Chapter 27

The only reason people come to the rink during the week is to eat the unhealthy and ungodly amount of food we keep in the freezer. The place usually clears out by seven—seven-thirty at the latest—so for the last half hour, there's not a lot for me to do besides clean, and since tonight saw a total of eight patrons, it didn't take long to complete all my jobs. If I were Jace, I'd close up shop early. But, seeing as I know work-Jace is a stickler for the rules, I've accepted that won't happen.

Jace lifts his gaze as I approach the desk, eyebrows quirked in question. Before I can open my mouth to speak, the phone rings, and he's quick to answer it. "Rowville Rink." A second later, his eyes light up in a way I'd never seen before. "Reyna…" Her name comes out airy, light. Not weighted in doubt the way he says mine. I fall back a step, but keep my eyes on him, watch his every move, every reaction, every tick of the corner of his lips as they shift higher, higher. "Of course, I miss you," he says, then listens to her response. "Are you kidding? It sucks here without you."

Ouch.

"Hang on a sec," he tells her, then shifts his attention to me. "What's up?"

I motion to the rink behind me. "You think it would be okay if I skate for a bit?"

His eyes widen, just a tad, as if surprised by my request. He looks over the counter down at my feet and asks, "Size?"

"Seven."

He turns to the rack of shoes behind him, phone still held to his ear, and it seems like forever before he finds a pair, sets them on the counter. "Best in the house," he says, and he smiles, though it seems forced compared to the one he got at just hearing her voice.

I take the skates, mumble a "Thanks" and head for the rink.

I don't know how long I skate for, moving in ways my body hasn't done in years. Cool air hits my cheeks, flows through my hair as I do laps, one foot in front of the other, again and again. I reclaim skills I'd learned as a child, switching from skating forward, then backward, until muscle memory kicks in and takes over. At some point, Jace steps into the rink, barefoot, dribbling a basketball, but I'm too focused on my task to pay him any attention. Within minutes, the dribbling stops, and he sits on the floor of the rink, off to the side so he doesn't get in my way. Roles reversed now, he watches me while I pretend as if he doesn't exist. I balance on one foot, go as far as I can before switching and almost falling on my ass. I recover quickly. Try again. And again. And again. Until my left leg is as steady as my right. And then I attempt one more act and spin one-eighty. Nail it. I smile. The way I did the first time I successfully completed the move. Satisfied, I skate over to Jace, using the half wall to help me lower myself beside him.

Sitting with our backs against the wall, our legs out in front of us, our shoulders touch just enough to set goosebumps across my flesh, but not enough to ignite a fire within me.

"You look good out there," he remarks.

Unlike Jace, I actually tire—made evident by my shallow breaths and thumping of my heart. "Thanks," I huff out. "I haven't skated in years."

"You used to skate?"

I nod, staring ahead as I try to settle my breathing. "I watched the winter Olympics once and saw the figure skaters. I thought they were so beautiful, and my dad must've noticed, because he signed me up for roller skating lessons. He used to take me twice a week."

"Why'd you stop?" he asks, his tone flat.

"Because he switched from short to long haul, so he was gone for days at a time and it was just my mom."

"So… why'd you stop?" he repeats.

I sigh, pick at a worn spot on my jeans. "Because I wasn't Harley, and it wasn't basketball." I don't say it with malice. I say it because it's true. And I understand it now—that my mom was right. Harley had dreams and aspirations. Ones that were actually achievable. I had roller skates and a wish to be seen as beautiful and as graceful as those girls in the Olympics. I would never, and could never, amount to that—no matter how hard I tried, and, unfortunately, no matter how the boy beside me might see otherwise.

Jace nods, as if understanding.

For minutes, we sit in comfortable silence, letting the overhead lights cast shadows on our thoughts. I know he won't be the first to grace me with what he's thinking, so I turn to him, stare at his profile, already expecting to one day miss it. I stare at his eyes, brown beneath thick lashes, and at his nose and the adorable sprinkling of freckles there, and then his lips—lips I've tasted once and never again, and I swallow the knot in my throat and ask, "How old are you, Jace?"

"I turned eighteen over the summer." He adjusts his shoulders slightly. "You?"

"Also eighteen… as of today."

The back of his head rolls against the wall as he faces me, the corners of his lips tilted ever so slightly. "Happy birthday, Harlow."

I lower my gaze. "Thanks."

"I could've rostered you off if you wanted to celebrate."

My first thought is with who? My mom hasn't even called, and my dad, try as he might, couldn't get off work until the weekend. At least he discussed it with me, and at the time, I told him I didn't care. That I'd be fine. But I care now, and I wish he was here. "Mom and Dad are working, so it's just me. I'm sure I'll do something with them later." Unlikely, but he doesn't need to know that. I look around at the space around us. "I should go. Jonah's probably waiting for me."

"Jonah left when we closed a half hour ago."

My eyes widen in surprise. "I was skating for that long?"

"Yeah."

My chest caves in, and I rest against the wall. "Do you mind giving me a ride?"

Jace gets to his feet, then turns to me, offering his hand. I take it and hope that he doesn't notice the way the warmth of his touch sets my entire body ablaze.