“Emmitt, my boy.” Frank claps me on the shoulder with a strength that belies his seventy-something years. “Right on time.”
“Frank, this is McKenna. McKenna, Frank.”
Frank’s eyes light up with interest as he looks her over, taking in the way she stands close enough to me to suggest we’re more than friends.
“Well, well,” he says, extending a weathered hand to her. “Pleasure to meet you, McKenna. You know, in all the years I’ve known this one, he’s never brought a woman here.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I see McKenna processing that, the weight of the detail settling between us.
“Frank—” I start.
“What? It’s true.” He winks at McKenna. “You must be special.”
McKenna’s cheeks blush that beautiful pink again, and she glances at me with something that looks like surprise. As if she’s trying to figure out what it means that I brought her here, to this place that’s mine in a way the team facility will never be.
Frank leads us through the lobby, past trophy cases filled with pictures of youth league champions and community hockey heroes. The smell hits me, a familiar combination of ice and rubber that’s been the backdrop to every important moment in my life.
“Ice is fresh,” Frank says as we reach the rink entrance. He hands me a key on a large ring, the metal cold against my palm. “Turn off the lights and lock up when you’re done.”
“Thanks, Frank. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything, kid. Just don’t do anything stupid.” Frank’s grin takes any sting out of the warning, and he heads toward the exit, leaving us alone at the edge of the rink.
The ice stretches out under the dim overhead lights, pristine and perfect. It’s a smaller rink than I’m used to, more intimate. Perfect.
“It’s beautiful,” McKenna says softly, awe in her voice.
“Wait until you’re on it.”
We slip behind the skate rental counter, where I help McKenna find a pair that fits. I lace up my own before kneeling to tie hers while she sits on the bench, and I try not to think about how I’m now eye level with her chest. "How she's so close her warm breath fans across my forehead.
“They feel weird,” she says, gripping both of my arms as I help her to her feet.
“Just need some breaking in.”
I guide her to the ice, stepping on first. Her grip tightens as if her life depends on me serving as her anchor. I can feel her trembling.
“I’m going to fall.”
“Probably. But I’ll do my best to catch you.”
When she looks up, the trust in her eyes is almost overwhelming. She takes a shaky step onto the rink, then another, cutting off the circulation to my hands.
“Bend your knees a little,” I tell her, skating backwards slowly while she finds her balance. “That’s it. Feel how the blade wants to glide?”
“How do you make this look so easy?”
“Years of practice. But you’re doing great.”
We make slow laps around the rink, her confidence building as I show her how to push off, how to use her edges, how to stop without grabbing the boards.
“Okay, but why does it feel like my ankles are going to snap?” she asks, wobbling as she attempts to glide on her own.
“Because you’re fighting it. The skates are there to support you.” I demonstrate, doing a simple turn. “See? Let the equipment do the work.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve been doing this since you could walk.”
“Pretty much. I’ve been on skates since I was three.” I skate over to her, offering my hands again. “Come on, let’s try the turn together.”
