I snorted. “Oh, don’t worry, me too.” It was true. In the last year, I started to feel the wear and tear I’d put my body through all at once. My right hip seemed permanently sore and my left knee threatened to give out every time I stood up too abruptly. It made me question how long I’d actually be able to keep skating at a professional level.
“How cool though.” She shook her head in awe. “You just have total freedom, huh? You just travel from place to place, only worrying about yourself and your skating?”
“Pretty much.” I shrugged.
“Wow,” she breathed out. “You have a magical life,” she said with a little laugh.
“Mommy!” the little girl yelled, distracting the woman. “Watch me! Watch me!”
I stole the opportunity to watch the woman as she watched her daughter. She had an overflowing diaper bag and beach bag at the foot of her chair, and her black bathing suit cover-up definitely had ice cream and sunblock stains on it. Her face looked tired, but happy. And then my eyes landed on the baby resting on her shoulder. The tiny pink lips, the fluff of hair peeking out from his little bucket hat, the teeny crock sandals on his feet. I wanted so badly to reach out and brush his soft, chubby cheek. The sudden desire to feel the weight of that tiny head against my own shoulder snuck up on me so fiercely and intensely that my eyes started to water.
I snapped my neck forward.
What the hell was going on with me?
The woman started cheering for her daughter, who popped upfrom the water with her goggles almost full of water.
“Did you see? Did you see my handstand?” the little girl shrieked.
“I did, honey!” The woman clapped and laughed. She shared an overjoyed look with her husband before focusing back on her daughter. “Wonderful, baby!”
She was so loved, so needed, so wanted.
And she was the same age as me.
I fished my sunglasses out of my bag and quickly shielded my eyes. “For what it’s worth,” I spoke up, making the woman startle. It was obvious she completely forgot about my existence, which was refreshing. Her daughter’s handstand took precedence over everything else in that moment, the way it should be. “I thinkyou’rethe one with the magical life,” I said, trying hard to keep the strain out of my voice.
Her head cocked to the side and her mouth dropped open. She looked like she wanted to say something else but didn’t know what. She settled on a grateful smile.
Laying back, I put in my headphones and tried to lose myself in my music. Ever since I was little, no matter what song came on, my mind went straight into choreographing a program in my head. I wondered if I’d still do this little choreography game when I was old and gray and couldn’t skate anymore, or if the habit would slowly die out along with my ability to skate.
But for some reason, today was harder to focus. My mind kept drifting to the woman beside me.
I liked my life. Iwantedthis life. I was the one who ran away from everyone and everything. But my running was more out of necessity than desire. Sure, I loved traveling, but deep down, I could never squelch the feeling that I was a homebody without a home. Did everyone feel this? Or did I just mess up my life so badly at the start of adulthood that I was doomed to wander for the rest of my life?
Oof.I was thinking way too deeply.
I needed to put all these thoughts in a box and shove them far, far away. There were legitimate reasons I stayed out here on tour. It was safer here, and I couldn’t risk going back.
My lifeismagical. I’m not missing a single thing, I lied to myself as I drifted to sleep in the shade to the sound of beach music.
The problem though, is that we can lie to ourselves all we want, but when we fall asleep, when we fall totally into our own inner world…well,that’swhen we expose ourselves. Our dreams willalways tell the truth. And that afternoon, I dreamed of the one single thing, the one singleperson, I knew I’d always miss…
3. JP – IS THAT YOUR GIRL?
Of course my drunk ass booked a nonrefundable cruise ticket. While I could cancel the trip and eat the money—I wasn’t hurting in that department after a decade in the NHL—I just didn’t want to. Each time my thumb hovered over the cancel button on my phone, I couldn’t bring myself to actually click it.
Because deep down, I wanted to go.
I told myself I deserved this little vacation after a hard-fought season. But really, all I wanted was to go see Ali. Kappy’s words at the party—him telling me how he regretted not going to Piper sooner—still echoed in my head. This little ticket was the final push I needed to go to her.
The cruise left from Charleston, so the morning of my flight out to the East Coast, I shot off a text to Colt and Kappy telling them that I was visiting my dad in Michigan for a bit, then I took off for the airport. I hated lying to them, but at the same time, I wouldn’t be able to take their disappointment on top of my own if Ali didn’t want to see me. And if she didn’t want me on her ship, I’d get off as soon as possible. I’d catch the next flight home and never speak of this ever again.
After my flight landed just outside of Charleston, I grabbed a cab to head into the historic downtown. As I stared out of the backseat window, it was hard not to marvel at the colorful buildings and palm trees lining the streets. I drove through Charleston one other time about a decade ago. At the time, I promised myself I’d make it back here to explore one day, but I never had. Probably because Hans was right—I hadn’t taken a vacation or spent any time away from the rink in a very long time.
After being dropped off on Broad Street, I walked into a swanky looking Italian cafe for a coffee, then walked along the uneven bluestone sidewalks to the start of the Battery—the seawall that stretched along East Bay Street. With historic mansions on my right and the harbor to my left, it was a beautiful scene. But all I could focus on was the massive cruise liner docked straight up ahead, looming large over the rest of the boats and yachts.
I finished my coffee as I power-walked to the pier, which was probably a mistake considering the adrenaline rush I was already feeling.
