Chapter 20

Delia steeledherself as Jack glided smoothly across the ice toward her. So far, she'd been able to avoid notice. Jack had been intent on starting a game with Country, and they'd been battling it out for at least a half hour. When Jack sent Country sprawling after stealing the puck, Delia wondered if there would've been a better way for him to burn off the tension rolling off him during the training.

Once Jack was up three to one, Jenna joined Country's team, then switched to play with whoever was down a goal. Even though her toes were cold, it was worth it. Watching Jack skate up close, especially without pads, was like going backstage to a concert. Every movement, every muscle flex, created new shapes—beautiful shapes—and for the first time since high school, Delia thought about picking up a sketchbook.

Jack turned his skates parallel and stopped in front of her. "You going to come out?"

She shook her head and pointed between the three of them. "Not with all that going on." The air was crisp, and despite wearing Country's extra gloves, she had her arms wrapped around herself to keep warm. Jenna had vastly underplayed her skillset in the studio. The moment Delia watched her push onto the ice and do a crossover, she'd committed to standing with her blades safely planted in the snow-covered grass.

"Jenna says we have to get back to work." Country stopped with a scrape next to Jack, sending a snow cone over his skates.

Jenna threw up her hands behind him. "You have a playoff game in four hours. How am I the bad guy?"

Delia breathed a sigh of relief, then shuffled to the log bench next to her and leaned down to unlace her skates.

"Not so fast." Jack laughed and reached for her arm.

Delia groaned as Country and Jenna slid off the ice and took her place, tugging on their laces. Was Jack really going to make her do this? She turned to the bench. "Neither of you are allowed to watch." Really, she didn't want Jack to be the one watching, but since he was holding on to her, it wasn't a safe option to blindfold him.

Jenna gave her a thumbs-up as Jack led Delia onto the ice. She felt like a toddler, her legs shaking like a newborn foal. She gripped Jack's arm. "Country wasn't lying about the pond being frozen through, right?"

He turned them to the middle. "Should we find out?"

"Jack!"

He laughed. "I'm kidding. You saw us skating all over this thing. Yes, it's frozen."

It was different when she was the one on the ice. She'd watched them stealing the puck from each other and sprinting down the pond. But since her mind had latched on to the idea of cracking ice and drowning in freezing cold muddy water, she wasn't thinking straight.

"Okay, let's start with something simple." Jack flipped backward and positioned himself in front of her. "Just try to march in place."

Delia attempted to mimic him. At first, her stiff movements were more akin to stomping than marching, but after a minute she started to feel more steady.

"Is it coming back?" Jack asked.

"Is what coming back? The shame and humiliation of holding onto the boards the whole way around the rink?"

Jack nodded soberly. "Unresolved trauma. Got it."

Delia rolled her eyes, then gasped as Jack let go of one of her hands.

"You're okay, I'm just moving back a bit to give you space to push off."

"Push off where, exactly?" Her voice was tight. Panicked. She wanted to be the cool, easy going girl. The athletic girl who could jump in and try something new and not look like they needed training wheels. But that had never been her lot in life.

Jack grinned like he was enjoying her consternation, his eyes glued to her skates. "Push off with one foot and just let yourself glide. I've got you."

"I can't."

"That four-letter word isn't allowed on my ice."

"Your ice?"

Jack nodded as he met her eyes. Delia was about to say it wasn't technically a four-letter word since there was an apostrophe, but the argument died on her lips. Jack's eyes darkened. That hunger she'd seen the other night in the living room shifted beneath the surface.

She teased her teeth over her lower lip, stuffing down her complaints. "I'll try."

"That's better."

If her heart hadn't been in her throat already, it was then. She didn't want to fall, but with that one phrase of approval, she craved Jack's praise more than she feared the crash. Delia pushed off into a shaky glide. It lasted barely a second.

"Good." Jack's voice was warm as he backed up again. "Bend your knees a bit. Lower center of gravity equals more stability."

Delia pushed off again.

"You look great."

Heat erupted in her gut like she'd just flicked the switch on a gas fireplace. Jack said something about using her edges, but she couldn't process it. She followed the sound of his voice as her muscles tensed. When she pulled up next to him and he started to move back, she pulled on his arm.

He straightened. "You need a break?"

Delia nodded, reaching for the zipper of her coat. She needed air. Minutes ago, her teeth had been chattering, and now she was going to self-combust.

"Here." Jack pulled her in and put her hand on his hip, then yanked off his gloves and opened her coat. "It's more work than you think, right?"

"Mmhm." Skating. That was definitely what was making her body pound like a bass drum. "Thank you."

