“Hey,” Van says, as he and Emmett come back from practice two days after our hunting trip. Emmett heads to the kitchen without so much as a hello, and I wonder if the novelty of having me stay has worn off already. As nice as it is to get away from the crazy of Nashville and the paparazzi, it’s almost too quiet, and I’m going out of my mind with boredom while Van and Emmett attend practice. So much so that I wouldn’t say no to another moose chase. I’d been here four days, and it is the longest I can ever remember not working. I’ve started a handful of songs only to scrap them all, and I’m still avoiding the TV like the plague.
“Hi. How was training?”
“Painful.” Van flops onto the couch beside me, but he winces and shrugs his shoulders up and down, as if he’s trying to smooth out the kinks.
“Are they working you too hard?” I frown. “I mean, shouldn’t you be resting if you have an injury?”
“You’d think that, but no. Working through it is the only way to heal. We call it rehab.”
“Sounds like hell.”
“It is.” He yawns and sits up. “You wanna get out of here?”
I make a face. “Where would we go?”
“Not hunting.” He grins, and I can’t help but get swept up in his good mood. “It’s on the property.”
“Sure.”
“You’ll need to bundle up, though. You’re a size six, right?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your shoe size? Emmett had to Google it.”
I frown. “Wow, that’s not creepy at all. Can you Google my bra size, too?”
“I don’t know, you want me to see? Then at least I’d know what size to get you.” He pulls out his phone, and I snatch it away.
“God, there really is no limit to the useless crap people want to know about you because you’re famous.”
“I guess I’ve never thought about it that way. I’m used to having hockey stats broadcast for everyone to see, including my height, weight, and fat-to-muscle ratio. But I don’t look too hard at all the other shit that’s out there. I don’t care what people think—let them believe what they want. I know the truth. The people I care about know the real me. Everyone else doesn’t matter.”
“I wish I could see it that way.”
He shrugs. “Singing is what you do. It doesn’t mean you have to give your fans all of you. They can own that part, but only you get to own what’s in here.” He presses his hand to my heart, and for a beat I’m taken aback by how sweet a sentiment that is, but when his gaze turns to a leer I narrow my eyes.
“Be honest. You said that line just so you could cop a feel, didn’t you?”
“Not just because.” I shove his hand away, and he chuckles. “Now, come on. We’re taking you skating.”
“What? No! I can’t skate.”
“Everyone can skate,” Emmett says, coming out of the kitchen with a sandwich in his hand. “It just takes practice.”
“But I’ve never done it before.”
“Then you don’t know you can’t.”
“Van—”
“Do you trust me, Stella?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“You do?”
I stare in disbelief. “Was I supposed to answer no to that question?”
“Of course not. I’m just surprised. You don’t seem that trusting of many people.”
“I’m not.”
A slow smile spreads across his face and I’m greeted by those glorious dimples. “Then maybe I can help with that.”
Against my better judgement, I bundle up and follow both boys out into the frigid afternoon air. We walk through the trees, downhill for at least a couple of miles, and just when I’m about to suggest that we stop for a break, the forest thins on a small frozen pond. It’s surrounded by spruce and maybe only half the length of a football field with a hockey net at one end. Emmett and Van set their hockey sticks down in the snow, and then they switch out their shoes for skates.
“We’re skating on that?”
“Of course. What did you think—there was just going to be a rink magically appear?”
“No, obviously.” I furrow my brow and asses the ice. “How do you know we won’t fall through?”
“I don’t.”
My eyes widen in horror. “What?”
“That’s part of the fun.”
“Oh, hell no.”
“Come on, Stella,” Emmett says. He’s already gliding on the surface of the ice as if it’s as natural as walking.
“Please tell me he’s not going to fall and break his neck.”
“We’ve been doing this since we were kids.” Van laughs, shaking his head. “What’s the matter, country? You can run in heels across a parking lot, but you can’t skate across the ice?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I watched the video of your great escape. Pretty impressive.”
I slap my hand across my mouth. “Oh my god. There’s a video?”
“Yep.”
“Oh no, no, no, no,” I say, burying my face in my hands. “Where—”
“On YouTube. It was hilarious.”
“Oh my god.”
