Unsteady

by Peyton Corinne

No deal needed—if she keeps looking at me like this, I’ll do anything she says.

But sometimes, she starts Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car.” Those days, she usually doesn’t speak to me—only stares at me on our way in with eyes that look half full of tears.

She stops there, but the unspoken words are just as loud. The look in her eyes says I wanted to help, and this is all I have and I see you.

I wonder if I could convince her to She’s the Man herself onto the men’s hockey team so I never have to be on the ice without her.

And without thinking, I drop a kiss to her forehead and pick up my gear bag, turning to leave the room before I can consider how ridiculous that move might have been.

She’s so beautiful; dark lips and thick lashes over her darting, intense eyes. That little patch of freckles that I want to touch almost constantly. Brown hair that I imagine would feel just like silk if I ran my fingers through it.

“For the record,” I say, looking out along the lake, across all the life around us. “I am offering.” She’s silent. Smiling and shaking her head, she avoids every ounce of the eye contact I’m directing toward her. But I can’t bring myself to regret it.

“I like anything when it comes to you,” he confesses, and my heart clenches.

I think I like what the aftermath of Sadie Gray looks like on me.

Surviving. That’s what is important.

“I think I’m in love with her.” I hear Rhys tell Bennett, but his voice doesn’t lower even a notch. “And she won’t let me in.”

“And tell your little friend up there to watch her fucking back. I don’t need unbruised knuckles to skate.”

She’s perfect.

Sadie Gray is my fucking girlfriend now. I want to shout it so that my dad, the trainers—hell, the whole building—can hear me.

“I don’t know what I’m going to have to do to prove to you and Oliver that I’m not leaving—and honestly, I don’t care what it is, I’ll do it.”

“You don’t need to say anything right now, okay? I can love you enough for the both of us.”

Someone grabs Kelley from behind, yanking him off me and slamming one fist into his face. My coach goes down, out cold. Toren Kane. His eyes are bright embers of gold, just as unsettling and intoxicating as the last time I saw him.

His hand pats my chest condescendingly, shoving a little roughly. “And tell your girl I’ll skate with her anytime.”

“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” I murmur into the fabric of his shirt. “I was never going anywhere, anyway.” He chuckles, the words serious even as he tries to pull a smile from me. It works, like it always does.

I try, but I cannot figure him out. Toren is harsh, doesn’t get along with a single one of his teammates… and yet he saved me that day. Not only that, but he called out my overtraining far before—like he knew the signs of it. Like he’d experienced it.

But now, I get to be their sister. Love them, lift them up, watch them grow up—and not worry about where their next meal comes from or how I’ll pay for our rent. Now, Oliver gets to go to private hockey academies and training camps, if he wants. Now, Liam gets to see his grades and art projects displayed on a fridge that doesn’t contain beer bottles and empty promises. Now, I can watch them flourish and know that when I sleep at night, they’re happy. That I did it. I got them out.