Page 63 of Melt His Heart

“Dunno, we don’t talk much.” Kane chuckles.

“That’s surprising.” I smile.

“You think so?” For the first time that I’ve seen, a smile spreads wide across Kane’s face. The skin on my neck heats.

“Oh…Well, cause you guys play…” I mumble. Footsteps from behind distract me from continuing, “Julian…” Carson says. I turn at his voice to see that he’s staring, no. He’s glaring at Kane.

Is he jealous? Kane is very handsome, but there’s no reason for it. I wish I could tell him how I tossed and turned all night thinking about him, missing him. But, I’m still pissed.

“Carson…” I say softly.

“Well, I’ll get going. See you.” Kane says before stepping into the hall, leaving us alone. It’s so quiet between us, I can hear my heart beating. I can almost hear his.

“Julian,” Carson repeats my name so gently, as if I’ll break.

I feel like I might.

“Carson…”

“It’s cold today.” He says.

“Yeah?”

“Can I…Give you a ride home?” He says, biting his lip.

“I’m ok. I can walk.” I deadpan.

“Julian…I..” He stammers, his eyes soften.

I need to get away.

“I need to get to practice, Carson,” I say.

Grabbing my water bottle, I walk out of the room and toward a different room to warm up, hoping to god he doesn’t follow me. I can’t take any more of him. I feel myself wanting to give in, but I also still feel like I’m not ready to forgive him or talk to him about our fight.

Maybe that’s because I don’t know what I should be doing with all these feelings.

I don’t want to make it worse by not knowing how to handle it.

* * *

The following training sessions are extremely tough. I feel like I’m fighting an uphill battle. I’ve never made so many mistakes consecutively for this many sessions before, but I just can’t stop my mind from racing. Thoughts of Carson, thoughts of Avery, thoughts of Carson with Avery.

Huffing across the ice, I lean into a messy layback before transitioning into my next axel. My coach and choreographer are watching from the benches as I perform what is probably one of my worst versions of our new free skate. I propel my body into the air, my heart drumming against my chest.

Everything about this is all wrong.

I know this landing is going to be ugly.

I crash into the ice, landing on my wrist. The pain rips through me so violently, my vision blurs.

They both scramble over to me, “Julian! Are you ok!?” Coach Peters crouches down, gently touching my throbbing wrist. I wince. It’s not the worst pain I’ve ever felt; you’re very lucky if you never have an accident as an athlete, so this isn’t my first. But it’s definitely up there.

“Come on, we need to get you checked out.” He says, his brows pinched together.

“I’m so sorry.” I bite my bottom lip. I can’t believe this is happening; getting injured so close to the competition. When it could have all been avoided. But I’ve been recklessly distracted. I try to hold in my burning tears.

“No, cut it out. You have nothing to be sorry about. Let’s go.”