Page 66 of Fear of Falling

“Wow,” I breathed.

I can’t believe I’m only a few feet from the ice.

I appreciated Wyatt giving me the chance to take it all in.

“Do you ever get nervous stepping onto the ice?” I asked.

“At first, I did. Having thousands of eyes on you, all those voices screaming your name, it can be nerve-wrecking.”

I glanced over at him as he spoke. He was looking out over the ice, his face animated as though he pictured the crowd in his mind. It revealed to me just how much he loved what he did.

“It was more intimidating when I first joined the league, but now I love it. There’s no feeling like skating out onto the ice and hearing the fans. The adrenaline rush that comes with it.”

“You look at home on the ice.” And he did. From the moment we entered the arena I saw an ease in his step—the comfort and confidence that came when someone was in sync with their passion.

“It’s become my second home,” he said earnestly, and it made me want to hear him talk about it further. I sat on the bench, placing the skates by my feet, and looked up at Wyatt as he leaned his hip against the side of the wall.

“Whenever I needed to clear my head or get away from things, it was always the ice I turned to,” he continued. “Whether it was the local indoor rink a few blocks from home, or a frozen pond a friend had. I was always there,” he chuckled at the memory.

“I know what you mean.” And I truthfully did. “Sometimes you just need an escape.” Wyatt looked at me curiously, as though waiting for me to elaborate.

“I found the same thing with running,” I explained. “When things got rough, a run was all I needed. So long as I had my headphones, I could run forever and just leave everything else behind me.”

Wyatt nodded slowly. “What got you into running?”

I was quiet for a moment, trying to think how best to answer when the reason was a story I hated to tell and a topic I typically avoided.

But this is Wyatt. I feel like I can tell him anything.

“I’d just turned fifteen when I learned my dad had colon cancer,” I swallowed thickly as a lump formed in my throat. “The whole drive home I just felt numb, like my mind couldn’t process the news. The moment we got home, I just ran.”

My heart seized painfully at the memory.

“After months of my father being unable to keep any food down, getting thinner, and so fatigued he could barely get out of bed, I pleaded with him to the doctor. I knew something was wrong. It was just the two of us; my mother left us when I was six, and the last thing I wanted was to lose my dad too.” I paused, taking a shaky breath.

“When we got a call from his doctor asking for us to come in for the results, I knew it was bad news. I knew it in my soul, yet when he broke the news of my dad’s diagnosis, my heart sank. It was like being doused with cold water. From that moment, running became my safety net.”

“Josie, I’m so sorry,” Wyatt said, sitting beside me on the bench and taking my hand in both of his. “That had to be rough, especially as a kid.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, playing with the hem of my sweater with my free hand. I was terrified that if I looked at him and saw sympathy in his eyes that I would burst into tears.

Definitely not first date vibes, Josie.

“Is he doing better now?” Wyatt asked, his question opening a hole in my heart, one that hasn’t healed. I wrapped my free hand around my thigh, nails digging into my skin through my jeans as I shook my head.

No. He passed away a year ago. After so many years of fighting, he couldn’t anymore. Deep down, I knew his prognosis was bad, even when he lied and said he was recovering. He fought for ten years but it got to be too much.”

“Oh, Josie,” Wyatt said, stroking my hand gently with his thumb as he squeezed my hand. The ache in my chest expanded, the pressure behind my eyes building. It was hard thinking of my dad. For most of my life, he was the only person I had. The one person who was there through everything and who’d had my back no matter what.

My mind drifted back to the time I came home from elementary school in tears because some girl laughed at my hair. The lopsided pigtails my father spent forever on. Or in high school, when the guy I liked asked someone else to prom, so my dad took me out to get ice cream and listened to me vent about how much of an asshole the guy was. Even the awkward conversations like when I got my period or had my first kiss. My dad was there for it all.

Yet, while I never wanted to lose my dad, I hated seeing him in so much pain. I loathed the cancer that ate away at him until he was a shell of who he used to be. I wanted him to be pain free, even if that meant not being here with me.

“I am so sorry.” Wyatt’s voice was so soft as he continued brushing his thumb against my knuckles. “I bet he was a great man.”

Finally, I lifted my head to meet his gaze. He graced me with the kindest smile, and there was no stopping the hot tears as they streamed down my face.

“He was. He taught me everything I know about hockey.”

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