Page 4 of The Bad Boy Rule

She’s the softest spot I have.

I’d burn down the world for her.

Starting withmy father, if that’s what it took.

TWO

LENNON

There is absolutelynothingI hate more than being late.

And of course, of all of the times for me to be late, it’s now.

My type A personality is to blame, but after waiting months for this day to come, I don’t want to lose any precious time.

Blowing out a frustrated sigh, I hike my bag higher on my shoulder with one hand and push through the doors to the rink with my other.

Crisp, bitter air hits my cheeks, a welcome reprieve from the hot, sticky air outside. I can’t believe that it’s been a whole entire year since I’ve been to a rink. A year since I’ve felt the ice beneath my skates.

It feels like much longer. Especially when you’ve spent over half your life doing what you love, only to have it ripped away in the blink of an eye.

God, I can’t even imagine the coronary my father would have if he found out I was doing this. I can practically see the crimson shade of his face and that vein in his neck that bulges when he gets angry.

But… he’s not going to find out. I’m keeping this one secret all to myself, where it’s safe and unable to be stolen.

For the first time in my life, I’m doing something forme.

And honestly, it feels… liberating. It’s the first taste of true freedom I’ve had in longer than I can remember.

As I suck in the fresh air around me, a smile pulls at my lips despite the onslaught of nerves grouping in my stomach.

I know that it’s more than likely I’ll never skate competitively again. That my days of competing are probably over. It’s been a year since I’ve been on the ice, and my body is no longer in the shape that it used to be. Not only that, but I no longer have a coach to rely on or expertly choreographed routines, and I’ve missed too much competition time. But regardless of whether or not I’ll ever compete again, I just want to skate. Even if it’s just for an hour twice a week. I want to be on the ice, where I’ve always felt at peace.

An excited shiver racks my spine, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag as I come to a halt inside the entrance of the practice rink on campus. It’s my first time at this rink, and while it’s not as state-of-the-art as the arena where the hockey games are held, it’s more than enough for what I need.

Especially because it’s free. And I’m in absolutely no position to be picky about something that I’m getting for free, not when it finally gets me back on the ice.

When my father forced me to quit competing my freshman year at OU, he decided that he would no longer pay for my coaching or rink rental because he thought skating was a waste of time, a distraction from me focusing on my studies and from becoming the perfect trophy wife that he raised me to be.

It was nevermydecision to quit, and a part of me has never been able to forgive him for taking something so important away from me. He took something that was a lifeline for me, and it became yet another thing he could control me with.

Little did he know, he fueled a fire of resentment inside of me that’s only begun to burn brighter in the last few months.

I set my bag on the metal bleachers and pull out my skates, the same ones that I’ve had since high school, and quickly put them on, lacing them tight. It feels like second nature putting them on, something I’ve done a thousand times before, only now it feels like I’m reclaiming a part of me that was stolen.

That’s what my father never understood. That figure skating was more than just a hobby for me, more than something I just did for fun.

Skating was my emotional outlet.

A way to deal with my anxiety when it felt like I was suffocating, where I felt like I could be myself, where I felt free and happy, and when he took it away, it felt like there was a fundamental piece of me that was ripped away with it.

One that I’ve been living without ever since.

Suddenly, something hits the glass in front of me, shattering my thoughts with a loud, resounding thump, and I jump, startled by the intrusion.

I’ve been so lost in my head that I didn’t even realize that I’m not alone.

The sound of grunting and the echo of blades pinging against the ice has my gaze snapping to the figure surging across the ice.

---