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“I don’t know if star to platter is going to work,” Alex says immediately, his hands on his hips. I can see the tension in his jaw, the tendons of his neck, and frustration washes over me.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because you almost fell.”
I scoff, all of the sexual tension and frustration coalescing into anger. “I wobbled. A wobble is not a near fall. And you missed your hand placement.”
“I didn’t miss it. We’re still getting the mechanics of the lift down.”
“Oh, so it’s okay for you to miss your hand placement because we’re still learning, but one wobble from me and you think I’m not good enough to pull this lift off?”
Oh no. I can feel hot tears pricking at the backs of my eyes. Shit. Shit shit shit.
“No one said anything about you not being good enough,” he says, frowning deeply. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t good enough.”
“Then why do you want to change the lift? It was one small mistake.”
His eyes go hot and dark and his jaw tenses. “Because you fell once before and it sure as fuck isn’t going to happen again on my watch.”
We’ve somehow skated closer to each other over the course of the argument and I press my finger into his chest.
“Don’t treat me with kid gloves, Alex. That won’t help us get anywhere. If you don’t trust my skills as your partner, then you’re right, we can’t do the lift. We can’t do any of this.” I gesture at the empty rink around us.
“That’s not…” He shakes his head and sucks in a sharp breath, cutting off whatever he was going to say.
Deb moves carefully between us. “Why don’t we call it a day?” she says quietly. “Take some time to cool off.” She looks at me. “We’ll run the lift again. We don’t need to cut it. Get some rest and we’ll try again tomorrow.”
I nod, and then skate off the ice before anyone can see the tears I’m fighting valiantly to hold back.
The thoughts swirl around my head like bats. Alex doesn’t want me. He doesn’t think I’m good enough. He doesn’t trust me, or see me as his partner, his equal. He thinks kissing me was a mistake. He rejected me because I’m a stupid girl with a stupid crush and now that stupid crush is affecting my skating, and he’s going to change his mind about us. About everything.
I hear Alex follow me off the ice, but I don’t turn around, hastily grabbing my skate guards from the ledge of the boards and jamming them over my blades before walking toward the women’s locker room.
“Cate,” he says from behind me, and there’s a catch in his voice that makes me turn. I hastily wipe at my eyes, but not before Alex gets a glimpse of just what a mess I am. “Oh, shit,” he breathes, and then with a question in his eyes, he reaches for my hand. “Can we talk? I don’t want to leave things like this.” He glances around and then moves closer. A part of me wants to pull my hand away, but it feels too good to have his big fingers woven with mine. He lifts his free hand and brushes away a stray tear on my cheek with his thumb. “I won’t leave you like this.”
A tremble passes through me and I feel like I’m made of Jell-O. Like I’m about to spill everywhere and it’s going to be messy and impossible to put back together.
But I nod. Because he’s right. For the sake of trust and communication and our athletic partnership, we should talk.
“Grab your shoes and meet me back out here,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze before letting go. I nod and head into the women’s locker room, quickly changing out of my skates and into my sneakers. Back in the main area, Alex takes my hand again and leads me toward the far end of the rink. I’ve never ventured this far down, but I see that there are a couple of glassed in meeting rooms tucked into the far corner. He leads us into the first one, shutting the door behind us.
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, his hands out at his sides. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you’re not good enough, or that you can’t handle the lift. I’m sorry that I got scared and wanted to change it. I’m sorry that you feel like I’m treating you with kid gloves. I can’t seem to help it.” He shoves a hand through his hair and paces from one end of the small room to the other. I watch him, sinking down slowly into one of the chairs around the meeting table.
“What do you mean, you got scared?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest and wishing my heart would calm the hell down.
“I could feel that your balance wasn’t steady and it scared the shit out of me.” His eyes are wide and sincere, and I know he’s telling me the truth. That his reaction was more about his own fear than any kind of judgment about my skating abilities.
“Why?”
“Because the idea of you getting hurt again makes me want to break things, Cate.” He stops pacing and meets my eyes. “I…I need to protect you. And that protective instinct took over today. It’s why you feel like I’ve been too delicate with you. When I felt you start to lose your balance, all I could think about was your accident.” He crouches down in front of me, bringing his face level with mine. “I don’t want you to think I don’t respect your abilities. I think you have so much talent and skill, and together, we have a lot of potential. I know you’re able to do the lift. My reaction had nothing to do with that, and everything to do with wanting to keep you safe.”
“You were just trying to protect me?” I ask quietly, hope warring with confusion and making me dizzy.
He nods, his eyes wide and solemn.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think, or how to process this. But I’m not mad anymore. How could I be when the only man I’ve ever wanted is telling me he’d break things if I got hurt?
He takes my hands, weaving his fingers with mine, making soft warmth flow through me. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “We’ll work through the lift and figure it out. And I’ll find a way to manage…” He clears his throat. “This.”
