When he returns, we sip our hot ciders slowly. And we do what we’ve been doing since we started working together—we talk.
“Climax is such a hockey town,” Cam says as I gaze into his eyes and watch him take a sip of his cider. “I guess that’s why I’ve always felt kind of like an outsider.”
“What about moving?” I say softly.
I say it so softly Cam has to bend his head close to mine in order to hear me.
“I would like to move somewhere new.” He holds up his cider to click mine before taking another sip. “But new is challenging, I guess.”
“You and your brother have got to be two of the few kids who learned to play ice hockey rather than football down south,” I say. “At least that’s what my mother would say. She’s from Georgia.”
Cam nods. “My dad’s dream was always to be a professional athlete, so that became his dream for his sons. He grew obsessed with ice hockey from watching it on television, and he had my brother on skates at age eight, and me by three. Declan did a lot of his training in the south with a professional coach. But he also got sent away to camps in the summers. My dad didn’t get to be as involved as he wanted to be.”
“How did you end up in Climax?”
“My dad got a job transfer. He jumped at the opportunity. He found Climax and said it was a good family town—small and safe. And it is those things. We were lucky to find it, but I didn’t go to school in town. I did a PG year at a prep school to prepare for college hockey, so I didn’t really grow up in Climax. Not like you did.”
Cam’s eyes are so midnight black tonight I’m having trouble looking directly at them. Trouble’s not exactly the word. I adore looking right at them, and I could do it forever, but I’m having trouble acting like I only want to be his friend.
I finish my cider and we walk over to the skate rental booth.
Cam tells the attendant what he needs and then turns to me. “What size do you need, Savannah?”
“Seven,” I say.
I smile to myself when I realize that I should have been the one to place the order since I know Cam’s shoe size, his pant size, and his shirt size. Ordering team uniforms would have finally proved to be good for something. My gaze travels to Cam’s jeans, specifically below his waist. There’s only one size of Cam that’s not in the guide, and it’s the part of him I’m the most curious about.
“The wind chill has got to be under twenty outside,” I babble as we make our way to a bench to put on our skates. “That’s practically inhuman, you know.”
“Uh-huh. But it’s not nearly that cold in here.” Cam grins at me. “You don’t want to skate, do you?”
“I can skate.”
“I know you can skate. You’ve been seen on the ice after practice.”
“Once in a while,” I say self-consciously.
“So how come we’ve never done this together?” His skates are on his feet now, and he puts out his hand to me.
“Probably because you skate for the Cannons, and I work at a desk. Or on the bench.”
I give my laces one last tug and take Cam’s hand reluctantly. Thank God we’re wearing gloves, because my palm is cold and clammy.
The moment we step onto the ice, a teenage couple nearly collides with us.
“Hey, watch it!” I say sharply.
Cam laughs. “See? There’s that stick again. You honestly should play hockey.”
‘I’ve tried it,” I say.
“Really? When?”
“When I was a kid. It was only for a short time.”
“Well, we’ll have some fun now.” Cam still has my hand in his, and he starts off slowly around the circumference of the rink.
I dig my blade into the ice. “Come on, we can go faster than that.” I push off hard and achieve that feeling of flight I’ve always loved, the sensation of dancing on ice.
