Page 17 of Left-Hand Larceny
Her smile is patient, kind. Her thumbs stroking the coarse hair of my beard. For the first time, I regret not being clean-shaven.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess thatsorriwas an apology?” She searches my eyes, and I dip my chin in the barest nod. Her smile gets bigger. “I figured. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Promise.”
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, or that I think you wouldn’t be a big help. You didn’t put me off or offend me or anything.” She looks away, biting into her lower lip again. “I just…”
This time she pauses. Cuts herself off in the middle of her sentence. It’s a Sadie I’m not used to seeing. Uncomfortable. Out of sync.
“It’s just that—” she drops her hands from my face and sinks down to sit on the grimy gym floor with me. Her fingers toy with the end of her thick plait of hair.
If I didn’t overstep, if it wasn’t the offer itself, then something else is bothering her. Something she doesn’t quite know how to express.
“Who-who h-has the st-stutter n-now?”I give her a crooked smile, trying to break the awkward tension that I know I caused.
It works.
She smiles.
“You-you d-don’t need to a-accept my o-offer,” I tell her. “It still st-stands.”
“I want to,” she laughs without an ounce of humor. “I do. I just can’t ask you to do that for me. You have more than enough on your plate. Pre-season starts soon, you’re navigating your return to the ice. I got myself into this… mess… and I can figure it out.”
The “I hope” is silent, but we both know it’s there.
The only reason I’m back on the ice at all is thanks to her time and effort. I tell her so, but she shakes her head.
“No, Rags, that was my job. And I got course credit.” Her words deflate me. I’m a tire with a slow leak, air slipping out molecule by molecule. “I can’t ask you for this. I should be able to handle it. I got straight A’s in high school. This shouldn’t be this hard.”
“E-everyone needs help…help s-sometimes,” I say. “I kn-know I d-d-do.”
“Yeah?” She sits back too. I try not to smile as she pretzels her legs. It’s not quite the little kid criss-cross-tomato-sauce. She pulls her bottom foot up too. It reminds me of the yoga she put me through all summer, trying to loosen up my hip and maintain my flexibility. I’m not the tallest goalie in the league, I don’t have the largest wingspan, I don’t block the whole net when I drop into a butterfly, but I’m flexible. I can correct course on a save with micro-seconds to spare. Sadie might be even more flexible that I am.
“Y-you take my he-help on the word p-puzzles.”
Her snort seems to surprise even her.
I slow down. Determined not to repeat the sounds.
“Let m-me help y-you. Please.”
The hesitation makes my heart hurt.
“I don’t know if I can pay you or anything.” Sadie won’t meet my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t ask her to pay me. When I tell her as much, she shakes her head.
“I pay my way, Ólaffson.”
I know she does. Or at least I could have guessed. If I bring her an apple from the players’ lounge, she breaks her protein bar in half to share. But this is different. I don’t want her to pay me back. There’s nothing to pay. I have the skills to help her. I think. I don’t need any—
“Th-th-there’s something y-you can..can do f-for me.” The urge to slide my eyes away is almost overwhelming.
But I’m glad I don’t. I’m glad I keep my eyes pinned to her face. Otherwise, I’d have missed her smile.
“Okay,” I say, dipping my fry into my ocean of ketchup. “Let’s start over.”
Ragnar stares at me from across the sticky diner table, but he drops his chin to his chest in a brief nod. I figured we needed a change of scenery to actually discuss his proposition. Anywhere but the gym where we both work.
“I just need to understand what you would be getting out of this.” I push my plate toward him, offering a bite. I wouldn’t have ordered more than a drink if I’d know he wasn’t going to eat anything. A second passes. Two. Then he snags one golden French fry from the plate, and I see the corner of his mouth tip up.
