it makes me feel normal and good. Like a regular twenty-one-year-old college student, if only for a moment.

FIVE

RHYS

“No.”

“Rhys,” my father calls, the sound of his voice making my fist go white with my grip on the marble counter. “Please. I’ll come with you. We haven’t skated together since…” he trails off combing a hand through his dark salt-and-pepper hair.

“Well aware,” I snap, immediately regretting it as the words slip out. “I know you want to check on me and see how I’m skating but I need to do this on my own, okay?”

There’s a vulnerability in my father for a moment, before he nods and turns back to the expensive espresso machine, working quietly, almost sullenly.

“Another coffee already?” I ask, trying to relieve the tension that keeps my feet stuck to the kitchen floor.

“For your mother.” He smiles, slowly making her overly complicated latte, complete with some sort of foam art that he barely finishes by the time my mother pads lightly into the room. She’s bundled in a fuzzy robe with little fruits and vegetables dotting the material, with thick glasses sitting atop her head, tangled into her hair.

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