There were only a handful of other people at the arena tonight, and that made me smile inwardly. Not only would I have the rink mostly to myself, but I could keep track of anyone who might be lurking about. I came here weekly; if there was anyone out of the ordinary, the chances were good that I’d be able to pick them out.

Unless, of course, I was distracted. And there seemed to be moments where Hailey Spencer was doing exactly that—distracting the hell out of me.

When I met her only a few days ago—Jesus, had it only been three days?—I could tell immediately that she didn’t like me. I was a cop, and that was reason enough for her to steer clear.

Now, she didn’t want to like me, but she did. For brief, fleeting moments, at least.

And I was having those same little moments as well. Moments where I needed to remind myself that there were things she wasn’t telling me, and that she was the victim in an active investigation. Two, if I counted her purse being stolen.

There was something making me gravitate toward Hailey. Obviously, or I wouldn’t have been so damn persistent to have her take up refuge at my place. But, in my gut, I knew she needed me—or needed someone—to watch out for her. She wasn’t overly receptive to the idea, but I wanted that someone to be me.

I was a man who believed in fate. There were reasons for everything—reasons why I’d been in trouble with the law in my youth, so that I could be a better cop in my adulthood; reasons why I spent the bulk of my childhood with my grandfather, learning to be the kind of man he’d want me to be; and there were reasons why I was the one who answered that call a few days ago about a woman with a stolen purse. I was brought into Hailey’s life for a reason, and my gut told me it was to protect her.

I just wished I knew what I was protecting her from, other than herself.

I led her into the arena lobby, pointing down the hall towards the changerooms. “Head that way, and it’s the first door on the left.”

She obeyed silently, until she saw the men’s changeroom sign. “I can wait out here.”

I pushed the door wide open to show her the room. Only one other person was in it, lacing up his skates. “It’s just skating, Hailey. I’m putting skates on, not getting naked. You can come in.” To make her feel more at ease, I propped the door open with the stopper near the bench just inside the door, kicking it into position. “Better?”

She followed me, but her arms were crossed and she didn’t meet the eyes of the man across the room from us.

I pulled my skates on and tied them quickly. “The benches and seats have heaters pointed at them,” I advised her. “So, you shouldn’t be too cold out there.”

The older man in the room gave me a quick nod on his way out, glancing curiously at Hailey before he went. I’d seen it, and so did she.

“I look way too rough to be out here in a public place,” she said dejectedly.

“You look fine,” I assured her. “Better than fine.”

The compliment hung between us, and I feared it might make her completely withdraw again. “I have an idea.” I dug into my hockey bag, filled with just about every pair of gloves, toques, and workout gear I owned, and pulled out a gray and white knitted toque. I shoved my hands inside it, stretching it as wide as I could. “Come here.” I pulled the hat down over her head as carefully as I could, covering the wound on the back of her head and her forehead to just above her eyes. “Does that hurt?”

She stared back at me, the rim of the hat giving her the appearance of peeking out from under it. “No, it’s okay.”

“It covers some of the bruising, too.”

“Do I look ridiculous?” She smirked, tentatively touching the knitted fabric of it.

The woman stood before me in my own sweatshirt, her dark hair hanging loosely down beyond her shoulders from under my hat, wearing tight jeans and calf-high laced boots. She looked the furthest thing from ridiculous. “Actually, I happen to think you look kind of cute like that,” I admitted, my mouth twitching at the sight of her cheeks, growing rosier by the second. “Now, let’s get you a coffee at the canteen and find you a seat in the bleachers so I can get on the ice and show off.”

* * *

I wasn’t joking about showing off. Once I realized that there was real interest in Hailey’s eyes as she watched me skate laps around the rink, I gave up on just skating forwards and backwards, choosing to run drills by myself, sprinting to the opposite end, spraying snow all along the plexiglass of the boards as I reached each end of the ice. Her eyes weren’t just following me, but my feet, watching intently as one foot crossed over the other around corners, paying attention to how I changed my stance and shifted my weight. Then, I recognized the look on her face.

Longing.

I skated to the edge of the ice, feeling like a complete jerk for not even asking if she’d wanted to get some skates and come out on the ice, too. My hands on the boards between us, I leaned forward. “How’s it going?”

“You can really skate, can’t you?”

I took a sense of pride in her wide eyes, but I shrugged. “I used to play hockey when I was a kid, so I learned early. Are you feeling up to coming out? I’m sure I can borrow a pair of skates for you. I didn’t even ask if you wanted to skate with me. Maybe I really am an asshole.” I said it in a wry tone, but I meant it.

Hailey chuckled. “You’re not. Besides, I don’t know how.”

“You don’t know how to skate.”

“I’ve never done it.”

You could have knocked me over with a feather. “Ever? Not even when you were a kid?”

She swallowed, but shook her head slowly. “Never.”

I didn’t know what to say. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask whether she’d even been at an arena before, but I had a feeling I knew the answer, and didn’t want to point out how odd that was. “If you feel up to it, I’ll teach you.” The offer was out of my mouth before I realized I said it out loud.

“I’m not sure being out on a sheet of ice is smart with stitches already in the back of my head,” she replied drily.

