Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Once my skates are removed, my ankles very red, and my boots firmly back on, I buy a hot chocolate and an apple cider. I nestle near an open spot at the railing overlooking the rink.
Then I see him on the ice.
My breath leaves my lungs.
Ben really is flying. It’s not his speed that has me awed. He’s skating fast but respectfully for a semi-crowded rink. It’s how he’s skating. Lithe, graceful movements as if you can’t tell where his body ends and the ice begins. It looks like he was born here. Like his soul finds comfort here.
It registers so powerfully that this is the very first time I’ve ever seen him skate.
My throat swells watching him. I’d like to think that’s how I look when I play the drums. When I talk about medicine. Totally and completely enraptured.
Music and medicine—that decision has become a terrorizing stressor.
I’m nineteen, and I need to make the biggest choice of my life. I’m terrified of my future being mired in regret. Of wishing I took the other path I left behind. I’ve been starting to look for signs to give me a hint at the right one. Even the smallest of signs. Heard Green Day on the radio yesterday—I should choose music. Last night, Ben asked me for a Band-Aid after he cut his thumb on a can of garbanzo beans—I should choose medicine.
It’s silly to think the universe will point me in the right direction. But I am holding out hope for divine intervention because at this point, I have zero clue which one I’ll choose.
I’m fifty-fifty.
My heart lies with both. How do I even begin to pick?
Luckily, I still have time…I think. Tom hasn’t exactly hung a deadline over my head, but whenever I run into him, he asks me if I’m nearing a decision. I do need to pick classes for next semester, so my goal is to decide by Christmas. It gives me a few more weeks at least.
I avoid the stress by watching Ben. Seeing him skate floats my anxieties into the ether, and I’m doubly impressed when he zips over to me and slices against the ice in a quick stop.
I fight a pinched smile. “Show off.”
“I have to flex somewhere,” he grins. “This is the only thing I excel at.”
“That’s so far from true.” I gulp my hot chocolate, then he glances at the extra cup in my hand. So I tell him, “Apple cider. No honey.”
His smile reaches his baby blue eyes. “Let me get my skates off. We can find a place to sit.” I’m soaking in the hours I get to spend with Ben before he heads to Philly later tonight.
It’s Wednesday.
The day of fucking mystery. I’m not invited to the Cobalt family dinner, and I don’t expect to be, nor do I want an invite. I respect their family traditions, and I sure as hell wouldn’t bring a new relationship to a sacred fam event.
Ben also needs that time alone with them. He’s tried pushing them away in an effort to protect them from himself. It’s good he has these opportunities to figure out how to manage his OCD when he’s solely around family.
We find a vacant bench in view of the ornament and garland-strung tree. Mariah Carey belts out Christmas staples through speakers somewhere. Really, the holidays have never been my favorite time of year. They’re typically solitary affairs between me and my TV. I’d even work extra shifts at Wendy’s. Stay busy. Earn some cash. So “holiday cheer” is taking on an entirely new meaning being with Ben.
Little kids giggle as they put on skates, and I catch Ben smiling as the boy practically drags his dad toward the rink with excitement.
“Do you think you could fall back in love with hockey?” I ask him, since he’s learned that his OCD stripped away his enjoyment of the sport. He was too fixated on potentially hurting other players and causing harm on the ice—it made it difficult for Ben to find pleasure in the game.
“I don’t know.” He stares off. “I’ve thought about whether I can overcome this enough to love it again, but…right now, it seems unreachable. Ask me in a week?”
I nod. “I’ll put it in my calendar.”
“Do I get an alarm alert too?” He slips me a teasing smile.
“Oh yeah, a super basic one,” I say flatly. “Chimes.”
“Not even an electronic beep.” His lips rise higher. “Ice cold.”
“Frost to your fire.” I make a lame joke and crinkle my nose, but Ben is laughing like it was decently clever, so I snuggle closer to him, especially for his warmth.
He has an arm around me, moving it up and down my side. I wouldn’t let him give me his jacket. It’s too fucking chilly, and I’m already wearing outerwear.