“You absolutely will, you liar,” I said quietly as the guy came back with two fresh boards. Mine was a beautiful wood with a clear grit sprayed on it, letting a flower pattern shine through.
“I’m going to need a helmet,” I said.
“Two steps ahead of you, Markham.” He clipped a cute white helmet on me and knocked on the top of it. “Safety first.”
The guy from the shop walked us into the alley behind the store to show me the basics of pushing off and kick pushes. We figured out whether I was goofy or regular-footed. He ran alongside me when I was afraid to go too fast, holding my hands.
Nick stood by the back door with his arms crossed and scowling during that part.
We returned to the door and I had a basic concept of how to ride. We tightened the trucks since I was wobbly as hell, my ankles comically steering me all over the place.
I went out for another spin. “I feel free, Nick!” I shouted back at him.
That wiped the scowl off his face. We went back in to grab therest of our stuff. Nick snapped some pictures with the shop’s staff and I had them take a picture on my phone of me and Nick.
“We don’t have any of just us,” I said.
“I realized that on Thanksgiving,” he said. “Ready to hit the bike trail?”
“Now? I’m ready?”
“You looked like a pro to me,” he said. “Let’s go, Markham.”
After dodging a few faster skaters, bikers, and rollerbladers on the path, we were off. The evening’s cool breeze felt amazing once I got going. Nick looked back at me.
“This more your kind of skating?” he called.
“Much more fun,” I said. For a few moments, everything was so peaceful. Wheels carried me, propelled by my own force. My hair blew behind me. There was a guy who wanted me to be free in front of me. It was bliss.
We made it a good mile down the path without incident. Then when I slowed to push again, I didn’t see the pebble waiting for me ahead.
Damn pebble.
With only one foot on my board, I went flying as my wheel hit the pebble, crashing down chin first on the pavement with my board sailing back behind me.
“Annie!”
Nick jumped off his board and ran to catch mine, rushing back to crouch at my side. “Oh no, angel. You’re bleeding.”
I sat up and scooted off the path, trembling from the adrenaline. The shock of the fall had tears spilling.
“Oh, baby, let me see,” he said, tipping my chin up. He cupped the back of my head and leaned me back so I wouldn’t have to stretch my chin. His concerned eyes flicked over the wound, a trail of blood running down the front of my neck. My knees, elbows, and one wrist throbbed. It stung like hell, but yet, I was laughing.
“Can we do it again?”
“Do it again? Annie, are you crazy? Your face is bleeding.”
With shaking hands, I unzipped my sweatshirt and Nick helped me out of it, examining my scrapes.
“I was free,” I said. “It was just me and you and the ocean and the wind and . . .” I laughed some more, turning maniacal. “I was free.”
He chuckled. “You’re one sick puppy. I think I just fully turned you into Rebel Annie. Come on, I’ve got a first aid kit in the truck.”
Like he had when I fell at the ice rink, he slid his arms under mine and hoisted me to my feet. When I stood, our eyes met. “Nick.”
I wanted to tell him. It felt just right, and by just right, I mean all wrong. But in all the best ways. That was our story: being all wrong by what we were “supposed” to do, but being just right in every other way.
I loved him. I knew it with every scraped skin cell and every freckle in his intriguing jade eyes and every ounce of the weight between us. I was in love with Nick Oberbeck.
