Sutton makes me pinky promise to not laugh at her on the ice. “It’s been two years.” I hate the painful reminder, hate theway her jaw tenses and eyes go heavy as she says it, knowing full well she associates me with her injury. It’s why I can’t be upset she asked my friends to be the ones to skate with her initially. Of all the people I’m letting down, letting her down hurts the worst. Hearing what reporters have to say about hockey seems like nothing when I think of Sutton. “It’ll be like watching a baby giraffe walk for the first time.”
Spoiler alert: it’s not.
The Pond’s ice is smooth except for the grooves she’s creating. I’m leaning against the boards when she confidently stops in front of me, a cheek-splitting, mind-altering grin on her face.
“Knee good?” I check in with her.
“For now.” She’s has a brace over her leggings. “Odds one of those keys goes to the equipment closet?”
“Why? No one’s here. You don’t need privacy to kiss me.”
“If there’s any kissing happening, it’s you kissing the ice when I pummel your ass into it. We’re playing MOOSE.” A welcomed lightness takes over me hearing the name of the game we used to play as kids. It’s your standard HORSE rules, but we changed the name. Moose felt more appropriate for the ice.
Mood lighter, mind quieter. “It’s on, Dave.”
I come back out of the locker room with my hockey stick and a bucket of pucks.
Everyone probably expects me to let her go first, but that’s not how we do it. It’s not what Sutton would want either. We’re in the center of the ice, sticks tucked away, our hands free except for the gloves we’re wearing.
“Rock. Paper. Scissors.”
“You are supposed to say shoot.” I suffocate her rock with my paper. Sutton huffs, rolling her eyes. “Redo.”
“Best two out of three,” I banter back.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No. Reset. We go on shoot.”
“Rock. Paper. Scissors,” I repeat, pausing for dramatic effect. “Shooooooot.” Now I’m just enjoying her annoyment and the shade of crimson her cheeks and ears are turning.
“Ha.” She pretend cuts my paper. “I win.”
Right, she wins and not because I saw two fingers shift slightly in her fist and knew she’d throw scissors. Thus my tossing paper. Sutton skates off to her first shot position.
“Let’s make this beneficial to both of us. When you miss, you answer a question.”
“I’m not missing.” Lips pressed all sassy. “Andhow does that benefit me?” she laughs out, passing the puck to herself. Left, then right.
“You have to trust me.”
Her shoulders look like they have a shoelace going through them, pulling them taut. Chin tilted slightly up in refusal to look at me.
I skate over to her. Push a lock of hair behind her ear. It’s minimal, but there is a twitch in her posture. “Can you do that?”
She takes a measured breath. “Fine.”
Sutton makes her first shot, taking it easy on herself. I follow it up with a goal.
I skate to the left side, farther out from where she positioned herself, and shoot. I make it.
“What d?—”
“I didn’t miss,” she cuts in, then shoots her puck into the back of the net. “See.”
We go back and forth till finally she misses with a huff. There’s minor annoyance on her features when she spins to face me. “Alright, ask your question,” she says sarcastically.
