Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(8)

“Oh, uhm, sevens probably,” she responds.

“Sevens,” I say to Gary. He pulls out a pair of white blades and slides them along the counter to me, quirking one eyebrow up, his subtle way of giving me shit for being on a date. Am I on a date? I think this is a date.

We both sit on a nearby bench and unlace our shoes, then slip our feet into our skates. I get mine on quickly, then kneel in front of her to help her tie hers tight. Our fingers tangle for a brief second in the laces, and it makes my lip curve up on one side. I keep my gaze low, hiding it.

“So you just played with your brothers. No team or anything?” she says, leaning back and letting me finish working out the knot on her skates.

“Just my brothers,” I say as I take her hand and help her to her feet. She lets go of me as soon as she finds her balance, and I exhale my disappointment. With one step, though, she loses her center and grabs hold of my arm, clutching it with both hands.

“I got you,” I say, careful as I slide one arm around her back, noticing the feel of the curve of her body on my way. Her fingers dig into the fabric of my shirt on my shoulder, and her grip hurts a little, but I don’t care.

“I don’t think I can do this.” Her words come out in a quiet, nervous laugh.

“Sure you can,” I smile. “Look…it’s just ice. And it doesn’t hurt any more than falling on the ground. I promise. We won’t go fast, and I’ll hold you the entire time.”

I will hold you. Please don’t find your balance ever, because I will hold you. This is my job, holding you.

I lead Emma to the edge of the ice, and we pause while the group of young hockey players race up and off the ice, a few of them stumbling onto the carpet, others showing off how comfortable they are on their skates, sliding in sideways just before the wall. Chad nods at me as he follows behind the group of kids.

“See you tomorrow, Drew?” he asks, glancing quickly to Emma.

“Yup,” I nod. “Hey, you think maybe you let me score this time?”

Chad glances back to Emma, whose only focus is on her quivering ankles, then he looks back to me. “Only if you earn it, big man. Only if you earn it,” he chuckles as he glides past me.

Chad’s the same age my father would have been if he were still alive. I have a feeling that he and my father knew each other. I’ve never asked, and he’s never said anything, but there’s just this vibe I get from him. I can’t explain it, only that when most people know my family’s story, they start to treat me with either pity or fear. Chad does neither.

“Okay, are you ready?” I ask, tightening my hold on Emma, bringing her closer to my side. I tell myself it’s to give her confidence, but it’s really just so I can feel her close to me.

“Ready,” she stutters, her eyes still down on her feet.

“Okay, that’s good; look at your feet, and keep your weight forward. You get into trouble when the skates move ahead of you. Falling back—that’s what sucks,” I instruct.

Emma bites her lip and nods quickly.

“Got it, backward sucks,” she says. I laugh.

“Not quite what I said, but that’s okay,” I chuckle. “Okay, you’re just going to glide between me and the wall. No steps, just get used to the feeling of this.”

I push her, but stay at her side, and we move around one end of the rink inches at a time. After a few minutes, I convince her to bend her knees, and when she finally moves one leg, her feet slide around in a panic as she collapses on the ice, taking me with her.

“Damn, I’m sorry. I’m going to end up hurting you. It’s okay. I don’t need to learn this,” she says, looking around for a way to get up, her face painted with disappointment and frustration.

“Stop it. You can’t hurt me,” I say, pulling myself up and holding the wall so I can lift her back to her feet. “The average number of falls for a first timer is something like eight,” I say, completely making up a statistic. “That was just number one, so we’ve got a long way to go.”

When I raise her to her feet, I circle my arms around her, and her eyes are only inches from mine. Her pupils flare with a short-lived rush. If I were Owen, I’d kiss her—right now.

Instead, I look down, dust off some of the ice crystals from her sleeves, and link my fingers through hers. “Come on, let’s finish our lap,” I say, still wishing I had the guts to kiss her.

I lead her a few more feet at a time around the rink, and we fall, me falling with her, at least a dozen more times. By the time we finish one full lap, though, she’s grown steadier, her ankles finding their strength, and when she feels brave, she lets go of my hand and glides a few feet at a time on her own.

This is when her smile takes over ruling every single thing I do.

“Oh my god, Andrew…” she says, a little breathless and excited. “Oh my god! Look!” She moves one foot slowly, and her steps are choppy and awkward, but with me within an arm’s reach, she manages to scoot her way around a quarter of the rink, leaning forward when we finally make it to the entrance, clutching the gate and collapsing over the side, exhausted.

“Well?” she asks, twisting her body around to face me. “How’d I do?” she asks.

“Better than average,” I smirk, my eyes flitting to her hand, wanting to hold it again. She reaches up and smacks my chest once, but quickly grips the wall again when she feels her balance start to give out.