“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
People say this all the time and really don’t mean it, but I have the impression this woman sincerely does.
She holds out her hand. “I’m Gardenia.”
“I’m Aria, and that’s Noah. Which boy is yours?”
“Boys. The twins, Ryder and Rowen. They aren’t my bio children, but I feel as if they’re my children. Their mom is out of the country and not really part of their lives.”
“That must be hard on them.” I glance at the three boys now passing the puck to one another. They’re laughing, and it’s heartwarming to see Noah enjoying himself. It gives me hope he’ll be okay. I worry constantly about his mental and emotional health.
“Yes, it’s been a struggle, but they’re adjusting and doing pretty well now. I’m happy to see they’ve made a new friend. I don’t recall seeing you around here before.”
“I had Noah enrolled in a different program at another rink up until last week. We recently moved, and this rink is closer.” Not to mention my assignment is to cover the Portland Icehawks, who also practice in this facility. It makes it easier all the way around.
She nods and continues a one-sided conversation. She’s chatty, and I’m not. Finally, she notices she’s the only one talking and stops. She studies me in a way that makes me squirm.
“Do I know you?” Gardenia asks.
“I don’t think so.” I have to admit she looks somewhat familiar too.
“I feel as if I’ve seen you somewhere. Do you work for the Icehawks?”
“Not exactly. I’m a sports reporter.”
“Oh, you’re that Aria.” Gardenia’s face changes, and I get the impression she’s not a fan of my work.
“Yeah, I’m that Aria.”
“I’m Jakob Bang’s fiancée.” Gardenia focuses her attention on the ice as if she’s debating what to do next. She probably wishes she hadn’t sat down by me. I was extra hard on Jakob Bang when he was first traded to the team. I glance down at the huge rock on her hand. It’s almost blinding, it’s so large.
“I’m probably not someone you care to hang out with.” I say the quiet part out loud.
Gardenia shrugs. “Hey, you’re just doing your job.” Her eyes stray to the ice. “Your nephew is talented.”
I don’t dare tell her that he probably got his talent from his father. “So are your boys. They take after Jakob, I see.”
“They do.” She gives me another disarming perusal. “I get the impression Noah’s father isn’t in the picture?”
“He’s not, and he never has been. He didn’t want to be saddled with a kid and signed away his rights.” Bitterness creeps into my tone.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It is what it is.” I attempt to lighten my tone.
“Does Noah know?”
“Not really. He’s only six. I’m trying to protect him from the brutal reality of a dad who’s a selfish asshole.”
“I think I’d do the same.”
We turn our attention to the boys’ practice, which has just started. The coach calls them into the center of the rink to give instructions on the set of drills they’ll be running. Most of the kids in this group have been on skates since they could walk, including Noah. As much as his mom and I tried to discourage him from playing hockey because of fear of him being injured, he has an innate feel for the game and loves to skate.
After his mother died in a car accident three months ago, hockey seems to be the only thing he still cares about. I’ll mortgage my soul to keep him in the sport. It’s expensive, even for kids his age. At least he isn’t a goalie. Their gear is prohibitively spendy. I don’t know how the average parent affords it, though the Icehawks do offer scholarships and assistance for those in need. If I hang in there long enough, my sister’s estate will be settled, and there’ll be plenty of money for Noah.
I’d love to write a story about the youth hockey program, but my boss hates the idea. It wasn’t salacious enough, and he does love exposing any dirt he can on players and teams. As a result, he constantly pressures me to uncover team secrets and scandals, which doesn’t make me popular with the Icehawks.
