Page 7 of Stick Handled

I do. Damien’s in full motion now, cutting through defenders like it’s nothing, each movement packed with force. He’s aggressive and focused. And Rowan, it’s as if he can read the ice and predict where the puck will be before it’s even there. My eyes are on Damien again, trying my best not to lose track of him. Every turn, every pivot, is calculated, but with a kind of raw power that makes my chest tighten.

I haven’t felt this pull toward the ice in so long. Seeing them move like that… it reminds me of why I loved it and why I miss it.

“God,” I whisper, my breath fogging up the glass in front of me. I can feel my hands trembling slightly.

How long has it been since I’ve been on the ice?

Too long.

Ares blurs past my line of sight. One second, he’s at the blue line, and the next, he’s already behind the defense, taking a shot. It’s like he teleports, too fast to follow, too sharp to predict.

“Jesus, did you see that?” Sarah exclaims. “He’s like a freaking ghost.”

I nod, still unable to peel my eyes away. Watching them lights something in me. Something I thought I buried after the accident.

“I miss it,” I whisper so quietly I’m not sure Sarah hears me.

But she does. “Why don’t you get back out there?”

I shake my head. “You know why. It’s been too long. Besides, Rowan would never allow it.”

“Rowan may be the team’s captain, but he’s not your captain, Avery. You’re an adult. You can do whatever the hell you want.” She pauses, then adds with a sly smile, “Maybe you should ask Damien to help you. He’d love to be your coach, I bet.”

I roll my eyes, even though the thought of it sends my nerves buzzing. “Sarah, I can’t go back there. I’d have to start from the basics again. It’s been too long.”

“And?” She crosses her arms.

“You think an actual professional athlete playing for the NHL would want to teach someone how to skate in a straight line without breaking their nose?” I counter.

She just rolls her eyes. “Come on, just think about it. What’s the harm in asking one of them to skate with you, even if it’s just once?”

What’s the harm?

“I don’t know.” I bite my lip, but her words echo in my head for the rest of practice.

No matter how hard I try to push it away, it comes back. I want to get back on the ice. It’s all I’ve been thinking about on the way home. Back at Rowan’s house, I sit down on the kitchen island while he makes us smoothies.

“I need a shower. You okay if we order something today?” He looks back at me as he chops up fruit, pausing for a moment. “I’m too exhausted to cook,” he adds. Rowan’s never been one to hire anything more than cleaning and maintenance staff who come, do their job, and get out of his way. His words, not mine. He doesn’t like people lingering around his house for too long. He says it unnerves him. But it’s not the food I’m thinking about right now. I fidget with the hem of my T-shirt, trying to figure out the right way to approach it. Skating again. I need him on my side, at least a little.

“I really enjoyed watching you guys at practice today,” I admit truthfully.

“I’m glad.” He gives me a smile and slides our glasses closer to the blender.

“Rowan, I’ve been thinking,” I start, glancing at him nervously, “about getting back on the ice. Maybe just practicing, nothing too serious.”

He doesn’t even look up. “No.”

“Rowan, stop being like this.” It’s not that his response wasn’t expected, but I’m still disappointed. “You took me back there, and you thought I wouldn’t feel some type of, I don’t know, nostalgia, at least?”

“We’ve talked about this,” he says, his tone cold and final. “You barely made it out of that accident.”

“I won’t skate with a partner again, so the risk is minimal. Besides, you’re a hockey player. You’ve had accidents, too,” I counter, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“Not as serious as yours, Avery. We wear gear for a reason. You don’t. I’m not letting you risk that again, even without a partner. I can’t.”

His words sting, and their sharpness cuts deeper than I expect. I glance down at the scar on my leg, constantly reminding me of what happened.

“I miss it, Rowan,” I say quietly.

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