Page 84 of Revolve
“Too fucking bad, Sierra. Because there are people who care about you. Like Scarlett, who was at the rink looking for you. Lidia, who said you didn’t pick up her calls.Me. So, no, you’re not allowed to just go off and skate when you should be resting.”
“Resting from what? I sucked last night!”
“So you’re going to punish yourself?” His eyes narrow. “You think coming here and skating on bad ice while you’re not warmed up, without your coach, without yourpartner, is going to help?”
“I’ve done this alone plenty of times before.”
“I don’t give a fuck about before. You don’t get to do this. Not with me.”
Shame and embarrassment take a bite right out of my resolve. I’m doing exactly what I’d been doing a year ago. Pushing people away, trying to do it on my own. It wasn’t fair to anyone.
I drop my gaze to the not-so-solid ice. “I need the practice. I’ve got to be doing something.”
“You’re definitely pissing me off.”
“Then at least I’ve accomplished one thing today.”
He stares at me dead on. Clearly not in the mood to be fucked with. “Come here and say that again.”
I think I’m smirking, but my face is too numb to tell. “Come and get me.”
“You sure about that?” Dylan asks. “Because if I come there, Sierra, you’re leaving with your ass in the air.”
My heart races more than it already was. Dylan’s walking before I even get the words out of my mouth. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Have you even met me?”
My legs are so exhausted, I can’t move fast enough. “Don’t come near me.”
“If I can’t follow you into your head, I’m going to follow you everywhere else,” he says, and then he leans in, right by my ear, until I feel a shiver run down my spine. “Don’t run from me.”
My breath hitches and my words are stuttered. “I—I will cut you. Don’t touch me.”
“Do your worst, Romanova,” is all he says before he’s got an arm wrapped around my waist and I’m thrown over his shoulder. The scream that leaves me is high-pitched and breathless. My abs ache from the exertion, and from his shoulder digging into my stomach.
My clothes are nearly soaking wet. My hands are so cold, I can’t feel them, not even when I try to scratch his back. He doesn’t even react.
“Asshole,” I mutter.
“Brat,” he says.
I’ve given up on plotting how to cause him bodily harm by the time we get to his car outside. He opens the door and drops me on the seat, harder than necessary. When I hiss in pain, probably from the bruises forming on my ass, his gaze still flickers with a flash of worry.
But then he crouches and undoes my skates. He’s gentle, so much gentler than the hard expression on his face. My heart slows, and the regret comes crashing in too.
“I’m s—”
His glare is sharp enough that I shut my mouth. He unlaces both skates and places them on the side of the footwell. He moves my entire body with one push so I’m facing forward.
“Dylan—”
He shuts the door. We drive in silence. It’s only when we pass Iona House that I glance over at his unreadable expression, my voice barely a whisper. “You missed my dorm.”
“I know,” he says, his voice low.
“Then where are you taking me?”
He sighs, giving me a sidelong glance. “I’m taking you home, Sierra.”
