Page 33 of Strange Love

“Then let’s not go back,” I reply. “I know the perfect place we can go.”

She lets out a sigh and tilts her head, trying to decide whether or not to trust me.

“Please,” I plead, giving her my best puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” she gives in. “As long as we don’t have to stay here. Let’s go.”

The drive takes about ten minutes, spent mostly in silence except for when Bon Jovi is “Livin’ on a Prayer.” Finally, we reach our destination when I see the big sign that reads “Donnelly Ice Center.”

As we approach the large building, she takes in its imposing structure. “Is this where you play hockey?” she asks, her voice tinged with curiosity.

“It is,” I reply, shifting the car into the park. I hurry around to open her door and she slides out apprehensively. “There’s the ice we practice and play on in the arena area, and there’s a separate rink for young kids and open ice time for people to skate.”

“What are we doing here?” she asks, scanning the surroundings.

“This is my sanctuary,” I explain, gesturing towards the building. “A place where I can clear my mind and be completely present. I thought I’d loan my sanctuary out to you for the afternoon.”

“That’s very sweet, but I don’t skate,” she confesses.

“That’s alright. I’ll teach you,” I say, nudging her with my hip. “Trust me.” She looks skeptical but follows me anyway.

Entering through a side door, we enter a quiet, peaceful atmosphere. This is my favorite time to be here before it’s open for practices, and the ice has just resurfaced. The stillness allows me to focus solely on the ice below. My senses are heightened as I take in the cool bite of the air on my face, the scent of rubber-coated flooring mixed with a hint of musk from the locker rooms. This place is home to me.

“I can’t go out there, Corey,” she protests. “I don’t even have skates.”

“Extra pairs are lying around somewhere,” I assure her with a smile.

“I can’t,” she snaps suddenly, surprising me with her sudden change in demeanor.

Confusion etches across my brow. “Why not?”

“Nevermind. It’s stupid,” she mutters, shaking her head rapidly.

I take her hands in mine, urging her to open up. “Please tell me.”

Ivy hesitates for a moment before speaking. “It’s just...it’s like I’m always walking on thin ice. My footing is never steady and could give out at any moment. I don’t like not feeling in control.”

Her small hands quiver as I take them in mine, the cold rink air biting at our skin. Her blue eyes are wide and unsure as she looks up at me. “Instead of fighting against the ice or fearing it,” I say, my voice steady and reassuring, “I’m going to teach you not just how to maneuver on it but how to dance on it.”

“I can’t do that,” she says, shaking her head.

“You can. I have more control on the ice than anywhere else in my life. You can learn to do this. I promise.”

Ivy releases a sigh, but I spot a glimmer of hope and excitement in her eyes, and after a brief moment of hesitation, she nods in agreement. I rush to my locker, my skates clacking against each other, echoing through the quiet rink as I locate a suitable set for Ivy among the neatly organized rental skates.

As Ivy kicks off her shoes and unlaces the skates, I watch her struggle to get her feet in them. Without hesitation, I put my skates aside and kneel before her. “Let me help,” I offer, looking into her eyes. The bright lights above reflect off the slick surface of the ice, casting an angelic glow on her face. Despite the chilly temperature, there is warmth between us as I gently guide her feet into the skates and secure them snugly around her ankles. With a grateful smile, Ivy stands up and waits for me to get my skates laced.

Once we’re ready to go. Ivy takes a few hesitant steps onto the ice, wobbling slightly before finding the wall. She takes a few steps, holding on to the wall, then tentatively pushes away from the wall testing her balance. When she falters, her eyes register fear, and she flails her hands, seeking back to the safety of the wall.

“It’s okay to hold on to the wall while you are just beginning,” I can’t help but show off, idling circles around her as she monkey-walks the rink’s perimeter. Little by little, she pulls away more and more from the wall. Her brow furrowed in concentration, she walks rather than glides on the ice, but this is progress. Seeing her determination and trust in me fills me with pride and excitement. This girl is so much stronger than she gives herself credit for.

With a confident smile, I skate a quick arc around the rink. When I reach her, I extend my hand, and she takes it with a hint of hesitation.

“Ready to dance?” I ask as we move to the center of the ice. Her body tenses initially, but I guide her gently as she gets used to the slippery surface.

“Relax,” I whisper, and she closes her eyes. My fingers lace with hers, locked around her waist, and we begin to move. As she gains confidence, I turn so we face each other and skate backward, still holding her close. She opens her eyes, and a wide smile spreads across her face as we glide on the ice.

The only sound in the rink is our breathing and the rhythmic scraping of our skates on the smooth ice. Ivy breaks the silence by asking, “Don’t you want to ask me about the doll?”