Page 87 of Cross-Checked

“Did you tell him no one else would be there or even know that you’re skating? That seems like an unnecessary risk.”

“Really? Wouldyoube okay not skating for months?”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” she asks, and I find that I don’t have a good answer. “Skating is how I start almost every single day. For me, it’s part of staying physically and mentally healthy. The rink is where I do my best thinking, and given that I have that meeting with Frank later today, I really need to think through what I want to say.”

Last night, she wouldn’t tell me exactly how she planned to approach the conversation with Frank. Now I’m thinking that maybe she’s still not sure how to tell him.

“How are you going to lace your skates up with that cast? There’s no way you’ll be able to get them tied tight enough without hurting your wrist.” The force she’ll have to put on those laces as she tightens them could potentially exacerbate her injury. “And if your skates are too loose, that’ll be dangerous. Let me come and help.”

“What about Abby?” she asks.

“Abby normally wakes up around now anyway. I can get her up and dressed while you go change, and I’ll bring her breakfast to the rink. She can eat while you skate.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. You have to be there in a few hours for practice. Why would you drive there, and then have to bring Abby back here to meet Nicholas, just to turn around and have to return to the rink again?”

I level her with a look. “Because then I can be there for you, too.”

Her whole expression softens. “You’d go to all that effort just to lace up my skates for me?”

Driving halfway across the city to make sure she’s safe while skating seems to me like a very small sacrifice, yet she clearly thinks it’s a big deal. Just like when I brought her the new makeup remover in Philly.

Why is she so shocked when people genuinely want to help her?Every time I realize just how low of a bar Chet set, it makes me want to punch him in the fucking face again.

“I’m not sure there’s anything I wouldn’t do to keep you safe,” I say, because I’m afraid that what I really want to tell her, that there’snothingI wouldn’t do for her, would freak her out.

“Fine,” she sighs. “I hate to inconvenience you like that, but Ireallywant to get back on the ice. I feel like part of me is missing when I can’t skate.”

“How did I not know that you still skate?”

“I keep it pretty well hidden.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, leaning toward the open door like she’s about to slip out. “I guess when it comes to work, I keep most aspects of my personal life private. That, and I wouldn’t want you guys to feel bad when I skate circles around you.”

I let out a hearty laugh at the thought of her skating circles around a bunch of NHL players. Then I realize that because she’s smaller than we are and led her college team to a D1 championship, she might not be exaggerating. “Wait, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious.” And with that, she says, “Alright, I’m going to get dressed and pack my work bag, and feed Tabitha. I’ll be back in ten minutes or so.”

Ishould have left already. If anyone sees me here watching AJ skate before 7 a.m., this whole charade would be over.

But the way she’s zipping around the ice, and how she easily handles her stick, even with her cast on, has me mesmerized. Every single thing about this woman has me in a state of awe: how she looked snuggled into me last night before she fell asleep, the way she kept turning around to talk to Abby as she babbled away in the back seat on our drive over here, and the way she’s proving to me that she probablycouldskate circles around everyone on our team.

Or is it the way my daughter is standing on the wooden ledge at the top of the boards, wearing the pink high-tops AJ bought her, jumping up and down in excitement while I hold her waist to keep her upright, and yelling “Ay Ay” so that her name ricochets across the ice and off the glass on the other side?

Even though she’s correctly used “Da” to identify me, Abby still hasn’t put two syllables together to say “Dada.” So the fact that she’s already trying to say AJ, and is coming so close to getting it right, has a lump in my throat. Her first word is going to be AJ, and I’m as thrilled about it as if she’d just said Dada.

AJ speeds by, giving Abby a tiny poke in her belly as she does, and Abby laughs. It’s the kind of guttural baby laugh that would have everyone else laughing along, if there were anyone here but the three of us.

Being here, simply watching AJ do something she loves...it brings the kind of quiet contentedness that has a smile permanently etched onto my face. I can’t wipe it off—I’m trying, I really am.

Is this...joy? I can’t remember the last time I felt like this. Have I ever felt like this?

It makes me imagine AJ being the one to teach Abby to skate, and to play hockey. It’s been less than a year since I found out I had a child, but in that time, I’ve never once imagined a future that wasn’t just the two of us. I’d worried about raising a daughter on my own, and I’d never been able to picture someone else walking that path with me. Until now.

“The good news,” Jameson says as he hands me a bottle of water and drops a copy of my contract on his desk before sitting in his chair across from me, “is that you have a termination clause in your contract. Otherwise, there’d be no point in us talking.”

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