Page 42 of Shots on Net

“I am going to be really, really bad at this,” he tells me.

“That’s what you said about axe throwing, and you did fine.”

“Okay, well something tells me that strapping blades to my feet and skating around on ice isn’t going to be quite the same thing. I’m not athletic, Carter. Like, at all. Sometimes I trip over my own feet.”

“I’ll help you, though. You won’t fall, I promise,” I make sure to sound as confident as I feel, trying to put him at ease. I’ve already got my skates laced and am waiting for him to follow suit. I nudge his shoulder and nod down at his feet. Groaning, he bends over to slip off his shoes.

“You promise? I don’t want to fall and bite the tip of my tongue off, or something. Or break a wrist or an ankle. I need all of my bones intact.”

Biting the inside of my lip, I rest my shoulder against his and try not to laugh. “I promise you will break no bones, nor bite off your tongue. You will leave the way you arrived. Trust me.”

Looking unconvinced, Zeke stands and immediately wobbles on the narrow edge of the skate blade. Reaching out a hand and catching him around the waist, I stand with him for a moment to let him get his bearings. He’s frowning down at his feet as we walk toward the entrance to the rink, and he grasps the wall once we get there, holding on for dear life. I take my hand off of his hip and step onto the ice. When I flip around and coast back to where he’s clutching the wall, he’s no longer scowling at his feet but at me.

“Ugh,” he says, “show-off.”

I laugh and he immediately smiles back. It’s so easy for Zeke to be happy. I wonder if, by proximity alone, some of that irreverent joy will rub off onto me. Spreading my legs and halting in front of the rink entrance, I hold out my hands, palms facing upward, and curl my fingers in a come-hither motion.

“Come on, then.”

Zeke stares at my hands for a full minute, at least, before he reaches one hand out and grabs ahold of me. He shoots me what he must think is a menacing look, but only looks adorable on his face.

“Do not let go,” he warns, and then lets go of the wall completely and grasps both of my hands. I give him one wobbly second before I beckon him onto the ice. He’s biting his lip and looking down at his feet again.

“Don’t look at your feet. Look up, at me. Also, stop biting your lip or you really will be missing a tongue by the end of this.”

His face snaps up, light blue eyes meeting mine. I slowly skate backward until he steps fully onto the rink; stopping, we stand there for a moment, eyes locked and hands between us. He’s holding onto me so tight my fingers are starting to go numb.

“Ready? Just shuffle your feet like a penguin. I’ll do most of the work,” I tell him, and he looks at me incredulously. I shake his hand a bit, jostling him. “Ready?”

“Ready to go home,” he mumbles.

Laughing again, I start moving backward. Predictably, his eyes fly downward to his feet. However, I don’t have to remind him to look up, because it only takes him a moment to do so on his own. I hear him mutter penguin shuffle under his breath. Peeking over my shoulder, I ascertain where we are on the rink and that there are no children behind me. Zeke, who probably can’t see around me, lets out a strangled noise and tightens his death grip on my hands.

“Carter! What are you doing?” He asks, panicked.

“Just making sure we’re not going to run into anything.”

“Don’t let go,” he reminds me, as though I might start prying his fingers off of mine and abandon him.

It doesn’t require any work to keep him upright. He’s light enough that there is no strain on my arms, and I’m so comfortable in skates this is second nature to me. We make it a full, laboriously slow circuit of the ice before I see a miniscule amount of tension leave Zeke’s shoulders. I pick up the pace a little bit, still skating backward in front of him and tugging him along.

“Alright, let’s change up the penguin shuffle a little bit. Lengthen your stride just a tad. Not much,” I say, in response to Zeke’s wide-eyed look of fear. “Same motion as walking, but no need to lift your knees yet. Keep the blade on the ice. And no, I won’t let go.”

A little kid flies past us, bumping into my leg as they pass. I adjust easily and Zeke is barely jostled. He mutters under his breath about crazy people, eyes darting away from mine to watch for any more obstacles. It takes multiple laps, this time, before he becomes comfortable with the change of pace. He’s got a slight flush from the exertion, and I imagine he’s going to be pretty sore tomorrow.

“Okay, I think I’ve got this,” he says, confidently. He doesn’t loosen his grip.

“I’ll go a little faster.”

“Sure, yeah, going faster sounds like a fantastic idea,” he agrees, sarcastically.

“You’re doing good,” I tell him, as I pick up the pace. He’s started lifting his knees without realizing it, body already adjusting to the feel of the ice skates. Eventually, we might be able to skate side-by-side, but I doubt we’ll get there today. His grip hasn’t slackened once.

Every now and then I glance over my shoulder as I tow him around the rink. It’s gotten a tad busier since we’ve been here, but is still empty enough that I don’t need to pay much attention. Probably most people can see that the wisest thing to do is to give us a wide berth.

“How are you doing that?” Zeke asks, eyes flicking downward to my skates before setting back on my face. After I told him to keep his head up, he has resolutely been staring at my chin.

“Skating backward? I don’t know,” I glance down. “I don’t really have to think about it, to be honest.”

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