Page 10 of As You Ice It

But Liam’s face looked happy moments ago, not bitter or hurt or angry. Which almost makes it worse somehow. Anger I could take. Forgiveness, on the other hand, I don’t know if I deserve. Even if the way things ended between his mother and me was her choice.

At least, she started the end. I simply finished it.

“Come on. It'll only take me a few minutes,” I tell him.

“Okay,” he says, his voice unsure. But there’s the smallest spark of hope in his eyes that wasn’t there moments ago.

When he doesn’t move to follow me, I realize that he may not actually be able to navigate to the bench. At least, not quickly. He’s still gripping the low wall for support.

“Grab on.” I face him, holding out my hands, palms up.

He hesitates, then takes one of my hands in his gloved one, clutching the wall until the last second. Even after I’ve got both of his hands, he almost goes down.

I bite back the urge to saysteady, because obviously, if he had any choice in the matter, he’dbesteady.

“Keep your weight over your legs. Don’t lean forward. That’s it. Bend your knees a little—like that. Trust your legs. Feel the difference?”

He nods, which throws him off-balance. This time, though, he doesn’t pitch forward or use my hands to hold him up. I can see him straining, working to keep his weight in the right place.

“Good.”

He beams at the praise, but then he almost goes down and the smile falls. “I can stand here, but I don’t know how to move,” he admits.

I wish I could remember how my dad taught me to skate. But he pretty much threw me on our backyard pond in Wisconsin almost as soon as I could walk. The memory brings a swell of uncomfortable emotion, like a hiccup stuck in the base of my throat.

I’ve often wondered if my father regrets teaching me to skate and setting me on this path. If he knew how things would end up, would he have given me a basketball or a baseball bat? I’d ask him, but that’s not the sort of relationship we have now—the kind where I can ask honest questions about the past.

These intrusive thoughts are replaced by another: I need to get home.

A sliver of worry zips up my spine. But an extra hour away should be fine. Just in case, I’ll send a text saying I’ll be late once we get to the bench.

“For now, I’m going to pull you,” I tell Liam. “Just focus on keeping your knees bent, your toes facing me, and don’t lean forward. Got it?”

He does, mostly, and I pull him back to the bench where I dropped my bag a few minutes ago. I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t come down to the rink. If I’d just gone home like I told Coach I needed to do. Now, I’m stuck.

But maybe … I’m glad?

Time will tell. And it will depend on someone other than Liam. Because I can’t imagine Naomi being pleased about this.

Now, as Liam sags onto the bench and I drop next to him, I let myself scan the crowds, seeking out a head of wavy brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Naomi isn’t the kind of woman who can disappear into a crowd. She’s a woman who?—

“She isn’t here.” Liam’s voice jerks me back into the moment. He’s taken his helmet off, revealing sweaty hair sticking up in a bunch of directions. He stares at me intently, like a challenge. “My mom. She had errands to run, but I think she was just avoiding any chance she’d run into you.”

Man. I’d forgotten how direct Liam is. No thought of holding back. Liam says the things he’s thinking. And he’s always thinking, which means he’s always talking.

I wonder what that’s like.

“I mean,” Liam continues, talking a little faster now as he clearly realizes he might have said a littletoomuch, “not that she said anything about it. I’m just guessing. Because of, well … you know.”

“Why are you here?” I ask, desperately not wanting to talk about theyou knowLiam hinted at. But my question is a little too abrupt.

This is why I told Coach I shouldn’t work with kids. Well. It’soneof the reasons. The other is the kid sitting beside me. Though I was thinking more about avoidingmemoriesof him (and his mother) rather than actually avoidinghim. This was definitely not on my bingo card. Because Liam and Naomi live in another state. Or … theydid.

“I’m here because I want to play hockey,” Liam says simply. A little bit ofduhin his voice. Also a fair bit of stubbornness. Which is good. He’ll need it if he wants to play hockey.

I’m also glad to see him warming up, opening up. Makes me think that maybe I didn’t ruin everything before I left.

“I mean, why are you here in Harvest Hollow?” I ask patiently.

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