Page 53 of Power Play

“Asshole,” I say, but I stand and move toward him. “I don’t have any gear.”

“What size shoe are you?”

“A seven.”

Liam holds up a finger and crosses the ice. I’m always so focused on game play and he’s always stuck in the goal, immobile unless the puck comes close to him that I forget howbeautifulhe is when he skates.

It’s effortless.

Like he’s gliding on air or walking on water.

I could watch him move for hours.

He comes back a minute later and holds up a pair of white skates that are scuffed up around the toes. “No excuses now.”

“Are you a magician? Where did you get those?”

“We ask people to bring an extra pair so we can donate equipment to our community outreach organization. See if they fit.”

I reluctantly kick off my sneakers and exchange them with the skates. I lace them up and stand, unbalanced and close to tipping over.

“They fit, unfortunately. Should I put on a helmet? What about some pads? Last time I tried to get out there, I fell about eighteen times.”

“That’s it? Should’ve made it to twenty.”

“Twenty would’ve probably ruined my love for the sport.”

He offers me his hand and I make a split second decision to sayfuck itand try, because what good is my life if I’m constantly watching from the sidelines? Missing out on all the good things happening around me because I’m scared of failing?

I know this is a safe space. A chance to learn without any repercussions, and I take his hand in mine.

A line of calluses sits at the base of his fingers. His palm is warm even in the cool temperature of the arena and his hold on me is sturdy and soft. Like I could tumble headfirst toward the ice and he’d catch me before I hit the ground.

His arm bands around my waist, his other hand settling on the small of my back to guide me. I can feel the heat of him through the wool of my sweater, and his closeness gives me an assuredness I didn’t have the first time I was wearing blades.

“There you go,” he murmurs as we make our way down the straightaway. I stumble on the first corner, but his grip never wavers. “You’re doing great.”

“I look like a baby deer, don’t I?”

“More like a baby giraffe. You’re carrying all your weight in your upper body and that’s throwing off your balance. Evenly distribute it. Relax and glide through each step, like you’re pushing the ice away from you.”

I listen to his patient instructions. Focusing less on flailing and more on using the ground as a point of power helps, and the change makes everything marginally easier.

The first lap is atrocious. It takes us almost ten minutes to make it around the rink. Kids pass us, and one even points at meand laughs. Liam’s scowl scares him off, and I can’t hold back my smile despite how terrible this is going.

“Hudson’s dog is moving faster than me.” I glance at the golden retriever sliding on his belly and burst out laughing. “He has far more poise than me too.”

“Four legs are an unfair advantage.”

“Could you put some blades on your hands and level the playing field, please?”

“Compare yourself to Seymour’s kid. She can’t stand up straight.”

“She’s also a one-year-old who can’t wipe her own ass, Liam. It’s cruel to be better than her.”

He chuckles and we start another lap. “Someone suggested we do a baby crawl race during intermission one day. Can you imagine the chaos?”

“Sounds like it could be both the most dangerous and the most entertaining thing to ever happen in this arena.” I wave at Maven and she gives me a thumbs up, her head resting on Dallas’s shoulder. “How old were you when you learned to skate?”

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