Page 33 of Devil on Skates
EVEN WITH HER HAIRall messed up and dark circles around her eyes, Irina is still beautiful. We don’t move or say anything. Words don’t feel like they’d do this moment justice. She’s still in my bed, I’m on the floor watching over her, and both of us are caught in the fallout of everything we thought we had under control.
Finally, I get to my feet and head to the mini-fridge under my desk. I grab a water bottle and then some painkillers from the drawer and put them on the nightstand.
She takes them without a word, carefully swallowing a pill and taking a big gulp of water. My phone buzzes like crazy, and it’s been doing that for a while. I’ve been ignoring it, but I give in and check. There are messages from teammates, my dad, and Coach. The fallout from last night is already happening outside this room, even if Irina and I would like to pretend otherwise.
I swipe the notifications away without reading them. Whatever’s coming can wait. Right now, it’s just Irina and me.
“What happened last night?” she asks as she gets to her feet, her voice rough and dry.
“Nothing. You got drunk, so I brought you here.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “My phone says something different.” She shows me the screen that’s full of messages, and, apparently, a video of me fighting.
“Hunter was all over you in the kitchen, even though you were wasted,” I say, trying to keep my cool despite the anger bubbling up. “I stepped in and stopped him.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No.” She holds my gaze. “Not when it comes to you.”
I furrow my brow. “Maybe I’m not a total jerk.”
“You are,” she says flatly.
“Are you sure about that?” I inch closer to her.
The air between us crackles and her breathing speeds up, her eyes wide, and her lips parting just a bit.
I feel the pull and that magnetic charge we’ve had since day one. We’re stuck in the moment, neither of us making a move, just waiting. My gaze lowers to her mouth. It would be so easy to close the distance between us and kiss her. It’s what she wants too.
But then her hand goes up, pressing lightly against my chest. “I need to go,” she says softly.
I step back right away, giving her the space she needs without question. “Of course.”
Surprise flickers across her face, as if she expected me to fight for it, which would be more proof in her mind that I really am just a jerk. But I don’t mind. Every expectation I break is a crack in that judgment.
She avoids eye contact as she slips on her shoes and checks herself in my mirror. I stay back, watching silently as she gets ready to face whatever’s coming next.
She glances at me over her shoulder before slipping out of the room, which immediately feels emptier now. I sit on the edge of the bed and finally go through my messages.
My teammates are freaking out about the fight with Hunter. My dad is demanding explanations for all the videos of me throwing punches. And Coach wants to see me in his office.
I have just enough time for a quick shower and to get there without being late. He must be furious with me.
I get ready, my mind already running and trying to come up with ways to handle this mess. Coach won’t just be mad aboutthe fight, but about me and his daughter too. There’s no easy fix for that. Apologizing too much will sound like guilt, and too little will seem like I don’t care. And I’m not sure I can find the right balance.
On my way to the office, a few students I pass by stare openly at me. News travels fast, and a public fight involving the coach’s daughter is headline material.
When I get to Coach’s office, I knock once.
“Come in.”
There’s no room for nervousness now, so I take a deep breath and step inside. Coach’s behind his desk, his face stone cold.
“Sit,” he says.
I do, holding his gaze, even though I want to look away from the fury seething behind his eyes. He lets the silence stretch, making me squirm and trying to bait me into a mistake.
