Page 18 of For Pucking Keeps

My smile is wide, so wide my face hurts. This woman. Despite her fear, she is pushing past it and I have nothing but respect and admiration for the bravery of her action. I drop down in front of her again and unlace her boots one at a time. I’m surprised that I guessed her shoe size correctly, as I finish lacing her up securely in her skates. I make quick work of putting on my own skates and then I stand and hold out my hand to her.

“What do you say, Miss Starr? You want to skate with me?” I give her a flirty smile, continuing to keep things light between us. I wait. I watch her hesitate for just a bit, then she blows out a breath, extends her hand, and entwines her fingers with mine. Her chest rises and falls at the contact, her shoulders fall, and she relaxes as she steps forward. I reach out and take her other hand, then slowly step back onto the ice, one step at a time. Jaz stops near the edge, her foot raised, hovering above the ice, then she glances up at me, this moment feels like so much more, like the next step is just the beginning of many firsts between the two of us. Her trust in me, the possibility of more to come in future, we both stand on the precipice of something extraordinary happening right here, right now. As she takes that tentative step down onto the ice with me, it feels like a metaphor for the journey we are both about to embark upon. As reluctant as I am, I’m losing the battle warring inside my head. I can have it all. Can’t I? The fight to keep my goals singular, to make hockey my only priority, and maintaining this existence of loneliness, isn’t living. I want more. I can make room in my life, my heart, my mind for more, for someone. I take Ridley’s words and run with them. I don’t want to miss out on something great because I am too set in my ways to open my arms and receive it.

“Don’t let me go,” Jaz says nervously, her body swaying to the side slightly off balance as I guide us both to the center of the ice. She’s as still as a statue as I pull her along, legs bent a fraction at the knees, locked tightly in place. I need to get her to relax completely or she’ll never trust herself enough to stay upright.

“Never,” I reassure her.

Jaz’s body wobbles clumsily again and her eyes widen in panic. “Tor, please, don’t let me fall. I don’t want to fall,” she pleads. I give her hands a reassuring squeeze, her grip tightens as she holds onto me like her life depends on it.

“Relax, Jaz. I got you.” I keep my voice calm as I skate backwards, holding her gaze.

“I’m trying. This is insanity, Tor. I agreed to this. I agreed to this.” She chants the phrase over and over again, and her mantra seems to be working.

“Eyes on me, Supernova,” I command, but the stubborn woman won’t stop shifting her eyes back and forth between her feet and mine.

I tsk and shake my head. “Alexis,” I call out her real name and her eyes snap forward. When she gives me her full attention, I grin proudly. “That’s it, focus on me,” I instruct as I keep pulling her forward, encouraging her to move her feet. When she begins to relax, her posture straightens naturally. I don’t think she even realizes she’s beginning to mirror my simple footwork.

“See?” You’re improving already,” I finally say as we make a complete circle around the rink.

Jaz pants. “Really?” She laughs nervously. “You’re being nice to me. You don’t have to let me down easily. I know I am terrible at this. Not everyone can come out of the womb with skates on their feet. You make this look effortless. Not going to lie, I’m a bit jealous, Mr. Bailey.”

I laugh. “The witty banter is back. Ladies and gentlemen, Jazminne Starr has returned.”

Jaz chuckles. “I guess I have,” she says with pride. “Thank you, Tor.”

“You don’t have to thank me. This is a privilege. It’s not a hardship at all to be in your space, Miss Starr. Plus, we all have to start somewhere. I wasn’t always this graceful. It took time. Besides, I have a feeling you’re a natural,” I tease, loosening my grip on her hands, as I continue to talk.

Jaz purses her lips skeptically. “You think so?”

I release her hands, staying close enough to catch her, but she pushes herself forward without my help with relative ease. It’s not perfect, but it doesn’t have to be. She’s skating all on her own.

“Look at you go, Supernova. A natural.” I wink, continuing to skate backwards, keeping pace with her.

Jaz’s mouth falls open in shock. She looks at me, beautiful eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Tor, I’m skating.”

“Yes, you are,” I reply. Taking off, I skate around her in a wide circle before returning to her side. She reaches out her hand to me and we glide, slowly, around the rink together. We both skate like this for a few laps, me giving her instructions and talking about hockey the entire time. Jaz stumbles a few times but as I promised, I’m right there, ready to catch her, and she doesn’t fall. Not once.

“I know it was a rocky to start, but did you enjoy yourself?” I ask as I close the door to my SUV. Jaz inclines her head back against the seat, eyes closed, taking slow measured breaths with a smile on her face.

As I start the car, we pull away from the community center in silence. When Jaz doesn’t respond right away, I worry if taking her here this morning was too much, that I overstepped. Yeah, we ended this excursion on a high note, but maybe I should have discussed my plans with her before we came here. If I’d known skating was a trigger for her, I would have made other plans.

“When I was kid, I had a very vivid imagination. I guess that explains why I became a writer,” she finally says, to my relief. I glance over quickly, only to find that she has turned her head in my direction, bright eyes on me as she continues. “I was that girl, the one who pretended to be a synchronized swimmer in the swimming pool. I used to make up figure skating routines, safely of course, on the carpeted floors of the living room. Gymnastics too. There wasn’t a piece of furniture in my house growing up that my sisters and I didn’t flip over, jump on, or hide under. We didn’t always get to go out on day trips, or vacation in the summer, because it was only my mother who supported us after my father died. We found ways to entertain ourselves. Our house was our playground. We held our own concerts, lip syncing to our favorite songs, poetry corners. . .we just had fun.” She sighs wistfully, and I want her to keep talking. I want to know everything there is to know about this woman.

“Siblings?” I ask.

“Yep. Two sisters. Shay is the youngest and Dawn is the oldest. I’ve got serious middle child syndrome over here.” She chuckles softly. “To make a long story short. I faced a trauma demon today, and with your help, I think I’ve overcome it. So, yes, I did enjoy myself today. It was fun, and I’m glad you took me there. Sometimes you don’t know what you need until it’s right there in front of you.”

I let her words sink in, yet again she gives more of herself to me. Trusting me with her story, letting me in. I’m not sure I am ready to do the same, but Jaz doesn’t give me an out and I am almost grateful for it.

“What about you Torrance Bailey? What should I know about you?” she asks, settling into her seat once more as I continue to make the drive toward home.

“What about me?” I repeat her question as I try to decide how much is too much to say when introducing someone into your life. After the silence gets to be too much, I blow out a breath and decide to give her my truth.

“My mother was a teenager when she had me. Apparently when my good for nothing grandparents found out, they threw her out. They gave her an ultimatum—get rid of me or don’t come back home—well, as my mother used to tell me, she never second guessed her choice to keep me,” I say, keeping my voice matter-of-fact. I don’t talk about my childhood often, only a few people know about my life. It is the main reason why I am so private. I don’t want the press to dig up shit about me that I would rather keep buried.

“How could they do that to her?” Jaz asks, shaking her head in what I assume is disbelief.

I clear my throat. “Yeah, when you think of grandparents in general, my mother’s parents were far from loving, caring, and supportive. But she kept me, packed what she could carry and moved in with my fatherand his parents.” I pause, not wanting to continue. I hated this part of my story the most.

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