“You’re insinuating that I’d actually let you fall, Hailey. I won’t. You’re safe with me, remember?”

Her mouth opened but no sound came out, and a swell of pride rose in me again. She was speechless again—damn, I was getting good at this.

It took two inquiries to get her a pair of skates—one to Mac, the manager, and another one to Jill, who ran the concession stand and checked the lost and found—and about ten minutes to get them laced up and to the edge of the ice.

“They’re a little small, I think,” I said, staring down at her feet. “But, you won’t have them on that long, and it’ll at least give you an idea of what it’s like to skate.”

Hailey emanated uncertainty about the whole situation. “I’m really not sure this is a good idea,” she laughed hollowly.

“Give me your hand.” I held mine out to her. She was gripping tightly to the edge of the boards. “Let go, and give me your hand. You won’t fall. I promise.”

She was hesitant, but her hand pressed into mine a moment later, and I entwined my fingers with hers.

“Now, the other one.”

Her eyes met mine, but she reached for my other hand, too. “Good, now step out onto the ice. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Shaky and awkward, Hailey stepped forward. Her grip was vicelike on my fingers and she was rigid in her posture, but I let us glide away from the boards. “Just focus on me, and push forward with one foot, then the other,” I whispered, my gaze flitting between her feet and her alert gaze. “You’re skating, Hailey.”

“No, you’re skating, and I’m holding on to you for dear life. There’s a difference.”

“You’re on the ice, with skates on your feet, and you’re moving. You’re definitely skating.”

“With the grace of a four-year-old, but I suppose you’re right.” She laughed, her eyes locked down in the space between us, watching as she pushed her feet forward and I skated backward at the same time.

“I don’t think I’ve ever known someone who hasn’t skated at all before.” I said it as nonchalantly as I could, but I hoped that focusing on something other than just what I was saying would lower her defenses a bit, letting me in.

“We weren’t that kind of family, I guess.”

“What did you do for fun as a kid?” I countered, letting one of my hands release from hers and lowering it to her waist.

Her breath hitched.

“One foot in front of the other, and breathe,” I reminded her.

“I, uh, read a lot. And did a lot of drawing, I guess. Painting, when I got a little older.”

“You’re really good at that artsy stuff, from what I saw the other day.”

Her lips upturned at my description, but she nodded. “Yeah, a lot better at that artsy stuff than I am at this.”

“You’re doing just fine.” I guided her hands onto my forearms, bringing my other hand down to the other side of her waist. “Who taught you to draw?”

“I think it’s an innate thing.” She brought her eyes up to mine. “But my mother was quite good at it, too. I got a lot of my techniques from her…Oh!”

Hailey had leaned forward a bit too much, her feet too far behind her, and she tripped. My grip on her waist tightened instinctively, holding her upright, but her hands flailed slightly before clutching my sweatshirt and crashing awkwardly into my chest.

“I’ve got you,” I reminded her. “I’ve got you, you’re okay.”

She recovered quickly, her cheeks flaming red. She pulled herself up to her full height, pushing her hands into my chest to make herself slide away from me, putting distance between us. “I think I need a break,” she said shakily.

We were standing at the far end of the rink. “Sure. But we’ve got to make it back to that exit. You think you can do it?”

She nodded, but I could see any confidence she’d gained in having made it around the rink had been shattered. “Just don’t let me fall.”

“I told you before, I keep my promises.” And with that, I turned to face her, entwined her fingers in mine again, and began to lead her toward the half-door that led off the ice.

Hailey’s movements were stiff and cautious, so it surprised me when her hand released mine a moment later. “What are those?”

“Hmm?”

But her fingers, barely peeking out of the oversized sweatshirt she wore, trailed up the back of my hand, pulling back the sleeve of my shirt to reveal the dark ink on my wrist. “You have tattoos. What are they of?”

Her genuine curiosity made me smile. “Lots of different things. There are a few of them under there. You got any?”

She shook her head, her index finger tracing the edge of the design with idle interest. “God, no. I’m not sure I could handle the pain.” She bit her lip, seemingly lost in thought for a second, then asked, “Do they have meaning?”

“I can’t see why anyone would go through such a painful, permanent process if they didn’t,” I said with a grin. Her fingertips on me, tracing the designs etched into my skin with such tenderness—it was making my heartbeat quicken. My breath hitched.

Hailey looked up, searching my gaze. Whatever she’d been looking for, she didn’t find it, and her fingers stopped their gentle movements, instead looping around my wrist for stability again.

When I was sure she wasn’t going to speak again, I did. “You said was.”

“What?”

“You said your mother was artistic,” I said carefully.

Hailey’s face turned to stone. “She died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

The door that led off the ice was swung open, and only a few feet away. Almost there. “What about your father?”

Hailey ripped her hand free of mine and reached out for the boards. She got one hand gripped firmly, then took the chance and let go of me to clutch the other hand onto it in a similar desperate fashion. I didn’t let go of her until her feet were solidly up onto the black mats of the hallways, but she didn’t look at me again.

“He’s dead, too.” She disappeared hastily down the hall into the changeroom before I had a chance to reach for her again.