“We’re here at the first annual Sweet Dreams Skate for Change,” the reporter said once the camera was rolling, “and joining me now is the woman behind it all, Ariana Black.”
I swallowed my nerves and smiled into the camera. I could do this. I knew my talking points better than I knew my own reflection. With a deep breath and winning smile, I zeroed in.
I talked about bed insecurity, about kids sleeping on couches or floors or in cars. I talked about how a good night’s sleep changes everything. I talked about Sweet Dreams and the shelter and the team’s support. The reporter nodded in all the right places, eyes bright.
“And it looks like the organization has really wrapped around this effort,” she said. “GM Nathan Black is here tonight as well—”
“Let’s get him in!” the PR manager chimed in, already waving Nathan forward.
My husband slipped into frame beside me, arm curling around my shoulders, pulling me closer.
“Yes, please,” the reporter said, delighted. “Nathan, how proud are you of your wife right now?”
“Ridiculously,” he answered without hesitation, looking at me like I’d hung the moon. “She has poured her heart into this. She’s always been passionate about community work, and to see her build Sweet Dreams here in Tampa, to see the impact it’s already having on these kids… I mean, look at her.” He turned back to the camera. “She’s the brains and the heart behind tonight. I just sign the checks and try to keep up.”
My heart squeezed so tightly in my chest I couldn’t help my visceral reaction — tears glazed my eyes.
Did he mean that?
The reporter laughed. “That is so sweet. You seem like a great team.”
“We are,” Nathan agreed, squeezing my shoulder. “On and off the ice.”
The words cradled me like a newborn, comforting and warm. If I were someone else watching this on TV, I would believe it. I’d see a devoted husband bragging about his accomplished wife. I’d think they were perfect.
For a second, I believed it, too.
Maybe that dinner party was just a bad night. Maybe I was making too much of it. Nathan was here, right by my side — saying all the right things,doingall the right things.
I didn’t realize I’d fallen quiet until the reporter wrapped up.
“Thank you both so much,” she said. “We can’t wait to see how much Skate for Change raises tonight.”
“Thank you,” I replied, forcing my voice through the tightness in my throat.
The camera light cut off. The reporter complimented us again, talking about how good it would look on the ten o’clock segment. Nathan thanked her, shook her hand, and draped his arm around me as we stepped away.
“You were great,” he said, dropping a kiss on my forehead. “Perfect, sweetheart. Just perfect.”
I swallowed, nodding. “You too.”
He smiled, then his eyes darted beyond me as he spotted one of the owners. He excused himself, leaving me standing in the glow of the lights, the praise still clinging to my skin like static.
You’re fine,I told myself.Look how wonderful he is. Look how much he supports you.
My wrist twinged when I adjusted my bracelets.
I shook it off and headed toward the glass to check on the ice.
Kids dotted the rink, clinging to the boards, shuffling along in slow, terrified inches, or zooming past in fearless streaks. Parents and fans in jerseys filled the lower bowl, some on their feet, some taking videos. Mariah Carey belted out from the speakers, her voice bouncing around the rafters.
And in the middle of it all, I saw him.
Shane.
He was a youthful kind of handsome tonight, sporting a team jacket and a knit beanie pulled low. He wore deep-cut laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. A little boy clung to his hand, skates splayed, legs shaking like a baby deer. Shane was bent slightly at the waist, talking to him, pointing with his free hand to show him where to put his weight.
“Bend your knees,” I read on his lips. “Trust your edges.”
