Page 44 of The Bad Boy Rule

I try for another, this time going for the double rotation, but I end up falling flat on my ass yet again.

Goddamnit.

I hit the ground hard, my tailbone stinging from all the previous times I’ve fallen.

“Damn, I know that one hurt. You good?” he says from behind me.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I ignore him, not letting him get the rise he so desperately wants out of me. It’s a game to him, but I’m not in the mood to play today.

All I want is to land this fucking jump. That’s it.

I try again, and again, and again, this time landing so hard that my tailbone feels like it’s cracking against the ice, a low, pained groan tumbling past my lips.

Fresh tears spring free, a mixture of frustration and the pain in every part of my body from the beating that I’ve put myself through today.

I hate this feeling. I hate it so fucking much.

God, I’m probably doing this for nothing because I’ll never be able to do what I used to. This is one of my easiest jumps, and I can’t even do it.

A second later, Saint appears in front of me, crouching down on his skates. “What the fuck are you doing? You’re going to hurt yourself.”

I keep my eyes down because the last thing I want is for him to see the tears wetting my cheeks, instead pretending to dust offsome ice from the front of my skirt. “I’m fine. Why does it even matter? Shouldn’t you be over on your side playing with your little puck?”

A beat of silence unfolds between us, and I squeeze my eyes shut when I can’t hold the tears back, the dam of frustration and disappointment in myself breaking free.

When I finally lift my face to him, I see his jaw tense, dark, stormy gaze boring into me as it drags over my puffy, swollen eyes. “I’m the one that’s going to have to peel you off the ice when you snap your fucking ankle or break your tailbone, that’s why it matters. You’re crying, for fuck’s sake.”

Yeah, and you’re the last person I want to be around when I do, I want to say, but I roll my lips together, trying to keep more tears from falling.

“I’m fine.” My words are whispered as I tear my gaze away.

“Obviously, you’re not when you’re punishing yourself like this. Why?” he says gruffly, voice full of reproach.

My throat feels tight as I push down a swallow, the frustration and emotion I’ve been feeling all day overwhelming me.

“God, I don’t know, okay?” The words tumble out before I even think. I reach up and brush the tears away. “I just want to land this stupid fucking jump, one that I used to be able to do effortlessly, and I can’t seem to do anything anymore.”

He sighs. “What are you training for? Why is this jump so important that you’re willing to hurt yourself, Golden Girl?”

His tone is soft, lacking the normal patronizing tone. For once, the nickname doesn’t feel like a jab, but it doesn’t make the question any easier to answer.

The truth is, I don’t knowwhyI’m pushing myself this hard, why I’m striving so hard to be perfect.

Maybe because everything else in my life feels so out of control lately. Maybe because this is the one thing that’s mine,that I’m reclaiming, that I refuse to let anyone take from me ever again.

The only thing Icancontrol.

I hate feeling so raw and exposed in front of anyone else, especially Saint.

I hate that I’m failing at the thing I love the most and that it brings to the surface the fact that I’ve let my parents control my life this badly, that I gave up my passion because I was too blind to see it.

I hate that all of this goes hand in hand, and it makes me see things for what they really are. And it suddenly feels like too much, like I’m caving under the weight of it all.

“I’m not training. For anything,” I finally say, my voice low, holding his stare. Part of me feels terrified being vulnerable with him, while the other part of me feels relieved saying this out loud to someone besides myself. “I… I just want to prove to myself that I can still do it. To reclaim my passion after it was taken from me. I used to be able to land these jumps in my sleep and even more challenging ones. And now it’s like I’ve never put on a pair of skates before. I hate it. I hate feeling this way. Maybe I should just admit to myself that I don’t have what it takes anymore. Give up while I’m ahead.”

For a second, he’s quiet, silence hanging between us until it feels like it might choke us both before he speaks. “Okay, so get up.”

My brows pinch together in confusion, and he stands to full height so I have to tilt my head to look up at him. “You’re not fucking giving up. That’s the easy way out. If you’ve done it before, then you can do it again. So get off your pretty little ass and prove to yourself that you can still do it.”

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