Page 24 of Stick Handled

“Ambitious.” I smirk, my mind going right back to that edge of teasing.

She glares but sits, and as she fumbles with the skates, I watch the determination on her face. It’s cute, really. I take a breath, trying to shake off the tension still lingering in my body.

When she’s done, I step onto the ice first, hearing the familiar crunch of the blades as they cut into the frozen surface. The sound centers me and brings me back to where I need to be. Away from her lips, her flushed face, and the reckless thoughts racing through my head.

“Come on,” I say, my tone light, but my gaze is fixed on her as she steps onto the rink.

She’s shaky at first, just like before. Her arms are stiff, and her stance is awkward, but there’s something that wasn’t there the last time we did this. It’s her muscle memory kicking in; it’s the stubborn way she refuses to let me see her struggle, but I notice it right away. Her body is starting to remember.

“Relax your shoulders,” I tell her, skating backward, watching her every move. She’s stiff as hell, but she’s pushing through it. “You’re tensing up. Just let go.”

Her eyes flick to mine, a hint of frustration in them.

“You keep saying that as if I don’t know,” she grumbles, and I can’t help but chuckle at the bite in her voice.

“I’m serious, Red,” I say, skating closer to her, keeping pace as she glides forward, still a little shaky. “Let your body take over.”

I see it happen, the moment when she stops overthinking and just lets herself skate. Her shoulders loosen, her steps become smoother, and the lines of tension in her face fade. There’s that flash of confidence I remember, the way she used to own the ice.

“See?” I say, keeping my voice low like I don’t want to break the spell. “You’re getting it back.”

Her lips twitch, almost like she’s about to smile, but she catches herself. She doesn’t want to give me the satisfaction.

We keep going like that for a while, me throwing out pointers and her slowly getting better, stronger. But the more she improves, the more I notice something else. How much I’m enjoying this. Not just watching her skate, but watching her, period. Seeing the determination, the fire in her that’s been buried beneath all that shyness for so long.

And it’s messing with my head.

By the time we finish, I’m more wound up than I should be. I step off the ice, my skates digging into the rubber flooring, my mind running through everything I’ve felt in the last hour.

But then I catch her looking at me again. Her cheeks are bright red from skating, her breathing heavy, and all I can think about is how good she looks like this. She’s alive, raw, and completely unaware of the effect she’s having on me.

Ares and I are sharing a bottle of Macallan on the table by the pool. I sit back in my chair, swirling the glass of whiskey in my hand. The usual burn when it hits my throat doesn't help tonight. I start talking, filling the silence with whatever I can—real estate deals, the upcoming game. But I know Ares too well. He’s too quiet, even for him.

The longer I talk, the heavier the room feels, like a storm gathering in the distance. Ares sits across from me, listening, but he’s not really there. His dark eyes are sharp and calculating. Silent in a way that makes everyone around him uncomfortable. I take a breath, shifting in my seat.

“You good, man?” I ask, my voice low.

He doesn't respond immediately, just sets his glass down on the table, the sound sharp. His gaze meets mine, unblinking, and for a second, I feel like I’m under a microscope. Shit. He knows.

“Avery,” he says finally, cutting through the bullshit.

Her name hits like a punch to the gut, though I expected it. A knot forms in my stomach. “What about her?” I manage to say, trying to keep my voice even.

Ares leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression as unreadable as ever. But he knows. I have no idea how he found out. but he knows. That’s for fucking certain.

I can see the subtle flicker in his eyes, the conflict there. Ares is my best friend. I’ve known him for years. I know how his mind works. He doesn’t like being in the middle of things like this. He doesn’t like choosing sides. But right now, he’s caught between Rowan and me. Between his loyalty to both of us.

“I know you’ve been skating with her,” he says quietly, his voice lacking judgment, just stating a fact.

My heart pounds, and my grip on the glass tightens. “She misses skating. I’m helping her get that back,” I say, but even I can hear how hollow it sounds.

Ares gives a small shake of his head. “I don’t need details, Damien. I’m not here to pry. But you know Rowan won’t take this lightly.”

I take a slow breath, trying to rein in the frustration building inside me. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“Not yet.” Ares’ eyes darken, the muscles in his jaw clenching. “But you will.”

His words cut deep, the weight behind them sinking in. But it’s not just what he’s saying. It’s the way he looks at me. He’s trying to figure out how to handle this. How to warn me without crossing lines. I can see the conflict in him, the way he’s torn between telling Rowan and keeping this between us.

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