Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
After an exhilarating thirty seconds, their complete rotation of the rink ends before Chase is ready. They glide to a stop, still holding hands.
“That was…” Martina’s mouth quirks into a curious frown. “Very interesting. You two blend so effortlessly. Let us see if you can keep in sync for a jump. Single axel, please. Normally you would let the music cue your jump. This time you will have to cue each other instead. Chase—you press Zoe’s hand when you are ready to release and jump.”
Better not fuck this up, he thinks as they push off again.
“When you come out of the final crossover, don’t hesitate!” Martina calls. “You push into the jump immediately, together.”
Chase tightens his grip on Zoe’s hand as they fly backward down the rink. They’re perfectly in sync again, as if they’ve been doing this for years, not minutes. The ice feels smooth under his blades, but his chest is tight with anticipation.
He glances at her just before the final crossover. Her expression is serene. He squeezes her hand—his silent cue. She responds immediately, no hesitation, and they let go, pushing off the ice in unison.
The jump feels effortless, with the kind of lift that makes gravity pause for a split second. His body rotates through the air, and he can feel Zoe’s presence beside him, their geometry almost freakishly perfect.
They land at the same moment, the scrape of blades against ice as smooth as breathing. No stumble, no hesitation. Just a smooth glide as they skate out of the jump and clasp hands again, still together.
Zoe probably does this all the time and twice on Tuesdays. But his heart pounds in his chest, not just from the physicality of the movement, but from triumph. Their jump was perfect, in a world where almost nothing is.
He can’t help but glance at Zoe again, and finds her staring back at him, wide-eyed, even as they finish their rotation toward Martina and the campers.
They glide to a stop in silence, still staring at each other. Still holding hands. Until somebody—probably Ethan—starts to clap. “Show-offs!” he hoots.
There’s more cheering, and Chase remembers where he is. He regretfully lets go of Zoe’s hand and takes a cheeky bow.
Martina’s voice cuts through the merriment. “Beautiful. You two are quite a pair.” But Chase barely hears her. All he feels is the aftershock of being so in sync with another person. He hopes Martina dreams up a hundred more things for the two of them to demonstrate. Just so he can have more of the potent drug that is skating with Zoe.
Chapter 11
Present Day
After the bartender’s phone call, I scramble into some clothes and grab my Legends jacket. Then I take off running up Eighth Avenue.
I’m out of breath by the time I reach the bar, and my bad knee aches. But when I throw open the door, I have a flash of déjà vu. Several of the beer-belly guys are still in their circular booth, where I left them hours ago.
Furthermore, they catcall me when I walk in, exactly like they did earlier tonight. Except this time they sound louder and sloppier.
The bigger change, though, is that Chase is standing at the bar, more or less in the same spot where I watched the game earlier. His elbows are parked on the wood surface, and his head is hanging down, as if in exhaustion. Harp—the bartender—speaks quietly to him.
But I’m the one who’s supposed to convince him to leave? He’s no more likely to listen to me than he is to write a haiku in my honor.
Harp looks up. “Oh, hey, Zoe.”
Chase’s body jolts at the sound of my name. Slowly, he turns his head in my direction. And when he finds me, his expression opens up. In a flash, I see the old Chase—the blue-eyed party boy who was always happy to see me.
But just as suddenly he’s gone. His chin dips toward the empty glass in front of him, and his mouth tightens. “Can I get another beer?”
“Not tonight,” the bartender says as I close the distance between us.
“Chase, hi,” I say cheerfully. As if this were any meetup between two old friends. “What are you up to?”
“Drinkin’,” he grunts.
“Any particular reason?”
“What do you care? Just… out having fun.”
“Hey, loser!” shouts one of the beer bellies. “We need a minute of your time!”
“Fuck off,” Chase grumbles.
“You know what, Chase? We’re going to have to work on your concept of fun.”
He swings his chin in my direction and squints at me. “Zoe, what are you doing?”
“I live in the neighborhood.”
“Of course you do. Fuck my life.” He gives his head an exaggerated shake. “But I meant—what are you doing in New York? What do you want from me?”
I hesitate, wondering how truthful I’m allowed to be. “Look, the Legends were the only team who would hire me right now. But also…” I swallow hard. “Eighteen-year-old Zoe wants some closure. I admit it. But grown-up Zoe just wants to win some hockey games and keep her job. I’d really like to fix your skating.”