Jack didn't step back. His fingers still held her zipper as he nodded, his head bowed to look at her. His brow twitched, and all the air in Delia's lungs whooshed out like she'd opened the neck of a balloon.

"Should we keep going?"

Delia didn't want to keep going. She wanted to stand right there and feel the warmth radiating from his body. She wanted him to keep watching her and say you look good and we should kiss regularly. "Sure."

Jack slid back and took her hand again. She reminded herself what Jack had taught her already and pushed off with one foot, then the other. The blades of her skates were still unsteady, but the grass seemed to be passing faster on their right.

She was about to try pushing harder into the ice when she spotted dots of grey. Shadows. There was an uneven patch less than a metre ahead. She tensed, clenching Jack's hand, and that small movement—the tiniest shift—sent her skate blades slipping. She gasped and tried to grab onto Jack, but her gloves slipped off the fabric of his coat and then she was flat on her back, staring up at wispy clouds and blue sky.

Her chest seized, her lungs burning. Pain radiated up her spine as cold seeped into her skin.

"Shit, Delia. Are you okay?" Jack crouched down on the ice next to her, lifting her head and placing his gloved hand between it and the ice.

Delia stared up at his face, backlit by the fading sun. She'd known a crash would come, and she pushed off anyway. Because Jack asked her to. No, she wasn't okay. Self-pity and embarrassment washed over her in equal portions as she finally sucked in a breath. Tears stung her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. "Who in their right mind decided they would strap blades to their feet and try to walk on ice?"

She wasn"t sure which hurt more, her tailbone, her pride, or her heart, which felt like gelatin in her chest. These feelings she had for Jack weren't going away, and she wasn't going to pretend she wanted them to. Even though that was going to play out exactly like the last thirty seconds.

Why was she wearing gloves?She needed to press her finger.

Jack held back a smile. He wanted to laugh, and she couldn"t blame him. She wanted to give him permission, but she couldn't quite force her lips to curve.

He shifted to his knees and pulled her up to sitting. "Did you hit your head?"

"I don't think so." Delia wiggled her fingers. Pressed them against the hard ice beneath her. Forced herself to be in her body instead of in those thoughts that made her eyes glassy. "Just bruised, I think." She rubbed her backside.

Jack"s eyes dropped to her hips, and his hand twitched. He cleared his throat. "You were doing great before?—"

"Before I fell flat on my ass?" She stared up at him, her jaw set.

The corner of Jack"s mouth curled. "You were doing great before you stopped trusting yourself."

Delia frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Your knees locked up. You tensed."

Delia pointed behind them. "Because I saw those bumps in the ice and?—"

"You would"ve glided over them just fine."

Delia bit her lower lip, staring at the uneven surface of the pond. Trusting herself hadn't worked out the way she wanted. Why would she trust herself now?

Jack sat on the ice next to her. "I think I"m going to quit my job."

Delia gaped at him, wondering if she'd heard him right. Where had that come from? "What?"

He let out a slow exhale. "At the game, you asked about the difference between the teams."

Right. The conversation they never got to finish. But why was he bringing it up now? Delia ignored the fact that water from the melting ice was soaking through her jeans. "You said there was a difference in you."

Something behind Jack"s eyes flickered, and she raised an eyebrow as if to say, Yes, I was listening. He drew a breath. "I don"t know if I"m going to be signed on for another season. I doubt I will, honestly. I"ve been playing well, but there"s talk about other free agents management is interested in, and it doesn"t make sense that they"d use their budget on me when they could get some young buck with fresh legs."

Jack"s legs looked plenty fresh to her. "But?"

He looked out over the pond. "It doesn't feel right. I have to go all in. If I don"t, I"m always going to wonder if . . . I don"t know. If it would"ve made a difference." He blew out a breath and turned to stare at the brown prairie grass. "It might not make a difference, though. Then I"ll be out of a job."

He clenched his jaw, and Delia"s heart tried to cram through her ribs and out of her chest. She knew that feeling. Even if she couldn't rescue herself from it, she felt compelled to try and save him. "Hey, you could always just date me for longer and have a steady source of minimal income."

He turned to face her, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "I don"t think Tony would be on board. He"s banking on the messy break up."

Delia laughed. "So am I, honestly."

They sat there, smiles on their wind-chapped faces, neither of them speaking. Finally, Jack pressed up off the ice and reached for her hands. She slipped as she stood, but he held her steady.

Delia broke the silence first. "I think you were doing great before you stopped trusting yourself."

Jack chuckled. "That"s not fair."

"What?" Delia steadied herself, still gripping onto him.

"To use my own words against me." Jack held tight to her left hand and skated backward a few strokes, then flipped to line up with her. Delia threw out her right hand for balance, resembling a land-locked starfish. "Relax." Jack"s voice hummed next to her.

