Harper left without a backward glance․ Miles watched as she left‚ rink bag slung over one shoulder‚ ponytail back in its precise place‚ every last trace of the last hour stowed away as easily as any other‚ and she didn’t even look at Kendall as she left․ Not a glance‚ not a nod‚ nothing․ The gate swinging shut behind her‚ the sound of her footsteps fading down the corridor․ The rink went quiet․ Miles turned to the ice‚ picked up the puck‚ which Harper had left at the blue line‚ flipped it in the air with his stick‚ and caught it with one hand․ He needed something to do with his hands․ He could feel Kendall at the boards behind him the way you felt a weather change before it arrived․ The difference in the air pressure‚ its specific atmosphere: Kendall‚ never small‚ never easy‚ never something he could ignore without effort․ He skated to the boards and stepped off the ice․ Kendall‚” he said․ “Miles․” That’s how she said it‚ how she always said it․ It always seemed like she’d invented it specifically for her own use․ She was leaning against the boards‚ her coffee cup cupped in both hands‚ her coat neatly arranged on her shoulders‚ her hair combed impeccably even in the cold air․ She looked like she’d walked out of a campaign shoot and taken a wrong turn into an ice rink․ “I’ve been texting you․” “I know․” “Three times․” “I know that too․” “And you didn’t reply․” She canted her head‚ looked him over with those dark‚ appraising eyes‚ the same ones that had so long ago made him feel like he was the most interesting person in the room․ Now they mostly made him feel like he was being read for weaknesses․ “That’s new․” “I’ve been busy․” “I can see that․” Her gaze traveled‚ slow and deliberate‚ toward the gate Harper had just walked through․ “Busy with your tutor․” He didn’t bite‚ however‚ but instead set the stick against the boards‚ unlaced his skates‚ and kept his hands busy‚ his eyes down․ “What do you need‚ Kendall?” “I wanted to see you․” She moved along the boards toward him‚ unhurried‚ the click of her heels against the concrete floor measured and deliberate․ “Is that not allowed anymore?” “I didn’t say that․ You didn’t have to․” She stopped an arm’s length away‚ close enough that he could smell her perfume ‚ the same one‚ always the same one‚ expensive and familiar in a way that used to feel like comfort and now felt like a reminder of things he hadn’t been particularly proud of․ “You went from replying in minutes to not replying at all․ Something changed․” “Nothing changed․” “She changed something․” Lightly spoken‚ almost with curiosity‚ and that was somehow worse than accusation․ “The tutor․ Harper․” She said it like she was trying its weight‚ deciding whether it was worthy of her attention․ “I looked her up․” Miles continued unlacing․ Said nothing․ “Top of her year․ Pre-law․ Three jobs․” Kendall’s mouth curled a little‚ like she found something amusing in the facts․ “Scholarship kid․ Very impressive‚ in a particular kind of way․” “Is it a project?
She seems like the type you’d find interesting for about five minutes before remembering what you actually want․” He took off the first skate and set it down․ Reached for the second․ “Charity work doesn’t really suit you‚ Miles․ You’re not built for it․” She stepped closer‚ voice dropping into something more intimate‚ the register she used when she wanted to remind him of something․ “She’s your tutor playing as your girlfriend because she needs the stipend․ That’s the whole story․ You know that, right?” “Stop․ The word came out flat and final and completely without the easy deflection he usually kept between himself and anything that required a real response․ It came out before he’d decided to say it‚ from somewhere underneath the performance‚ and it surprised him almost as much as it surprised her․ Kendall blinked․ Just once․ Miles stood in the cold concrete in his socks and looked her in the eye․ “Don’t talk about her like that․” “Miles․” “She’s not a project․” His voice was quiet․ No temper just certain‚ the way he was certain about very few things outside of the ice․ “She’s not a charity case and she’s not playing anything․ Don’t talk about her like that again․” There was a new expression in Kendall’s eyes․ The calm‚ considering expression vanished‚ if only for an instant‚ and then built itself up into something․ Something that knew what had happened‚ and had decided what to do about it․ She moved․ Later he would think that he should have stepped back.
That the smarter version of him, the one that had learned, over two years of Kendall Hayes, exactly how she operated and exactly where the line was would have read it coming and put distance between them before she closed it.
He didn’t step back.
She crossed the remaining space between them in one fluid motion no hesitation, Kendall had never once asked and her hand found the front of his hockey pants, palm flat, applying just enough pressure to make his breath catch before his brain had finished processing that she’d moved at all.
He went completely still․ It was her mouth at his ear‚ her perfume filling his nose‚ and her voice sinking to the low careful tones she had spent two years learning were a weak point and had never stopped using․ “You remember this‚” she said‚ and her tone was not a question‚ her fingers splayed across the curve of his stomach with a practiced confidence․ “You remember exactly what this is․ What we are․” Her lips brushed along the curve of his jaw․ “She can’t give you this‚ Miles․ She doesn’t even look at you the way I do․” His jaw tightened and drew his hand up․ He took her hand‚ moved it out of the way‚ and stepped back․ Kendall’s gaze dropped to where his fingers had just been resting on her wrist and came back up to him․ There was something genuinely hurt in her eyes for one unguarded second․ “She doesn’t look at me like you do‚” he said quietly․ “You’re right about that․” She was waiting‚ and he could see her turning it over‚ but whether that was a concession․ “She looks at me like I might actually be worth something if I tried hard enough․” He picked up his skates from the floor‚ his bag from the bench․ “That’s not something I’ve been offered a lot․” Kendall was silent․ He might have finally succeeded in rendering her speechless‚ but there was nothing to be pleased about in this: it was something being said out loud that he hadn’t fully known was true until the words were already out there‚ curling and unspooling and snaking away from him․ It was always this way and now her mask lay once more over whatever it was that lay beneath‚ and she stepped back and picked up her coat‚ and left her cup of coffee on the boards with steadiness․ She smiled at him seductively․ “We’ll see how long that lasts‚” she said․ It wasn’t a threat exactly․ It was something quieter and more considered than that a patience she was putting on display‚ the confidence of someone who believed time was on her side‚ who had decided that whatever this was between Miles and his tutor had an expiration date she was simply willing to wait for․ She picked up her bag․ She walked first‚ heels clacking back down the corridor․ She wouldn’t look back because Kendall Hayes never looked back‚ had never needed to‚ and both of them knew it․ Miles stood in the empty hockey rink holding his skates‚ and listened to the sound of her footsteps down the hallway‚ until her footsteps were gone‚ then until the weight of her absence was gone‚ as if nothing could be louder than what she had said․ He looked down at the ice‚ the impressions where their skates had carved their drills‚ Harper’s cuts to skate into her shot‚ the clean arc of her stance carved into the ice․ Harper skated off the ice after the lace-up and just went back to work like it was no big deal․ She was the most self-possessed person he’d ever stood next to out in the cold‚ and that was saying something․