But he’s not here.
I check the other room. The hallway.
He’s gone. Left without a word to anyone.
The relief that floods through me is almost dizzying.
~ ~ ~
That evening, riding high on the success of the painting sale and the absence of Raiden-related disasters, I make a decision.
I’m going to the beginner skating session.
It’s something I’ve wanted to do for months. I’ve heard great things about the Wednesday evening classes. Coach Morrison is supposed to be patient and encouraging, perfect for people who can barely stand up on skates.
More importantly, the hockey team won’t be there. They practice in the mornings and early afternoons. By 7 PM, the Ashford Arena should be safely Raiden-free.
I can do this. I can learn to skate without making a complete fool of myself in front of the one person I’m desperately trying to avoid.
The arena is massive and gleaming. There are about fifteen other beginners milling around, lacing up their skates on the benches.
I recognize Coach Morrison immediately, she is a friendly-looking woman in her thirties with a ponytail and an encouraging smile.
“First time?” she asks me.
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’ll do great. Just remember: bend your knees and don’t look at your feet.”
Right. Easy.
I step onto the ice and immediately understand why toddlers learning to walk look so unsteady. My ankles wobble. My legs feel like they’re made of rubber. I cling to the boards like my life depends on it.
“Okay, everyone!” Coach Morrison claps her hands. “Let’s start with some basic—”
“What’s this?”
A gruff voice cuts through her instructions. I look up to see a stocky man with a impressive mustache skating onto the ice. He’s wearing an Ashford Beasts jacket and a scowl.
“Coach Petrenko,” Morrison says, her smile straining slightly. “I didn’t know you’d be joining us.”
“Someone has to make sure these kids don’t embarrass the program.” He surveys us with the kind of disdain usually reserved for particularly disappointing vegetables. “You all look soft. Weak. Let’s see what you’re made of. Twenty laps. Now.”
“Twenty—” Morrison starts. “These are beginners, they can’t—”
“Then they’ll learn fast.”
Just amazing.
I push off from the boards and immediately stumble. My arms windmill. I catch myself just before I face-plant on the ice.
Behind me, someone giggles.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve fallen four times. I’m drenched in sweat despite the cold. My legs are shaking, and I’m pretty sure I’ve bruised both knees and my tailbone.
I’m on the ice again—literally, flat on my ass—when I hear it.
Laughter. Coming from the stands.
