Page 87 of Someone to Have
“I didn't mention that part, but it's okay.”
“It's more than okay,” I tell him.
We sit in the truck for another moment with the heat blasting, watching the snow collect on the windshield. He’s giving me time. I know that and appreciate it. When Eric turns off the engine, it’s quiet except for the tick of cooling metal, the soft whisper of snow against the windows and my heart pounding a mile a minute.
“Ready?”
I take a deep breath. “Ready.”
The rink is cold and dark until he turns on the lights. Everything about this place is familiar to me—the smell, the glow of the LED bulbs overhead, the temperature that isn't freezing but also isn't warm. I've always had conflicted feelings about the ice.It's part of my blood, but I also never belonged here the way the rest of my family does.
I don’t feel that way with Eric.
We lace up our skates, my fingers briefly tangling the strings before I manage it. They fit like a glove and feel oddly right on my feet. He takes my hand as we step onto the ice, and the scrape of the skate blades and the cold air on my face feels new. There's a warmth inside me that I let expand until my whole body is relaxed, just going with the flow.
He lets go and spins around, skating backward a few feet in front of me, as comfortable on skates as he is in regular shoes.
“You've been holding out, Tinkerbell. Youcanskate.”
My eyes roll to the high ceilings inside the rink. “I told you I learned. I was barely out of diapers the first time my dad put me on the ice. I wasn't interested in hockey, so my parents eventually signed me up for figure skating classes.”
“I bet you were a sight,” he says with a smile so sweet it makes my teeth ache.
I choke out a laugh. “Hardly. I lasted two sessions and cried in the back seat of Mom's minivan on the way there almost every time.” I pat my hips. “This body was meant for the hockey rink, not gliding along the ice doing jumps and twirls. I’m too big and clumsy.”
“You look like poetry in motion from here,” he assures me, and the sincerity in his voice makes me smile.
I haven’t been on skates for twenty years, but the basics come back quickly. I’m surprised at how comfortable I feel. It’s doubtful I’m going to take it up as a hobby, but I’m not embarrassing myself.
Maybe I never did. Maybe it was all in my mind that I had to be a certain way to fit in with my family. Maybe Sloane’s right, and it’s been enough to be me all along. I just never realized it.
“Okay, Mr. Hockey God.” I shoo him away. “Give me some room, and I'll show you my moves.”
“Can you call me that the next time we’re naked in bed?” he asks but puts distance between us.
I skate a few feet forward, then do a somewhat shaky twirl. Eric whoops and cheers.
“A perfect ten! The crowd goes wild!’
I laugh and spin again, then push myself forward, lifting my left leg behind me, leaning my body forward, and reaching my arms out as I glide.
“And the gold goes to Tinkerbell!” he shouts.
My body shakes with laughter, causing me to lose my balance. I start to pitch forward, but pull back and right myself. It might be okay to fall, but hitting the hard ice hurts like a mother.
I'm wobbling, giving it my best try at keeping upright, and a moment later, Eric takes my hands. Pulling me closer, he wraps his strong arms around me. He's still skating backward, and I lean into him, trusting him to keep me safe, to keep me from falling—even though in my heart, I know it's too late.
I've fallen like a stone off the side of a cliff for this man. As much courage as it’s going to take to get up on that stage on opening night, it feels like the real bravery is going to come down to whether I'm willing to put my whole heart on the line after the curtain closes.
28
TAYLOR
By Friday,we’re back to bluebird skies, bright sun, and warmer temperatures. The world re-opens, and everyone seems happy for the snow day but also grateful for the crews who’ve cleared the streets. Parents with toddlers in wet boots come into the library to switch out books and enjoy the weekly visit from our favorite therapy dog, Tater Tot—a solid black lab who patiently listens to book after book as the kids line up to read to her.
“Taylor.” Don appears behind me as I say goodbye to Tater and her handler. “I’d like to speak with you in my office.”
From across the library, David and I share a look. I can’t imagine it’s good that Don wants to speak to me alone. But I force a smile and follow him, cursing the annoying feeling that I’m heading to the gallows.
