Page 56 of Head Over Skates

“It‘s like Narnia,” I breathe. I glance at Owen to see him looking at me with such a tender smile, it makes my heart crack. "It’s truly amazing," I tell him sincerely.

"I had a feeling you'd like it," he says. "Shall we?"

We step onto the ice and glide forward, still holding hands. The sun filters through the snowy pines above us as we skate leisurely, the chill winter air stinging my cheeks. Beside me, Owen skates with powerful strides, his breath coming out inlittle puffs of vapor. He’s even more handsome out in the elements.

Where is the arrogant hockey star? The lady killer on skates? I feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality where fairy tales are real. There’s even a deer in the thicket.

We continue skating in silence through the icy labyrinth. I’m impressed by how well maintained the sheet is. After about three kilometers, we spot a small hut selling maple toffee. Owen buys us each a small bag and we find a secluded bench further down the trail to rest and eat our treat.

“I’m surprised to see you eating sweets,” I say. “Aren’t you guys on a strict diet?”

“We are,” he admits. “But it’s a special day. I’ll just do an extra hour of weights when I get home.”

“Why is it a special day?”

“Other than spending it with you?” he wags his brows.

“Come on. Cut the casanova act. I can tell there’s a sensitive guy under there.”

“Don’t let it get around. I have a reputation to uphold. I’m supposed to be a preening puck, objectified by all the panty-throwing young women.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I admit, but laugh when I find an artless grin on his face. “But it was kind of funny.”

“Somebody could have tripped on that underwear,” he says with a serious expression. “But I guess it’s funny in retrospect.”

“So… what is so special about today to have you eating toffee in an enchanted forest?”

He hesitates, like he regrets bringing it up. But then he reluctantly says, “It’s… my birthday.”

“What? Really? Why didn’t you say so before? Oh my gosh! Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, but I don’t like to make a big deal about it. The guys on the team know not to bring it up. And since it’s duringthe season, I usually just get Chinese takeout and watch The Sandlot.”

“I love that movie.”

“It’s a classic.”

I watch him take a bite of toffee, feeling a sad pang in my chest. “You don’t celebrate with family or anything?”

He lets out a humorless half-laugh. “My family. We’re not exactly copasetic.”

“I’m sorry.”

I can’t help but think about Cyrus, how Owen doesn’t even celebrate his birthday with his own son. I wonder if that’s his choice or the custody arrangement.

Owen wrings the edge of the toffee bag in his thick fingers. “I don’t like to celebrate by birthday because… well, a few days before my sixteenth birthday, we found out my dad had been cheating on my mom. He had a whole other family somewhere else. Needless to say, it ruined all our party plans. My mom never truly recovered.”

“That’s terrible.” I don’t know what else to say. So I press my hand in his to keep him from destroying the toffee bag.

"I swore I'd never be like him. That’s why when you thought I’d cheated on your friend, I got a little crazy. I’d never,evercheat on a woman. When you commit to someone, it should mean something."

I wonder what happened with Cyrus’ mom then. Was the split amicable? Was he trying to reconcile with her?

It hits me here that the things I wrote about in the blog—about him being a player—must have brought back all those feelings.

“And that’s why you wanted me to fix your image in my blog. After all the damage I’d done.”

“I'm glad you wrote those things.” He shifts his hand so our fingers lace together and his eyes find mine in a gentle gaze. “Otherwise, I would have never had the courage to talk to you.”

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