Page 26 of Make Me Mean It

My fingers move quickly over the laces, pulling each one tight before moving onto the next, but the familiar motion does nothing for the unease beginning to knot in my stomach.

I sit there staring down at the skates, but they aren’t the problem.

They’re fine.

I push up from the bench, my fingers curling around the top of the boards, the ice stretching out in front of me, my pulse thudding against my throat.

I used to hate this part.

Marcus never did. He’d step onto the ice and go, even when we were kids. Dad barely had to teach him anything before it started looking natural, while I spent every session concentrating on where my feet were supposed to go, how far to bend my knees, where to put my weight.

Until it was easier to stop trying.

“You can skate, right?”

Theo’s voice pulls me back to the other side of the boards, where he’s waiting with his forearms resting across the top and his eyes fixed on me.

I nod.

“Technically.”

My fingers ease slightly around the barrier while I look at him.

“Right.” Theo pushes away from the boards, rolling his shoulders. “Then hop over.”

He pats the top of the barrier.

I stare at the hand, then let my eyes travel several feet to the left where there’s a perfectly functional gate designed for this exact purpose.

Theo follows my attention and rolls his eyes. “I’m not wasting my time, Reid. Use your damn legs.”

“I don’t think—”

His hands slide beneath my arms.

“Theo, what the fuck are you—”

The floor drops away.

My stomach lurches as he lifts me clean over the barrier, and my hands grab at his shoulders on instinct, fingers digging into solid muscle while he swings me onto the other side.

I barely have time to register the humiliation of being hauled over the boards before my blades hit the ice and shoot in opposite directions.

My stomach drops, arms jerking out, searching for anything to stop the sudden slide beneath my feet, but Theo’s already there, one arm locking around my waist and hauling me firmly against him.

My fingers dig into his shoulder and hold on while his arm stays firm around my waist, keeping me upright until my skates finally stop trying to tear me in half.

For a moment, all I can hear is my own breathing.

I force my attention down to my feet. One blade straight. Then the other. Knees bent slightly, weight centred between them instead of fighting against the ice.

The panic starts to loosen.

I’m fine.

Except I’m still holding onto Theo.

My fingers are curled into his shoulder, his arm is still wrapped around my waist, and at some point in the scramble he pulled me close enough that there’s barely any space left between us.