Tripping (Iced #2) - Kristine Allen Page 0,69

Bleu’s direction. I’d tried to call her each day I’d been home, but I was still blocked.

Though I’d rather tell her in no uncertain terms we were going to work shit out, that wouldn’t work for someone like Bleu. She was stubborn and would dig her heels in if I got bossy. At least outside of the bedroom.

So I had to get creative.

If this didn’t work, not only would I be laughed off the ice, I’d be lucky if I didn’t get suspended temporarily. If it worked, it was totally worth it.

“You ready for this?” Alex asked me under his breath as we walked on our blades down the tunnel.

“No,” I replied with a nervous laugh. He shook his head with a grin.

The cold air hit my lungs before we got to the entrance to the rink. Grounding myself, I breathed deep and savored the crisp, fresh scent.

There was nothing I loved more than the ice. If I could lie facedown with my cheek pressed to it without getting frostbite, I think I would. The vibration of my skates scraping on it was like an electrical current from the frozen surface to my chest. Like we were connected on a primal level.

One. Just me and the ice.

That was where everything made sense—exactly where I was born to be.

We went through our warm-up drills, and my chest was about to explode. Not from exertion, but from nerves. Despite being at home out there, what I was about to do was insane.

As we prepared to wrap up, I skated to where Randy, our main announcer, had placed a microphone at the edge of our player box. He made me promise I’d keep his name out of it. No problem.

A deep breath didn’t do much to calm my errant heart and constricted lungs. As I skated toward the center of our half of the ice, I could hear the murmur of the crowd. People had begun to notice I was up to something.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?” The crowd hushed, and all the skaters on the ice stopped to stare. I needed to hurry, because I saw the coaches and arena staff gathering and waving their arms around. My gaze dropped to where my skates worked in a short sawing motion.

“Bleu? I can’t stand this. I’m lost without you.” A loud “awwww” rippled through the crowd. Gathering my courage and grabbing myself by the metaphorical nuts, I raised my gaze to where I knew she was sitting that night. Her palms were pressed to her cheeks and her eyes were huge. She was absolutely beautiful.

“Here goes nothing,” I muttered. The music started, and I belted out the words I’d practiced for three days. I’d chosen a song from Moulin Rouge, “Come What May.” It had taken some research to figure out the best song to use. The two main characters had used the song as a way to communicate their love for each other when they couldn’t express it openly with words. Seriously, I looked it up. And it fit us. It was corny as fuck, but it was her language.

At least I hoped it was and prayed it would work.

I almost made it to the end of the male verse before I was shut down. I was grinning like a fool when I saw Bleu standing with her hands over her mouth and tears running down her face. She dropped her hands as I was escorted off the ice and pushed her way toward the rail above the tunnel. It was the same place she’d fallen from that first night.

“You’re crazy!” she shouted through tears and laughter. I looked up at her with my heart lighter than it had been in over a week.

“Crazy for you! Talk to you after the game?” I replied as I tugged off my glove and reached up to brush our fingertips as I passed. She got a worried look on her face, but she nodded. That was all I had time for. There was no stopping, because I was herded back to the locker room.

Coach was on my ass the second I stepped inside, but my teammates all cheered and laughed.

“Enough!” Coach Soderberg shouted. “Have lost your ever-loving mind, McGregor?”

All I could do was grin and shrug.

“Well, I hope it was worth it, because your ass is probably going to be fined a pretty penny for that stunt.”

“Worth it,” I said as I beamed. I had no idea what the hell they could