“Just a helmet, but I turned out okay.”
“I’d say so.” He moves to the bench, sitting next to me. “Why don’t you tell me what you want to get out of our time together?” he asks after another sip of his drink.
I trace the crease of my cup. “Talk about an interrogation.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to pry. Just might make things easier if I know your end goal.”
“Permission to be totally honest with you?”
“Probably would be best if we implemented that going forward.”
“And you won’t judge me?”
“Never.” Brody shifts his body, knee pressing into mine. “We’re friends, right?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Friends.”
“Friends tell each other shit. What’s on your mind, Everett?”
“Okay, Saunders. Buckle up. For the entirety of my childhood and most of my adult life, skating has been my source of joy. I’m fuckinggoodat it. I’ve won championships. I’ve been people’s favorite athlete. I’ve represented our country at the higheststages. Even when I was no longer winning, I was still glad to be out there. But recently, something has changed. The magic isn’t there. I’m struggling mentally and physically. Everything exhausts me.” I sip my coffee, giving myself a second to think. “I know how privileged it is to have access to the resources and coaches I do. That privilege also brings high expectations. Expectations I’m no longer meeting because I’m not having fun. And trust me—I know howstupidthat sounds. Do paramedics have fun at their job when they’re resuscitating someone after a heart attack? Do oncologists have fun telling families their loved ones have cancer? Of course not.” His knee is still there. Steady, calm. The reassuring presence I didn’t know I needed to keep talking. “So why can’t I get over myself, go out there, and perform like everyone wants me to for a few more years before I officially retire?”
“There’s your problem. You’re worrying what other people think. I haven’t given a fuck in years, and life is great.”
I burst out laughing. “And if I want to give a fuck?”
“You try to find the joy. In the little things. In the big moments. Under all that stress and pressure and strain from the outside world, you need to shut it down and do what makes you happy.”
“Skating, at its most basic level, hasalwaysmade me happy. No cameras, no judges to dock half a point because of my knee placement. It’s me, it’s the ice, and life isgood.” I blink up at Brody. “That’s why you’re here. To reteach me swizzles and snowplow stops. If this doesn’t work, I either go back to competing and fight through the miserableness, or I give up.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who would ever give up.”
“I’m not. Which is why I’m hoping this works.”
“I’ve always performed well under pressure.” He sets his drink down. “Can I ask a personal question?”
“Sure,” I say.
“I apologize if this is overstepping, but have you considered therapy?” Brody asks. “I started seeing someone after my injury, and getting those feelings out… just having someone listen… it helped alleviate a lot of the weight I was carrying.”
“I found a therapist a couple of weeks ago, actually. I’m going in to see her twice a week to start, and I’m unpacking the things I’ve been holding onto for a while.” I pause. “It’s hard to strip yourself down like that. To show your flaws to someone else.”
“It’s really fucking hard. I didn’t buy into at first, but finding an outlet to grieve what you lost is important.” With another sip of his drink, he switches gears. “Funny that you mentioned swizzles and snowplow stops. Those are both in the USA Hockey Learn to Skate plan.”
“Guess our sports aren’t that different from each other.” I unzip my bag, pulling out a scrunchie. I throw my hair up in a messy ponytail, adding a pink ribbon to it. “I know you’re busy, but I don’t need more than a few months with you to try this out.”
“March.” Brody rubs his jaw. “Four months, twice a week.”
“Do you have time for that?”
“I’ll make time. This is important to you, and I know what it’s like to have something you love taken away from you prematurely. I wouldn’t wish that feeling of being lost on anyone.”
“Sounds like you have some firsthand experience. What happened?”
“You don’t know my story?” Brody’s eyebrows furrow. “It’s hardly a secret.”
“Do you think I spend my free time looking you up?”
“I hope not. You’d be bored to death.”
