Chapter 8
1396 Words
Jane
Monday morning training was torture before I even stepped onto the ice.
I felt like I hadn’t slept at all. My brain had kept buzzing long after Mia finally let me escape her questions. Even in the dim lobby, with the smell of old sweat and melting ice, I couldn’t stop replaying everything in my head. Technically, I didn’t use the locker room. I wasn’t dumb enough to risk that. I just sat on the old wooden bench in the lobby, head down, lacing my skates like I belonged there, while the guys stomped around, shouting insults and bragging about who’d slept least.
Normally, I’d roll my eyes at their posturing. Maybe even have some snark ready in my head. Today? My head was static. Because he was here. Austin. He had that look on - cocky, relaxed, not a care in the world. Laughing too loud, shoulder-checking Lucas into a row of lockers like they were ten-year-olds on the playground. Acting like nothing had happened. Like we hadn’t been in that tent together, pretending to ignore the space between us. Like I hadn’t grabbed his sleeve in a panic in front of everyone, like some scared kid who didn’t belong.
My fingers trembled on my laces. I yanked them tighter. I’d have cut off my circulation if it meant shutting my thoughts up.
I heard Lucas’s voice boom across the lobby.
“Hey, Dawson!”
I jerked like he’d slapped me.
He was waving me over, big stupid grin on his face. “You coming or you need a map to the rink?”
I mumbled something, probably unintelligible, and forced myself up, shoulders hunched. I did not look at Austin. Not once.
Practice was a blur, which I told myself was good. Coach had us doing edge drills until my thighs felt like they’d catch fire. Crossovers so sharp they burned grooves into the ice. Stops that sprayed the glass with frost. I tried to focus on that - the bite of my blades, the rush of cold air against my face. Anything except him. But it was impossible. Because every time Coach barked, “Switch partners!” I could feel his stupid eyes on me. That smirk. That knowing amusement. I started avoiding it so hard it was probably obvious. Too fast, too eager to grab literally anyone else’s gloves, that I nearly knocked Nico over once.
Lucas shot me a look across the ice, one eyebrow up like What is your deal? I ignored it.
My plan was simple: survive practice, keep my head down, don’t let anyone see me cracking. It fell apart in spectacular fashion halfway through passing drills. I missed the puck entirely. It didn’t just slide away - it shot across the ice, slammed into the boards with a loud thunk that made everyone stop and look.
Coach’s whistle cut the air like a knife.
“Dawson!”
My spine locked. The entire rink went silent except for the hiss of skates slowing down. I felt my face go volcanic under my helmet.
“Eyes up!” Coach roared. “What the hell is going on with you today?”
“Nothing, Coach,” I croaked, voice so dry it cracked.
He skated over, eyes narrowed like he could see straight through me.
“Nothing? Really? You’re skating like you’re asleep.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My mouth was a desert. He glared for another beat before snapping, “You wanna work it out? Fine. Laps. Go.”
My stomach sank to my skates.
“Yes, Coach.”
I didn’t dare look at anyone. I just skated to the line and shoved off, legs already screaming. I could hear the guys muttering behind me.
Lucas’s voice rang out.
“Cheer up, emo boy!”
A few of them laughed. I didn’t respond. I just put my head down and skated. Lap after lap. The rink blurred. My legs burned, shoulders ached, lungs scraped raw with every breath. But worse than that was my brain.
Stupid. So stupid. One weekend and you’re ruined. You can’t even look at him. Can’t even pretend you’re normal. He probably thinks you’re a coward. Or worse, a freak.
Good. Let him think that. Let him stay away.
My eyes burned with sweat. I wiped at it with my glove, teeth clenched so tight my jaw ached.
I didn’t even notice him until I nearly slammed into him. Austin. He glided up next to me like it was effortless. Like he didn’t even feel the ice under him.
“Yo.”
I flinched so hard I almost tripped.
“Don’t talk to me,” I hissed, voice cracking embarrassingly.
He raised one eyebrow, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk.
“Touchy.”
I pushed harder, trying to break away. He kept pace. Effortless. Like it was funny to him.
“Stop following me.”
He snorted, loud enough that I heard it even over the scrape of blades.
“Coach told me to join you.”
I risked a glance back. Sure enough, Coach was leaning on the boards, arms crossed, watching us both like he knew exactly what this was about.
Traitor.
Austin leaned closer, voice dropping low enough only I could hear.
“Relax. You’re making it obvious.”
I glared at the ice.
“Obvious about what?”
He let out a short laugh that wasn’t kind at all.
“That you’re scared of me.”
My jaw locked.
“I’m not.”
“Sure.”
I turned away so hard I nearly lost my edge.
He didn’t shut up.
“Coach said run until you figure your s**t out. So… figure it out.”
I growled so low it vibrated in my chest.
“I hate you.”
He laughed. And it wasn’t cruel this time. It was warm. Like he actually found me funny. Like he was enjoying this. My cheeks burned under my helmet. We didn’t talk after that. Just skated. Ten laps. Fifteen. The scrape of blades the only sound between us. I refused to look at him. He refused to leave.
When Coach finally blew the whistle, Austin didn’t say anything right away. He just bumped my shoulder lightly as we coasted back to the line.
“Feel better?”
I didn’t even dignify it with a look. But the truth? Maybe I did.
After practice I didn’t even bother with the locker room. I stripped my skates off in the lobby, shoving them in my bag so fast I almost cut myself on the blade. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
I was halfway to the doors when I heard it.
“Dawson.”
I flinched so hard my stick nearly fell. Austin was leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. Watching. Smirk firmly in place. I tried to keep moving. He pushed off lazily, following like he had all the time in the world.
“Hey.”
“Go away.”
“Stop.”
I did, only because he caught my arm. Not hard. Just enough to make me turn. My chest squeezed painfully.
“What?” I spat, hating the waver in my voice.
He sighed, like I was the annoying one here.
“Tutoring. Tomorrow. Before class.”
I blinked, uncomprehending.
“…What?”
He gestured between us, rolling his eyes.
“The deal. Tutoring. We start tomorrow.”
I swallowed.
“Oh.”
He waited, expression bored, like he had a million better things to do.
“Okay,” I mumbled.
He nodded once, satisfied.
“Good. I’ll text you the address. Don’t be late.”
He let go of my arm like it didn’t matter at all. Turned and walked off without another word. I stood there, watching him go, heart pounding so hard it hurt. My head felt like static. My face burned. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to thank him. I wanted to disappear.
Outside, Lucas was waiting near the bus, leaning against it with that lazy grin.
“Man, you look like you got mugged.”
I shoved at his shoulder.
“Shut up.”
He just laughed, slinging an arm around my neck.
“Cheer up, Dawson. Whole week ahead of us.”
I sighed so hard it hurt.
Yeah. Whole week. With Austin.
My stomach twisted painfully at the thought.
- Writer
