“I imagine going to that event, and all I can see is me standing there like a sad cautionary tale,” he said with sudden frankness, his eyes bleak. “Look at poor Oz, can’t play, cut down in his prime. Shake his hand, kids; give him a big hug of support.”

“Oh, Lucian.”

He held up his hands, warding me off, as his eyes grew shiny. “Standing there with the people I used to play with, compete against. Guys who still can play. And there I am, the one who has to walk away when it’s over.”

“So don’t go. If it hurts you that much—”

“It hurts either way.” He ran a hand over his face, grunting with a ragged sound. “I’m pathetic if I go. I’m pathetic if I stay home.”

“You are not pathetic.”

His smile was a bitter, twisted thing. “I keep telling myself that, but it doesn’t take.”

I ached for him, but he knew that. It was clear by the stiff way he held himself, eyeing me with a mix of caution and warning. I pressed my hand against the cool smoothness of the counter. “I didn’t want to go to Macon and Delilah’s wedding. I thought of all my friends and former coworkers looking at me with pity and . . .” I shuddered. “Pride is a fierce thing, isn’t it?”

A stiff jerk of his chin was his only acknowledgment. His gaze moved off, away from me, and I knew he was trying to collect himself.

“But going took away all the what-ifs. I did it. It’s over. Life changes, but they didn’t pity me the way I thought they would.”

Lucian slanted me a look from under the thick fringe of his lashes. “There’s one key difference, honey.”

“Which is?” I knew what it was, but I wanted him to say it. Because I wasn’t going to be the woman who made everything easy for him.

“You still want to act.”

“You don’t want to—”

“Not in some exhibition. Not . . .” He took a breath, then let it out swiftly. “Hell, Em. I don’t think I can handle getting on the ice again, knowing I can’t go back to the sport.”

The ice. He loved it with all his soul. I knew that. You only had to see him play to know it. The ice was a part of him, and it had been cut off without warning. I held his gaze, letting him see that I understood.

“If I told you I didn’t know how to skate, would you teach me?”

He blinked, but a genuine smile of shock pulled at his mouth. “What?”

“Would you teach me?” I repeated. “For fun? Would you be willing to do that if I said I was a sad excuse for a skater?”

The smile tilted and grew. “Hell, you’re good.”

“Good?”

“Don’t give me those innocent big blue eyes, Snoop.” He touched the edge of my jaw. “You know exactly what you’re doing, tempting me like that.”

“Is it working?” I took his big rough hand in mine. “Will you skate with me, Lucian?”

“Damn it,” he muttered, but he didn’t look upset. His green eyes sparked with some unnamed emotion. “All right, honey. I’ll take you skating. I’ll try that much. For you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Lucian

Ice had a scent, crisply metallic and pure. My love of that scent was so ingrained that anytime I caught a whiff of it, my heart rate would immediately kick up, and blood pumped through my veins with greater purpose. But a rink? That mix of ice and damp rubber, with a faint lingering of chlorine under it all? That was the scent of home. My religion.

Or it had been.

I caught a lungful of it as I led Emma into the main hall of the ice rink, and for the first time in my life, my insides lurched sickly, sweat blooming on my skin at the scent of ice. My heart rate kicked up, yes, but this wasn’t the steady pulse of excitement. It threatened to pound that hurting organ right out of my chest.

My steps slowed to a painful halt, the space around me seeming to both close in and expand outward in a sickening sway. Emma’s hand found mine, and she held on. Nothing more than that. Just stood by my side and held on. I grimaced, shaking and panting, my skin ice cold and fever hot.

I could only be thankful that we’d booked the place afterhours so we were alone. The thought of anyone else seeing me like this filled my mouth with a sour taste, and I swallowed convulsively.

“Let’s sit down for a minute,” Emma said, gently leading me along.

My clammy hand gripped her like an anchor even as shame swamped my system. I didn’t want her seeing me this way either. But there was no help for it.

“I’ll be . . . fine.”

“I know you will.” She eased me down onto a long wooden bench before sitting next to me, her hand never letting mine go.

Tags: Kristen Callihan Romance
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