Page 4 of Unsteady

I watch Liam’s face light up, his little knees bending like he might jump up and down from excitement if he wasn’t afraid to fall. Chelsea next to me huffs and rolls her eyes, giving me a look that says this is far from the first time she’s been late.

“I’m here,” she shouts, her bag bouncing hard against her back where it’s slinging from her shoulders, as she sprints onto the ice in slip-on sneakers, sliding aimlessly for a moment before she regains her balance and takes quick steps towards us.

“You’re late,” Chelsea sneers. “Again.” Her hand falls to Oliver’s shoulders, in a protective gesture,and red heats against the girl’s already flushed skin.

“I know,” she says, kneeling down onto the ice to get eye level with Liam who is still excited with no sign of frustration towards his… mother? She seems too young, especially with the eldest looking to be around eleven.

She looks around briefly, and it’s only then a flash of recognition hits me. I’ve seen her before, but I can’t place from where.

She doesn’t bother speaking to Chelsea, only giving a big smile to the boy who is looking at her like she’s his entire world, before shifting to speak directly to Oliver, whose face is red and slanted down, disappointment emanating from him.

“I’m sorry, bud.” She bites her lip hard, her wide gray eyes pleading. “I tried so hard.”

“I got even faster today,” Liam offers, completely and blissfully ignorant of his brother’s obvious frustration.

She gives him a wink and rubs his head lightly, mussing his hair. “I’ll bet you’ll be even faster than Crosby one day.”

I almost snort, partially because I’m now imagining a Sidney Crosby poster in her childhood bedroom. Despite the fact my lips don’t even begin to rise—no hint of a laugh threatening—I am taken aback by how quickly she got any kind of reaction out of my empty body.

“Crosby’s not the fastest. And you swore you’d be here to see,” Oliver accuses, his brow furrowed, cheeks heated.

“Oliver, killer, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be here—”

“You say that every time, and you only don’t show because ofhim.” He spits the word like poison and her expression shutters.

It’s clear whoever thishimis, is a constant issue for them. A boyfriend maybe? I cross my arms, finding myself in slight agreement with Chelsea.

“How about you show me now?” she offers, a hopeful tone attempting to turn it around. “Give me a minute to put on my skates and I’ll even race you—”

“Actually,” Chelsea cuts her off. “We need to be off the ice now. They’ve got to clear it before the beer league game tonight. Come on, Oliver, let’s get you one of the cookies from the snack table. I saved some for you.”

Oliver follows Chelsea as she skates off towards the exit together and I realize only now that the girl is staring at me, eyebrows furrowed.

Self-conscious in a way I would have never been before the accident, I fix my stance, straightening my spine. My arms hang loose at my sides for a moment, but somehow that seems worse. So I cross them, before feeling more ridiculous and letting them drop again, one hand finding my pocket.

“Who’s the big guy?”

She glances down at Liam, quirking an eyebrow at him before he smiles. “Oh, yeah, I know—stranger danger, but that’s Rhys.”

“I don’t know who Rhys is, bug.”

“He’s gonna help us getrealgood at hockey,” Liam says, just as his skate slides out from underneath him and he slips onto the ice, stomach first.

I reach for him immediately, easily picking him up and holding his arms until he gets steady again. Easy enough, especiallyafter repeating this process about twenty times in the last hour.

“You good?” I ask, bending down to his level and sending another quick, albeit restrained smile to the girl looking down at us. Waiting a beat for something—a smile, a hum of approval, a“How sweet” or“You have such a way with kids.”All normal responses to my easy charm before. But she gives me nothing but a wide blank stare.

I hate it, feeling like her cat-shaped gray eyes can see everything. Like there’s something physically wrong with me that signals the absolute shit show stowed beneath my skin.

“I’m good,” Liam replies, skating ahead on shaking legs. “Rhys is, like, the best hockey player.”

“Ahh.” She nods, eyes still infuriatingly locked on me. “Alright, welp, say goodbye to the hockey hotshot, bug. Time to go home.”

“Bye, Rhys! Next week I’ll bring my helmet. It’s got stickers on it,” Liam practically shrieks, picking himself up quickly from another fall before trying another howl with me. I know I should join him, make him feel like I’m his friend, but there’s a pressure on my chest that keeps me from moving, let alone breathing.

He falls twice more on his way to the boards and bleacher seats where Oliver is unlacing his skates, watching carefully where the girl still stands, like he’s worried about her despite his anger.

She blows a raspberry, her bangs and the multitude of loose tendrils of silk brown whips and whirl around her face. I wait a moment, poised to introduce myself when I spot the hang tag on her bag.

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