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. They skated around the pond twice, which was enough to at least partially redeem herself from her cartoon flailing earlier. If nothing else, she"d proven she wasn"t a quitter.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, and by the time they sat on the log bench, the pond was bathed in gold. Muscles that Delia didn't realize she had ached in her thighs and calves. "Are these my hip flexers?" She pressed a gloved thumb into the crease between her upper thigh and hip bone.

Jack chuckled. "Yep. Sore?"

"I need a hot yoga class."

He pulled off his skate. "Do you have to apply for that?"

Delia yanked at her laces. "What are you talking about? Like, sign up?"

"No, prove your attractiveness."

Delia blinked, then laughed out loud as realization dawned. "No, ‘hot' as in high temperature. It's a sweat session. It loosens up your muscles." Jack grinned, and that's when she realized he was joking. "Ha. Ha."

Delia pulled off her skates and shoved her feet into her now freezing boots. "Where should I put these?" Country had lent them to her. He had at least ten pairs of hockey and figure skates hanging in his garage and unfortunately, one of them had fit her perfectly.

Jack motioned for her to set them on the bench next to him. She pulled out her phone and checked her missed messages while he put his shoes on. Nothing too imperative. Mary letting her know she'd scheduled their next studio session with Ethan, which made her heart leap.

She flipped over to her socials, and browsed her notifications. She always had plenty of tags and mentions, and she liked going in and commenting when she could.

Delia tapped on the first one as Jack tied the skate laces together and looped them over his shoulder. "We can leave these on the . . ." He kept talking, but Delia wasn't listening. She stared at the post from Ellie May in front of her. From the first ironic quotation marks, she knew she shouldn't keep reading, but her masochistic curiosity won out.

???? In the latest news, pop "sensation" Delia seems to be making waves again, though not through her music—unless we"re talking about the kind that"s perfect for putting you to sleep. It"s baffling how her tracks, as forgettable as last season"s fashion, keep popping up. Is it music or just background noise for more interesting conversations?

Enter Jack Harrison, a man who knows a thing or two about real talent and hard work. Unlike Delia"s tunes, which vanish from your memory faster than her lyrics from a teleprompter, Jack"s achievements stay with you, the mark of true dedication and skill. It"s a shame to see such a star dimmed by association with music that"s as bland as diet water.

And that supposed kiss? My dog uses more tongue. I, for one, am not convinced Jack feels anything more for Delia than he does for his sister.

While Jack scores goals, Delia seems content scoring tabloid headlines. Perhaps it"s time for her to take a page out of Jack"s playbook and actually put some effort into her craft. Until then, she remains the weak link in this pairing, her forgettable songs a mere footnote in the shadow of Jack"s masterclass of raw skill and perseverance.

To Delia, a word of advice: next time you hit the studio, aim for something that won"t be lost to the annals of one-hit-wonders and "Who"s that again?" trivia questions. And to Jack—your fans hope you find someone who matches your commitment, both on and off the ice. ???? #JackDeservesBetter #PopMusicPurgatory #RememberTheMusic

Jack put a hand on her arm. "Hey, is everything okay?" With his touch, his voice finally broke through the roar in her head. Delia couldn't force a smile or a response. It was a mirror of her experience moments ago when her fall had knocked the wind out of her, but this time constriction in her chest was only the beginning.

Anger flooded her system, holding a magnifying glass over every frustration she'd tried to sweep away since September. Those lyrics weren't hers. The song choices weren't hers. Even the idea to date Jack hadn't come from her.

Her life was destined to crash. Over and over again. It was never good enough, so why the hell did she keep getting back up off the ice?

"Hey, Delia, can you look at me, please?" Jack hunched in front of her. He put a hand on her cheek. She tried to focus, but her thoughts exploded like fireworks, blinding her and then vanishing, leaving clouds of smoke trailing across her vision.

Jack took the phone out of her hand. She didn't try to stop him. She needed to move. Delia turned and stormed down the packed snow path toward Country's house. She wanted to smash something. Shove her face into a pillow and scream. Quit her job like Jack and never look back.

To IndieLake she was useful. A tool. To her listeners, she was entertainment. To Mary . . . she hoped she was a friend, but what kind of twisted friendship was it if Mary did everything for her and got a paycheck?

And to her Mom? Delia skidded to a stop, spraying almost as much snow as Country had on the ice. It was like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her. When was the last time she'd heard from her mom?

"Hey, Delia!" Jack called out behind her. She turned, and he was running toward her with his arm outstretched, his breath pluming in the twilight.

He stopped in front of her and handed her the phone. "You need to take this."