Page 21 of At the Edge with You

I want to say that I’m staying for Kitty, but the truth is, I can’t take anything from Jett. The pure distress in his eyes when Jami said everything would be given to my dad left me breathless. I felt like my soul would be ripped from my body if I allowed that to happen. I couldn’t hurt Jett like that. I didn’t have to be here to know that the Ice Thistle is what it is because of Jett. I can’t take that from him.

But I can help him make it better.

If he lets me.

My comment has them all laughing as they settle in their seats. Since I don’t have a chair at this table, I go get one, something I’ve been doing my whole life. Always trying to fit in where I don’t belong. I watch as they all unload their cross-stitching rings and then their thread. I lean on my elbows as the Rink Rulers and Blades of Knowledge shake hands to signal the end of the game.

Bea leans into Kitty. “Williams, the goalie from Penalty Box Prophets, hurt his groin, so he’s out for the next game.”

My sweet, God-loving grandmother pumps her fist. “Good. We should win tonight, and then it’ll be us and the Pastry Puckers for the first round, right?”

Bea grins widely. “Yup, we should make it to the finals pretty easily, but those Prophets will be a problem.”

I sigh deeply, leaning on my hand as I finger her thread, bored. Maybe I should pick up cross-stitching. “You really shouldn’t bet against the good Lord.”

They both wave me off. “They’re cheating. Drinking holy water in the locker rooms or something.”

Hazel snickers as Maggie rolls her eyes. Though, she does lean in, her voice low. “I heard Brother Eric was sleeping aroundwith Sister Milly again.” She taps her nose, her eyes all-knowing. “She went over to drop off some brownies and didn’t leave for three hours.”

Bea clucks her tongue as she lifts her cooler up onto the table. “She must have been touched by God for how she’s getting him between her legs with those dry-ass brownies.”

“The brownies were trash, so he went for her cookie,” Kitty snickers, and I can’t help but snort at that. The women cackle, and I can only laugh along.

These four are a mess.

Bea hands everyone a bottle of Michelob Ultra, and I make a face. She winks at me. “We gotta keep our figures, darling.”

I can’t with these women. I nurse my beer as the Beer League Belles and the Pucklic Officials hit the ice. I notice that a bunch of guys I went to school with are out there, and of course, they’re playing for the town council’s team. Public figures work together and play together in this town. As much as I tell myself not to, I seek out Jett. A habit that not even twenty years away from him can break.

I used to make all the excuses in the world to go over to the east rink, where he’d practice with his school’s team when we were younger. I’d sit at the top of the bleachers and watch, hoping no one noticed me. Even then, he towered over everyone and dominated the ice. He was so lean and fast, but now, he’s huge and mouthwatering. The pink of his jersey and helmet makes his dark hair look darker. His shoulders are wide, massive, as he shoots with ease, leaning more on his right leg than his left. I know it’s the one he hurt back in college, and he relearned to shoot from his other leg. Grandpa was so proud of him when he did.

I was too, not that I got to tell him.

So many times in my life, I wanted to reach out to him but never could. I couldn’t decide why that was, but as I watch himnow, I wonder if it would have made the distance between us worse.

Because being here, watching him, I find that I’ve missed him.

Desperately.

Never the wiser, Jett plays effortlessly with the puck, as if he is meant to do nothing but that. His blade moves along the ice, shifting the puck side to side before shooting and scoring on the empty net. He tucks his glove in his arm and then runs his free hand along his jaw as he nods to a fellow player. His dark eyes have a glint of excitement in them, and I miss that look.

As I watch him skate, I notice that he still moves with the grace that caught the eye of the coaches who had come to find someone for me to skate with. I don’t know why everyone was so dead set on me skating with a partner. I did just fine as a solo skater. It’s not as if I ever asked, though, probably because I really wanted to skate with Jett.

Since it’s on my mind, I ask, “Why did you have me skate pairs, Kitty?”

Everyone looks up from where they’re stabbing fabric with a needle. These four women went everywhere with us, supported us. Wore our faces on shirts. Kitty doesn’t seem surprised by my question, probably because I usually just ask random things whenever they pop into my head.

“The competition for individual had a bunch of veterans, so we figured your first time at the Games should be with a partner.”

“Makes sense,” I say, remembering being told I wouldn’t be able to hang with some of the seasoned pros. I think everyone knew that my anxiety was too much, too. I don’t think I would have made it those four years if it hadn’t been for Jett. He calmed my mind and helped me focus only on him and the feel of the ice beneath our skates.

“Jett and you skated so beautifully together,” Maggie muses, giving me a small, sweet smile. “I wish it hadn’t ended.”

“Me too,” Hazel says, watching her grandson. “He smiled more then.”

Now, all of us are watching him, and he has a gruff look on his face. It wasn’t like that when we were younger. He was always quick to flash anyone a smile. Especially me. While I don’t know what they’re thinking, I only have one thing on my mind.

I’ve missed his smile.

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