Page 25 of Can't Take Moore

I was hoping she would.

9

Vienna

Like I’d told Dean when he was getting ready to leave my house Monday morning, I skipped my first day at the local ice rink. I was still feeling the after-effects of our bedroom antics this morning, but I couldn’t put skating off any longer. I needed to get back on the ice before I lost more of my training than I wanted.

The drive to the rink was quick, and I got there almost two hours ago. The first thing I did when I hit the ice was mark my short track. I’d discussed the process at length with the rink manager before booking my ice time for the next few months. He’d been resistant to the idea at first, which was to be expected since most rink managers were protective of their ice. But when I explained that I was just going to use grape unsweetened powdered drink mix so I wouldn’t damage the rink, he was a little more open to what I wanted to do. Then when he realized the marketing benefits of having an Olympic gold medalist skating at his rink, he pretty much gave me the keys to the kingdom along with permission to create a short track for my morning training sessions.

It took me about half an hour to measure and mark the track. Then I laced up my skates and got to work. Being back on the ice felt amazing, although I was paying for all of the unhealthy food I'd been eating lately. My stamina had taken a hit, but that also could have been due to how long it had been since I skated on actual ice.

My home rink was great, but skating on it wasn't the same. I couldn't think of another time when I'd been off the ice for so many days in a row as far back as I could remember. But I didn't regret the week-and-a-half break because it had been good for my soul. And my heart. Or at least my dating life.

Gliding around the oval track I’d marked on the outside of the sheet of ice, I let my mind wander to Dean. I could practically skate the short track in my sleep with how many laps I’d done over my lifetime. But today, I was feeling twinges in muscles I rarely used. And they made me think about the new man in my life.

Diving into a relationship with Dean probably wasn't my smartest decision ever, considering my recent life changes. Then again, perhaps buying a house wasn’t either, since you're not supposed to make major decisions when you're grieving a loved one. But my dad's death on the heels of my Olympic win put me in a bit of an existential crisis.

His loss made me see my relationship with my mom and sister more clearly. And how toxic it had become.

If my dad was still with me, I had a feeling he would've been the first to tell me I was making the right call. Or at least I hoped so.

I had a hunch that he would’ve liked Dean, too. Even though he would have grumbled about the age difference and me being too young to get serious about a guy. But his worrying would’ve just been his way of watching out for me because he loved me so much. In some ways, the little things Dean did to take care of me—like opening the car doors and bringing me tea and muffins yesterday morning—reminded me of my dad. That was probably a big part of the reason I was falling for him so quickly.

The alarm I had set to alert me when my session on the rink was over pulled me out of my thoughts. Gliding over to the bench, I grabbed my cherry juice recovery drink and water before skating over to the door on the opposite side of the rink. Stepping onto the rubber flooring, I unscrewed the cap on my juice and started to guzzle it down as I made my way over to the locker room the rink attendant had told me to use.

While I was changing out of my speed skating suit and skates, my cell rang. After talking with my mom and sister, I had decided to keep my old phone on to see if they’d honor my wishes. I’d been pleasantly surprised when they stuck to only sending emails over the past several days. Half-expecting the reprieve to be over and to see one of their names on the screen, I was surprised when it was one of my speed skating friends instead.

Tamara Antonov was an amazing skater who was several years older than me. I’d looked up to her growing up and had been in awe when I got to represent the United States at the Olympics with her. She’d taken the gold in the five hundred and one thousand meter races on the long track—her third for each race since she’d been to the Olympics in 2014 and 2018 as well—while I’d gotten mine for the five hundred meter on the short track.

Like me, Tamara lived in Chicago—because she married a player for the Chicago Cavaliers hockey team after the previous Olympics—and we had grown close since the qualifiers last year.

Wiping my brow with a towel from my skate bag, I accepted the call. “Hey, Tamara. What’s up?”

“Vienna, thank goodness. Are you okay?” She had the slightest hint of a Slavic accent, which only came out when her emotions were heightened.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Because your mom just showed up at the rink where I was running speed skating camp and grilled me when I said I didn’t know where you were.” There was a deep murmur in the background, and then she asked, “There isn’t a kidnapper with you who is demanding that you pretend everything is alright, is there?”

I laughed and rushed to reassure her. “No, you can let Ryan know I really am fine. I’m so sorry my mom bothered you. I’m in the middle of…a bit of a situation with her.”

Tamara’s mom was a handful, but only in the most awesome ways. She was also an Olympic gold medalist in speed skating, and I felt as though I owed my win in part to her because she’d given me lots of great tips when she was coaching Tamara during our shared ice time.

Having met my mom, Tamara was well aware of the differences between our parents. Her tone was sympathetic as she asked, “Is it the kind of situation I can help with?”

“Not really.” I explained to her about how my dad’s passing had made me rethink what I wanted out of life, which led me to Mooreville.

“You really bought a house down there sight unseen?”

“Yup.” I let the P pop on the end. “And it’s even better than I hoped.”

“Do you have any guest bedrooms?”

“I sure do,” I confirmed, sliding my feet into my shoes as I told her about the synthetic rink.

“It sounds as though you have the perfect setup. Want me to come down for a visit?” she offered.

Although it would be wonderful to see a familiar friendly face, I knew the timing was bad for her. “Only after your hubby’s team brings home the Stanley Cup. From what I’ve seen, they’re doing great in the playoffs so far.”

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