“No,” she says.
“Yes,” Sue says. “She’s also had four coffees in thirty minutes.”
Eyes wide, I let out a loud whistle. “Okay then, nothing for you when we stop at Starbucks on the way.”
“Starbucks, no! Do we have to? I’ll smell it and then I’ll be done.”
“Yes we have too. I have yet to have my minimum caffeine hit, and there is no way in hell I am doing this sober.”
Brady Bassereally does smile all the time.
At first I was skeptical of that. No one can be that happy. Especially someone who was so recently deprived of their hockey dreams. But now that I’m getting to know him, my wariness has dimmed to a mild distrust.
As expected, we are the first to arrive at Green Line Ice and Brady—his dimpled cheeks, and booming laugh—are on the ice placing cones. It’s Dylan’s excitable clap that alerts him to our presence, and that smile expands. “Yes! Dude! You made it, I’m stoked.” I’m not exactly sure which of us dudes he’s referring to, but my coffee has kicked in, his enthusiasm is contagious and I wave like an idiot regardless. “Lotte, Cory,” he bellows over his shoulder. “We have our first guests.”
Ooh dear God.
Like I’ve taken a bullet straight to the chest, my arm drops to my side and the rest of me almost goes with it. Cory fucking Malkovich, the man I can seemingly not escape, comes strutting in from an office, the woman I now know to be Lotte—former Bears captain Noah Petterson’s fiancee—following not long after.
There’s not one part of me that can bear looking at Cory right now, so I focus on the blonde I have no inappropriate sexual attraction to. Surprisingly, it’s not a chore. There is simply no other way to describe her but adorable. Her blonde locks are piled on the top of her head in a high pony Ariana Grande would be proud to call her own. The cutest plaid skirt and pink sweater I’ve ever seen covers her tiny frame, and her eyes are so big and wide, it’s almost comical. From what I’ve been told, Lotte is part owner of this rink, and started inclusive skate and hockey programs for kids a few months back. This is their first such class for adults. I have no clue why the hell Cory, wearing a beanie he has no right looking so hot in, is here and quite frankly I don’t care.
I really. Truly. Don’t.
Not one bit.
There’s only four participants in this first session and they and their families arrive at the same time that Lotte and what’s-his-face make it to where we are sitting.
Shit I’m sitting. I didn’t even realize.
Lined up before us are skates, four adult-sized skate training stands, some skate sleighs, grips, a collection of fidget and sensory toys piled into a basket, and Cory in obscenely tight athletic pants. I don’t need to look at him to know he’s smirking at me. I can sense it.
“Welcome everyone,” Brady says, of course with a grin. “I’m Brady. This is Lotte, and this is Cory. Who’s ready to have some fun?”
“I’m ready to leave,” I mutter. “Does that count?” Faith, who’s sliding off the seat to help Dylan into his skates, whacks me in the calf. “Ow, what was that for?”
“You know exactly what it was for. Stop being a whiny bitch and help me.”
Brady hears this, and barks out such a rough cough of laughter, I fear he may choke on his tongue. “Faith!”
“You hear what I have to put up with, Brady?” I pout. “She’s spending too much time around you hockey boys. Anyone would think you’re a bad influence.”
“I’m sure I can handle the Bears. After all, I survived you and your flow in our teens.” In my periphery I see Cory’s jaw drop as he trips onto the ice, righting himself just before he face plants. Until now, Brady and the coaching team have been the only ones to know I’m an ex-player. Guess the secret’s out.
It takes longer than one might imagine to get Dyl’s skates on, partly because of fitting his AFO’s, ankle and foot orthotics, and partly because he’s so excited. Though he hasn’t been in months, he always loved skating and time hasn’t seemed to have dulled his enthusiasm. There was a time where I used to bring him along with me to practice, but when I quit playing, I couldn’t handle being at the rink. Once again, it fell to Dad who stepped in, instinctively knowing what he needed to do.
I’d kill for a sliver of that intuition right now.
Within a second of Dylan’s helmet being fitted, he’s off, knocking Faith to her ass in his bounding toward the gate.
Shit.
We should have divided and conquered. I should have got my own on while Faith helped Dyl. “It’s our first time.” Faith reminds me as I drop to a knee, cursing under my breath as I struggle with my laces. “Next time we’ll know.” Panic surges, Dylan, or someone else could get hurt and it will be my fault. But when I raise my eyes I see my freak out may be premature.
At center ice, smack-bang on the face-off spot is Cory and my big brother, holding hands, spinning in slow clockwise circles. In silence we watch and wave, Faith clinging to my leg like I’m the only thing telling her this is real. “Always clockwise,” she eventually giggles, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Look at him. He’s so happy. I think he’s humming every time you wave to him.”
She’s right. He is. Dylan’s smile is wide and contagious, as is Cory’s. I’m not sure how long I squat on the floor watching them, but enough time has passed for Lotte, Brady, and the three other skaters to have joined them. They’re not who I can’t take my eyes from though. On their next pass, Cory shoots me a cheeky wink.
My heart does a slow, painful clench.