“Stella look at me,” he says. “You can’t change it; you can’t take it down. You can’t do anything about it, so who cares? Let them upload their videos. Concentrate on the things you can control.”
“Like what?” I snap. “I have no control over any of it.”
“Like skating with me and Emmett.” He holds out the skates they bought me. “You know I’m right.”
It’s true; he is. There’s nothing I can do about it. Even if I was there to explain my actions, what would I say? My mother’s voice comes back to haunt me again. “You made your bed, kiddo.”
I’m sure Lana is already working on having the video taken down, but what does it matter? I did this, and eventually I’ll have to face the consequences, but for now, for right this minute, I only have control over whether I take the skates or not.
I snatch them from his outstretched hands and plonk my ass in the snow to remove my shoes. I attempt to pull on the first skate, but I struggle with the fit and almost slice Van’s pretty face when he comes closer to help me ease into them.
“Woah, there.” He holds his hands out in a placating gesture, as if I were a wild animal ready to tear out his throat. “I come in peace. Here, let me help. They’re a little tough to get on at first.”
He wraps his hands around my calf and tugs me closer. Those big hands help to work the leather boot on, and I can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like on my skin instead of the outside of my jeans. And when he looks at me the way he is now, with eyes burning with lust and just a hint of that ever-present humor, I have a hard time containing my thundering heart. I lace up my skates and take Van’s hand, because no way in hell am I attempting to stand without having him there to catch me if I fall.
He pulls me toward the ice, and I wobble like a little girl in her mother’s heels. Both of my legs go out from under me. Van laughs.
“Stop laughing at me.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
He chuckles darkly, and I let go of his hand, falling back into the snow. A little of it sneaks down the front of my shirt, and I scream and scoop my hands into my cleavage to dig it out, though it’s already melting with my body heat. “Fucking Canada!”
Emmett skates over, probably to see what the devil is going on, and both Ross boys just stand there, laughing at me. I fume. I don’t even bother with the skates—I just try crawling away on my hands and knees because I don’t trust my legs. This is uproariously funny to both men, and the more they laugh, the angrier I get.
“You know, not everybody grew up skatin’ on frozen lakes,” I snap, my southern accent twanging all over the place when I’m mad. “Some of us had summers, and local swimming holes, and ice cream. You can’t even have ice cream here because it’s too goddamn cold. Screw you guys.”
“Come on, Stella, where you gonna go?”
“I’ll crawl home.”
“That might be quite the trek uphill and all.”
“Don’t get lost in the woods,” Emmett calls. “Or eaten by a cougar.”
“They don’t usually attack adults, Em, but she is pretty small. Fun-sized.” Van chuckles and I turn around to glare at both of them. Emmett’s doubled over, slapping his knee, while Van just smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, country. I promise we’ll stop laughing.”
“You know, it’s no wonder the Predators are way more popular than the Crushers. At least we have some southern hospitality going for us.”
“Oh no she didn’t,” Emmett says.
Van stalks toward me, digging his skates into the snow, getting closer by the second. He offers me a hand up, and I grudgingly accept it. “Hospitality, huh? What do you call me letting you stay at Lodge Ross?”
“Oh, please. You’re just keeping me there because . . . well, because . . .” I cast my gaze around and realize that while my eyes have been firmly locked on his, we’ve been moving. We’re now on the ice. I glance back at the bank I sat on just a second ago, but my legs wobble and slip out again. Van wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer. My body is flush with his.
“Don’t panic. I’ve got you.”
I stare up into pretty blue eyes and plead, “I wanna go back.”
“You trust me?”
“Van, no. I can’t.”
“Sure, you can. I’m right beside you.”
“No! Don’t let go.”
He places his gloved hand in mine and steps back. Slowly, he begins to move forward, taking me with him. I wobble, thrusting my other arm out for balance. We skate this way across the pond, and then, as he picks up speed and the cold air rushes over my face, a smile forms on my lips and I shriek, half in fear, and half with excitement. He laughs, but it isn’t mocking like before. I know he genuinely loves this, and I guess a part of me can see why. It feels like flying.
“You wanna try on your own?”
“No! Don’t let go.”
“You looking for an excuse to hold my hand, country?”
“No. I’m afraid of falling.”
“But that’s the best part.” He grins, squeezing my hand tighter, and I have a feeling he’s right.