Page 50 of Finding Her
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I muttered, smirking despite myself.
She stumbled again, and I reached out, steadying her before she could hit the ice. Her laughter echoed across the empty rink, bright and unrestrained, and I couldn’t stop the grin spreading across my face.
“This is fun,” she said breathlessly, her eyes sparkling.
“Speak for yourself,” I said, but the truth was, I didn’t hate it. Not even a little.
She kept moving, and it wasn’t until we’d gone almost half a lap that she looked up and realized. “Wait, we’re all the way across the rink already?” She spun around too fast, almost falling again, but I caught her wrist before she could go down.
Her laugh rang out again, lighting up the space like the sun through a window. “I’m amazing.”
“Yeah, okay, let’s not get carried away,” I said, though I couldn’t stop watching her. There was something magical about seeing her like this—free, happy, and somehow making this whole thing her own.
Even though I’d told her to stop leaning on me, I slipped my hand into hers. The warmth of her fingers against mine made my pulse skip, and when she glanced at me, grinning like I’d just handed her the world, I knew I was done for.
Before I even realized what I was doing, I stopped skating, pulling her gently toward the boards. Her eyes narrowed in confusion as I lifted her effortlessly, setting her down to sit on the edge.
“What?” she squealed, clutching at my arms like she wasn’t sure if she should hold on or let go. “What am I doing up here?”
I stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I thought it might be easier to kiss you up here,” I said softly.
Her lips parted in surprise, but I didn’t wait. I leaned in, brushing my mouth against hers, her hands curling into the front of my jacket?—
Then someone cleared their throat behind us, and the last voice in the world I wanted to hear said, “Levi Barrett. Just what do you think you’re doing?”
CHAPTER 33
bear
“Poppy,”I said slowly. My hands had dug into her hips, desperately wanting to keep her here, but also knowing this wasn’t a conversation I wanted her to have to witness. “I need you to go back to the locker room without me.”
Poppy’s eyes darted from me to my dad, who was standing at the entrance of the rink.
“But I?—“
“I’ll come find you later,” I cut off.
I looked at her, begging her with my eyes to do what I said. She and I hadn’t spoken in-depth about my dad, but I thought the conversation in the restaurant and our argument about Claire had been enough to tell her what she needed to know right now—that he wasn’t going to be happy that I was kissing someone else right now. And not only did I not want an audience for that conversation, I didn’t want her to have to hear whatever he was going to say about her. I was sure none of it would be particularly complimentary.
“I’ll be okay,” I said. “I promise. I’ll meet up with you soon.”
She still looked hesitant, and I wondered if she was imagining in her mind what was going to happen while she wasgone, what was going to be said between us. If I was in her shoes, I would wonder too—and I wasn’t sure I would be able to leave.
But Poppy finally nodded and I lifted her back down onto the ice. She was still unsteady on her feet, but I watched with pride as she managed to skate all the way back without falling over or stumbling. She glanced at me one last time as she stepped off the ice, her eyes wide and nervous, then awkwardly shuffled past my dad. I was glad to see that he wasn’t trying to stare her down—he was just watching me.
I waited until Poppy was completely out of sight, then another minute for good measure, before I skated over as well. I came to a stop in front of him, but didn’t step off the ice. I felt better with some space between us, and I couldn’t have that if I came into the cramped hallway with him.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, crossing my arms. He hadn’t told me he was coming down today, which meant it either hadn’t been planned or he’d been trying to surprise me. Neither reason seemed good.
His eyes flashed with anger. “What kind of greeting is that?”
“Better than you ask me what the hell I think I’m doing,” I snapped back. All my frustration in the past few years was bubbling to the surface. And, for once, I didn’t feel the need to hold it back. “Ever heard of a ‘Hey son, how are you?’”
It was a rhetorical question, because he had never once asked me how I was. At least, not in the traditional greeting sense that most people did. When he asked how I was, the undertone was clear: are you doing what I want and putting hockey above all else?
“You are my son,” he said. “I have the right to be upset at what you are doing.”
“Oh, really?” I asked. I raised my eyebrows. “When was the last time you ever thought to ask what I was doing, if it wasn’t about hockey or Claire?”
