Bring it on

Chapter 19

It's hard to describe what skating on ice feels like-the smooth glide, the weightless sensation, the rush of cold air as you carve through the rink. But lately, when I skate, it is as though I am moving through something more than just the ice. It is like I am trying to glide over this. distance. The space between me and Ethan.

I'm ice-skating alone, my blades digging into the ice as I make tight circles. Ethan's sitting on the bench, his hockey gear scattered beside him. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don't look. I never look.

Just focus, Natalie. Just skate.

But that's easier said than it is. When we're together, everything's different-he's different. The air moves when he steps into the room, his glance catches mine when I'm not looking. And I think, what are we doing here? He doesn't get my world, and I'm not certain that I understand his.

I push off, trying to find my rhythm, letting the speed of the skate dull my thoughts. But the truth is, I can't ignore the feeling in my chest. We've been dancing around this. whatever this is between us, for weeks. I'm not sure we've even said the words "I like you" aloud. We've never had to. But sometimes I think it might be easier if we just said it.

I come to a stop by the boards, my breath coming faster, but it's not from the physical effort. It's all in my head.

"Hey, you okay?" Ethan's voice cuts through my reverie. I look up to see him standing near the glass, his hockey skates on now, a sweatshirt over his practice jersey. He always looks like he's ready for a fight, like the ice is some sort of battlefield, and he's gearing up for war.

I force the corners of my mouth to curl upward, shrugging. "Yeah, just... just practicing."

He gives me a You're lying look, but doesn't push. "You've been out here for an hour. Are you sure you're okay?"

The genuine concern in his voice makes me catch off guard and I let out a sigh. "I don't know. I just guess I was thinking about everything."

"Everything?" he asks, a faint frown pulling at the seams of his lips.

"Yeah. Skating. Us. The future." I wave a hand vaguely, trying to dismiss it, but he's already caught onto something. I can tell by the way his eyes narrow, his gaze sharp like he's trying to break me open and figure me out.

"Us?" he repeats low.

I bite my lip. "I mean... yeah. It's just-" I don't know how to explain it. "It feels like. like I'm stuck between two worlds. You know? My world is all about perfect landings and routines, and yours is... chaos. Hockey's all about hitting and fighting. I don't think I fit in your world, Ethan. And I'm not sure I want to."
There, I said it.

He looks at me for a long moment, processing. His arms cross over his chest, but there's something softer in his expression now, like he's not sure whether to argue or agree. "You think you don't fit in my world?"

I shrug, my gaze drifting to the ice below me. "Yeah. I mean, look at us. We're different. You're out there slamming into guys and I'm. dancing on the ice. I'm not cut out for that kind of roughness. I'm not like you."

"Not like me?" Ethan repeats with a quiet laugh, the sound low, taken aback. "You really think I'm all about hitting people?"

I glance up, puzzled. "Aren't you?

He steps closer to the boards, his voice lowering as he leans on them. "Yeah, but that's just a part of it. The game's about the rush, the teamwork, the moments when everything comes together. I'm not just about hitting. That's just what people see. But you... you're about something else. You're all about precision, about making things beautiful. But that doesn't mean you don't belong out here with me. You've got your own kind of strength, Nat."

I pause, trying to make sense of what he's saying. "But I don't know if it's enough," I murmur.

Ethan raises an eyebrow, clearly confused. "Enough for what?

For us, " I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. I try to backtrack. "I mean, what are we doing here, Ethan? What do you want from this?

He doesn't say anything immediately, but his eyes dig into mine as if he's trying to find something hidden. Then, finally, he shrugs, his tone casual, but there is a hint of something deeper in his voice. "I don't know, Nat. I don't have all the answers. But I know I like being around you. I like this. You get that, right?

I swallow hard. I want to say something, but I don't know what. Everything I feel seems tangled up inside me, and I'm not sure how to untangle it.

"You just... you're always so confident, so sure of what you want," I say softly, looking away. "And I don't know if I am. I'm not sure about anything."

Ethan edges forward, closing the distance between us. "You don't have to be so sure. You don't have to have it all planned out."

"But I do," I say, irritation rising in my chest. "I do. I need to feel like I'm in control. I need to know where I'm headed."

He reaches out, a surprising gentleness in his touch as he lays a hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to know, Nat. Not with me. Not yet, anyway."

His words hang in the air, a promise, maybe, or just the quiet truth of someone who's learned to embrace the unknown. I feel something shift between us, a subtle change, like we've taken a step forward, even if we don't have all the answers.

"Can we just skate?" I ask, my voice quiet. "Just skate, no thinking?

Ethan smiles, a real smile this time, the kind that reaches his eyes and makes them light up. "Yeah. Just skate."

And then, without thinking, I close the space between us, my heart racing faster than it should. I tip my head up, my fingers brushing against his chest, and for a heartbeat, everything comes to a stop. Ethan doesn't pull away. Instead, he leans down, his eyes never leaving mine, and before I can second-guess myself, he kisses me.

It's soft at first, tentative, as if we're both still figuring this out. But then in a flash, it deepens-his hand sliding to my waist, pulling me in closer. I can feel the warmth of his body against mine, and for a moment, it's like everything else falls away. There's no rink, no routines, no hockey. Just us, on the ice, in the quiet of the moment.

When we pull away, neither of us speaks. He just looks at me, a little out of breath, his forehead resting against mine.

"I don't have all the answers, Nat," he says softly, "but I think I'm starting to figure out what I want."

And maybe, just maybe, so am I.