Revolve (Off the Ice #3)

by Bal Khabra

When I look at her, I can feel my heart trying to pry out of my chest.

“You’re so pretty.” “Stop calling me pretty.” “Can’t.”

“I’m beautiful,” I say. “And I feel it the most when I’m with you.”

“I dream about you,” he whispers,

“Didn’t take you as a hugger, Romanova.” “I’m not. But you’re annoyingly persuasive.” He chuckles. “I don’t recall asking you to hug me.” “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to hug,” I say quietly.

She could take, take, take, and I’d give, give, give like a fucking madman.

I can’t think straight when it comes to Sierra Romanova.

I didn’t realize how deeply Sierra’s settled into my chest. And I don’t want her to leave. If anything, I want her closer. More permanent. I am so fucked.

“I’d know you anywhere, Sierra,” I say. “Every. Fucking. Inch of you.”

My gaze rests on her lips, red of course, and I know they taste that way too. Hot and irresistible.

“Everything could be a blur, and I’d still see you clearly,” I say.

It’s a picture of me sitting on the rink bench while he ties my skates. From my furrowed brows and his smile, I realized we were probably arguing. Likely because he said I did something wrong, and I begged to differ. All that while I held out his gloves for him and he tied my skates. Lidia said it was her favorite picture of us because no matter how much we argue, we still unconsciously take care of each other.

“So greedy,” I tease. “Only when it comes to you,” he whispers. “Be my girlfriend.”

“I hate you.” “I don’t believe you.”

Then something on his face changes, and he watches me like I’ll disappear.

She finds my hand and presses her palm to mine, measuring the difference. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, head tilted as she sees how much bigger mine is. Then she looks at me, catches my gaze on her, and I swear she blushes a pale pink.

“I’ll always be here, baby.”

The need to keep her, to hold her in my arms, shifts into a gnawing, obsessive type of possession. I want her to need me. Not just for this, but for everything. I would keep this girl forever if she let me.

“Hi, baby,” and I start blushing. I’m falling for him, and I don’t question whether he’ll catch me.

“You’re making it hard for me to want to leave. You’re trouble.” I chuckle. “But you like that about me.” “I do,” he says. “I love that about you.”

“I’m here for all of you. All the parts that you think are broken are just more for me to love.”

“I don’t go a day without thinking about where you are or what you’re doing. I want you, I need—God, I’m fucking nothing without you. Don’t you see that?”

“I love you, Sierra. On your darkest days, the good days, and all the ones in between. Show me your worst, baby, and I’ll show you just how far my heart can stretch for you.”

“For you, I’ll go at any pace you need. I’ll match you stride for stride, baby. You can take your time, but when you’re done, I’ll still be right here, waiting for you to fall back into my arms. Because there’s no part of me I want to get back, if I’m losing the most important one.”

“Yet you talk about your brain and body like they’re separate from you—like they’re against you. They’re not trying to hurt you. They just don’t always know what’s safe until you allow yourself to believe it.”

She stays behind the wall of her past like it’ll keep her safe, but she doesn’t know that I’d break through anything to get to her. It’s us or nothing, and I don’t give a fuck if that sounds possessive. She’s mine, every goddamn inch of her. If she wants to be.

One look at those amber brown eyes and the smile he reserves just for me, and I’m a goner.

But his eyes betray him. Because he looks at me the way he does on the ice—awestruck.

“You’re the best thing in my life,” he whispers against my temple when we’re in bed. “And if you’re still second-guessing this, I want you to know that your dreams are as much for me as they are for you. I want to see you win, on every podium, proving that you’re everything you imagined. I am your biggest fan and your greatest supporter. You’re destined for greatness, and I want you to achieve it all with me by your side. It’s you or nothing for me. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

Sierra wakes, and I’m met with my personal kryptonite.

“My body doesn’t feel like it’s in pain when I’m with you. It’s almost as if your kisses make my scars fade.”

But the love I feel for Sierra is different. It’s the rhythm of my heart, the air I breathe—it’s the love I hold closest. It’s simple, never fragmented, and it comes with only one condition: I’ll love her as long as she lets me, and probably forever after that—even if she doesn’t feel the same. This love isn’t about kisses or hand-holding or even sex. It’s something deeper, something that lives in my bones, earned through what I do, not just what I say.

“If you want me to stand here every single day and tell you over and over that I care, that I’m proud of you, that I could never see you hurt, and that your dreams have become my dreams because you feel them so purely, I will. I’ll say it as loud or as gently as you want me to.” My knuckles skim her jawline. “With as many kisses as you want.” I lean in to softly press my lips to hers. “With as many hugs as you need.” I wrap her in my arms. “With every word I can think of. It’s all for you, Sierra.”

“I’m keeping you forever, Sierra. You don’t need to worry about that.” I intertwine our fingers and kiss her knuckles. Then her eyes water. “Don’t cry, baby.” She sniffles “Sorr—I mean, I’ve just never felt this. It’s like my chest is going to burst.” “That sounds like a medical emergency, Romanova,” I note. Sierra smacks my arm, hard. “I’m trying to say that I love you, you idiot.”

“So much that I’m kind of annoyed at you for making me an emotional sap. All I have to do is think of you and how much effort you put into people without expecting anything in return. You made me love myself because you make it look so easy. I want to love you just as much. I want you to know that it doesn’t have to be complicated and messy or what your parents made you think it is. It can be this, just you and me, showing up for each other every day. No matter what.”

Being in this bed, in his arms, with the reminder of his thoughts when I’m not here right above me, feels like the weight of the sun. Because what I’ve realized about scars is that they’re always there, but it doesn’t have to mean they’re not healed.

“You sound so sure.” “Because I am. You’re with me and only me, Sierra. There’s no one else I’d be with on or off the ice. We’re partners. Forever.” “Sounds scary.”

“I’m so mad at you, but I love you,” I whisper. “I don’t think I tell you that enough.” “Forty-seven,” he whispers back. “What?” “You’ve told me you love me forty-seven times today.”

“In all different kinds of ways.” He smiles, like this is a secret he’s kept, him counting my I love yous. “Like when you kiss me, and you linger for a minute to kiss the scar by my lip. Or when you retrace the smiley faces on our palms. Or when you take your thumbs”—he takes my hands and moves my thumbs under his eyes; I run my fingers under there on instinct and he sighs happily—“and do that. Or when you tell me you love me, then show me exactly how much.”

“This is torture.” “Good,” she says. “If you ever keep anything like that from me again, I will cut you with my skates. That’s a promise.” “Is that supposed to deter me? You could carve my heart out and I’d still come crawling back.”

She laughs and my heart feels like it’s detached, floating somewhere higher.

Dylan reaped the benefits of my irritation—jealousy, as he called it—because when we got back to our hotel room, I said, “You know, if you really loved me, I’d have a ring on my finger right now.” An hour later, we were married by an Elvis minister in a chapel off the Strip, with matching smiley-face tattoos on our ring fingers. Dylan also got my name tattooed over his heart, the same place I rest my hand before each performance. He didn’t hesitate. It was like he’d just been patiently waiting for me to catch up. Like he always does.