Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 17

**Charlotte**

My knee throbs under the desk. It isn’t even a bad injury, I know that. It’ll probably heal over by the end of the day anyway. Most of my injuries never last long, but every time I shift in the chair, the fabric drags over it, and it stings again. My chest is worse. That weird pull has been there all day, coming and going like a glitch in my body. It feels like someone has hooked a finger right under my ribs and keeps tugging relentlessly. The teacher is saying something about an assignment. Something about paragraphs and structure, and “you’ll all be graded on this.” His voice slides in one ear and out the other because my focus keeps snapping back to my own heartbeat. I press my fingers to my sternum beneath the desk and breathe slowly. I try to write, the words blur for a second, then sharpen, and I force my hand to move, pen scratching across paper.

The bell goes, and the class starts moving, bags unzipping, chairs screeching, bodies squeezing through the doorway. I wait half a beat longer so I don’t get caught in the crush again. Then I stand, knee protesting, and follow the stream into the hallway. The next class is on the other side of the building. I walk fast, head down, timetable in my hand, shoulders tucked in, trying to make myself smaller. My chest keeps tugging anyway. I rub it once quickly, then drop my hand. When I reach the classroom, I slip into the back and take one of the free seats. The teacher begins the lesson, and I keep my head down, trying to focus on the page in front of me. The door opens ten minutes in, and I look up without thinking as Blake steps into the room. The first thing I notice is that he isn’t wearing the hockey jersey anymore. He’s in a normal school shirt. It’s crisp enough that it looks freshly pulled on. His jeans are different too, and his hair is still messy, but damp at the edges, like it’s been shoved under a tap and left to dry on its own. He pauses just inside the doorway, shoulders squared, eyes steady. “Sorry, I’m late,” he says. The teacher barely glances up. “Sit down, Blake.”

Blake nods once and walks down the aisle, straight toward me. He slides into the seat, and his knee brushes the side of mine for half a second, and my whole body reacts like I just touched a live wire. I look straight at him… His eyes are wide… and locked on mine. Did he feel that, too? I quickly look away from the intensity of his stare, sucking in a lungful of cedar and smoke. It wraps around the back of my throat, and my heart does that stupid quick thing, the same way it did at lunch, the same way it did last night at the lake. I grip my pen harder. Focus. Every now and then, when I glance up toward the board, I catch movement in my peripheral vision. Blake is looking at me, but the second I turn my head, he looks down. Halfway through class, my knee shifts and the scrape catches on my pants. I suck in a breath before I can stop it. The sound is small, but Blake’s head turns immediately. “You alright?” he murmurs, so quiet the teacher can’t hear. I nod once. “Yeah.” His gaze flicks down to my knee, then back up. He doesn’t say anything else. He turns back to his work, but the space between us feels tighter now.

When the bell finally rings, it’s like the room exhales. I pack my things quickly, careful with my knee, careful not to draw attention. I slide out into the aisle and head for the door. I make it two steps into the hallway before I stop. I turn, and Blake is already looking at me. His eyes are wide, and for a second, neither of us moves. I swallow, my mouth suddenly feeling dry. “Would you mind showing me where the ice rink is?” I ask. The words come out fast, like if I don’t say them quickly I’ll chicken out. Blake blinks, and his eyebrows lift. “You wanna see the ice?” I shrug, trying to make it casual. “Well, yeah. You guys have practice, don’t you? I was gonna watch.” Something bright flashes through his eyes that I can’t place. “You want to watch me practice?” he asks. Heat creeps up my neck, and I shake my head quickly. “No. I mean… I was going for Charlie. I always watch when he gets to practice.” Blake’s mouth twitches, and his brows furrow slightly. “Right,” he says, nodding. “Yeah. Of course.” I wait, half expecting him to brush me off, half expecting him to say he’s busy. It would make sense. He’s the captain. He has things to do. Instead, he shifts his bag onto one shoulder and steps closer. “I’ll show you,” he says. “Thanks,” I say softly.

Blake starts walking, and I fall into step beside him. We weave through the corridors, down a set of stairs, past the gym doors. The school changes as we move toward the sports area. The walls are scuffed, and the air smells faintly like sweat and disinfectant. Blake keeps glancing at me like he’s checking that I’m still following. “You skate?” he asks finally, voice low. I hesitate. “Me? No, Charlie’s the one with the talent.” The lie feels wrong, but it’s not like what I do on the ice is important anyway. Blake’s eyes flick to me. “You don’t skate at all?” I shrug, staring ahead. “I used to. Back when I was younger.” We reach a pair of double doors, a sign pointing toward the rink facilities. Blake stops there and turns to face me properly. My chest tightens again, and for a second I wonder if it’s the cold. Then the cedar and smoke scent shifts around me, and I know it’s him. I rub my sternum once quickly, and Blake’s eyes drop to my hand, and his jaw tightens slightly. “You do that a lot,” he says quietly. I let out a small laugh that isn’t really a laugh. “Yeah. I know. Probably stress.” His gaze holds mine, steady but unreadable. “Maybe.” I look away first, because holding his eyes feels like standing too close to a fire. “Anyway,” I say, forcing my voice to sound normal. “Thanks for showing me.” Blake nods once. “No problem.” Then a voice calls his name from down the corridor, and Blake’s attention snaps that way. He looks back at me again, like he’s checking me one last time. “I’ll see you out there,” he says. I nod. “Yeah.”

He jogs off, disappearing around the corner, and I stand there for a second with my bag strap tight in my hand, knee stinging, chest pulling, and a single thought running through my mind on repeat. Why does being near him feel like my body remembers something my head doesn’t?