She plays with her fingernails. “He said—” She cuts herself off, tapping her top lip with her tongue.
My hands are on her shoulders, and I dip down to meet her eyes. “What did he say?”
She shakes her head.
“Please tell me,” I beg.
She shakes her head again. “I just want to forget it.”
My teeth clench and that self-hatred pinches my chest again. She doesn’t trust me enough to tell me. She thinks I’m like McKinnon.
So maybe I need to fix those things. Maybe, if I want this to be real with Hartley, I need to show her I’m nothing like him or my dad.
“I hate him for what he did to you.” Does she know how fast my heart is beating, how tight my chest feels right now? “I don’t just hate him for being an asshole; I hate him because he took you for granted. He lied to you and he was careless with you. I don’t want to be anything like him.”
I can see every shade of blue and gray in her eyes, and I let the mesmerizing colors anchor me, distract me from the looming realization that I’ve never done this before—this big, sincere apology.
Rick Miller doesn’t apologize. It’s not a skill he deemed necessary to teach me, and I can’t even remember the last time I did it. Last year, when I felt the unsettling urge to make things right with Streicher, we fought it out on the ice.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, this time just to hear myself, to know it’s real.
I’m not like him.
“Okay.” She looks away.
“Okay?” I lean down to catch her gaze. “You forgive me? We’re okay?”
She gives me a tiny nod. She doesn’t trust me fully, not yet, but the anger is gone from her eyes.
I rub a hand over my hair, letting my pulse return to normal, and give her a tentative look. “Let’s keep skating.”
She chews her bottom lip. She’s about to say no, but I can’t leave us on this note. “You’re not a quitter,” I tell her, mouth tipping up. “And think about how pissed he’ll be when he learns that I taught you.”
She grins like a little devil. “Okay.”
“Congratulations, baby,” I tell her as we start skating around the rink again, and her mouth twitches with amusement and irritation. “We just had our first fight.”
“Don’t call me baby,” she says, but I can see her smiling.
CHAPTER 15
RORY
We’re stepping off the ice half an hour later when a guy in hockey equipment stops in front of me.
“You’re Rory Miller.”
My smile is easy and friendly. “Hey, man.”
He points at the ice with a confused look. “Were you skating out there?”
“I was teaching my girlfriend.” I loop my arm around Hazel’s shoulders.
It’s getting easier and easier to say those words. My girlfriend.
“We play pickup out here once a week.” He gestures at the ice, where a handful of guys are skating around, talking and warming up. “Do you want to join us?”
I give him an apologetic smile. “Thanks, man, but I’ve gotta get her home.”
The guy shrugs. “Alright, just thought I’d ask.”
He steps onto the ice and skates away, and I lead Hazel to a bench so I can unlace her skates.
“Hold on.” She puts a hand on my arm, watching the guys skate laps around the rink before her gaze lifts to mine. “You should play.”
“Why?”
“Because…” She pauses. There’s something sweet in her eyes. Affection, I think. “You had fun tonight, skating with me.”
“Yeah.” I grin. “With you. Not with some middle-aged guy named Steve.”
She laughs, and I memorize it. “I’m serious. I think you might have fun out there.”
On the ice, they’re passing the puck, calling playful jabs at each other. One of them misses a shot and another one laughs, but not in a cruel way. Something strums in my chest.
“I let you teach me to skate,” Hazel says. “You owe me.”
“Oh, really?” I arch an eyebrow at her.
I think she’s trying not to smile, from the way her eyes glow. “Yes. Not everything is a competition,” she adds, softer. “Some things are just for fun.”
I think about what I decided earlier, how I don’t want to be anything like McKinnon. I want to be someone who Hazel’s proud to be dating, even if it is pretend.
Twenty minutes later, I score another goal to total silence. The back of my neck prickles as Hazel watches from the stands, and I skate with the guys back to center ice for the next face-off.