She tilts her head. “Even when I hit the boards like a crash dummy?”
“Especially then.”
She grins. “Cool, cool, cool.”
“I thought kids nowadays didn’t say cool anymore.” But I already know the answer will be something about how she’s not like most kids her age. In three practices, I’ve come to know so many things about Izzy, and it makes me excited to see her growth.
“Just the cool kind.”
I stand and offer her my glove so I can help her up. “You coming or living here now?”
“Depends. Is rent free if I sleep on the ice?”
“You’re too young to be worrying about rent. Maybe worry about how sore you’d be if you sleep on the ice.”
She laughs and takes my hand, getting up and skating away toward her friends.
Liam skates by, helmet tucked under one arm. “That went well.”
I nod. “They’re figuring it out.”
He bumps my shoulder. “So are you.”
“Me? Look who’s talking. Grandpa's still got it.”
We watch as the girls clamber off the ice, laughing, slipping, tossing jokes back and forth like they’ve been teammates forever.
“I’m just one year older than you.” Liam’s rebuttal is comical because, no matter what, we'll all call him old man forever.
“You’re less grumpy out here too.”
“I miss it,” he whispers.
I don’t say it back, but I’m thinking it. I refuse to play anymore, but this? This, I think, might be the in-between I’ve been looking for. Not all the time, clearly. My time managing Healing Pals—an animal-assisted therapy center I opened in honor of Liz—is precious, valuable, and what I’ve dedicated all my time to the past few years. It doesn’t feel like my entire purpose, though, like something is still missing. So this, a fewnights a week coaching, might give me the feeling I’ve been searching for.
This is the best kind of team, the kind that’s not perfect from the beginning but that will grow through hard work and joy. They’re already better than they know. They’re going places. This is what I like about the sport. The camaraderie, the hard work, the hope in their eyes.
When did we lose sight of all of that?
“What are your plans for the week, hermit?”
I scoff. “You’re one to talk.”
“I have two children to raise. What’s your excuse?”
What is my excuse, really? Other than I enjoy the solitude of working from home and not having to face the world? Or that every time I think about plans, Jerry comes to mind, and I feel like a coward?
“And don’t say Chili. Live a little outside of that fancy house of yours,” he says, resting his back on the window, both waiting for the girls to rush out before we do. We like making sure there are no stragglers or girls trying to be sneaky and getting back on the ice. That’s how accidents happen.
I ignore his comments, but he continues. “Have you called him?”
I don’t even have to ask whohimis, because we both know. Liam knows everything there is to know about me—except the guilt that eats me alive over Mom and Liz.
I also don’t have to answer before he knows that, no, in fact, I have not called him.
“I’m taking it that you also haven’t gone to see him. I’m the least qualified person to say anything, but don’t you think you’d regret it?”
Liam is not only the oldest of my group of friends, but he also acts like everyone’s dad. I trust him with my life, and if he’s right,I might regret it. But the demons in my head tell me to fuck him and whatever forgiveness he believes he deserves.
