Page 41 of Loving Ladybug: Part One
I waved, then left the kitchen.
Downstairs, the small rink sat empty. I finished my apple, then ran through some basics. Every day I felt a little more confident, a little more connected to my roots. To what had made me the player I was as a kid. My old host mom had even found some footage from junior hockey for me to review.
Clark sent me a picture of his breakfast. Farm life had early wake-ups. I sent him a picture of me on the ice.
There was still time before Tenzin came, so I put on my headphones, grabbed my stick, and skated to a song from the sad girl playlist that I’d roughly choreographed. Not only was it flowing and lyrical, but the words called to me.
Clearly, Austin never thought aboutus.Justhim.His education. His career.
Whatever. I didn’t need him to be happy. Every day I was less sad about the breakup and finding more joy in the little things.
Like learning about art with Tenzin, going dancing, and eating muffins.
There was a lot to like about Tenzin. Like how he always treated me with so much care. He also tipped his servers well. One thing that mildly annoyed me about Austin was that despite being a bartender, he didn’t tip well and didn’t like it when I did.
I don’t know how I’d have gotten through the past year without big tips. Most of them were from people who knew me.
As the music played through my headphones, I skated my heart out, jumping and twirling, all while holding a hockey stick, because I was silly like that. When the song finished, I did it again, tweaking and adding to the choreography.
I played the song one more time, putting my heart into every move, every jump, every spin, every twirl of my stick.
When I stopped, Tenzin stood there, watching.
“That was incredible.” He beamed at me.
My cheeks burned as I plopped down on the ice. “I was just messing around.”
“I’ve never seen anyone figure skate like that in hockey skates–or holding a hockey stick,” he told me.
“Lots of people figure skate in hockey skates.” Okay, it was more of a Canadian alpha thing. My last coach had mostly trained alphas. I was there because they were mated to two former PHL players and lived next door to my nonna. Also, they knew I’d rather play hockey, but had to please my dads.
“If this is something you do a lot, it might be fun to put on your social media,” he offered. “That thing that sets you apart. You could wear something that matches the song or theme. I could bring out my good camera, maybe a light or two. Think about it. I’m guessing you figure skated when you were young.”
“Yep. Hockey has my heart, though. Are we going to practice now?”
“Let’s go. But wait…” Grinning like a goofball, he pulled something out of his bag.
“Tens, this better not be what I think it is.” I eyed the box in his hand. My muscles ached from all the figure skating.
“I didn’t buy them–I got them from my rep. Yes, I checked, and it doesn’t violate any NACA rules, since they gave them tomeand they come out of my allotment.” He held it out.
The National Association of Collegiate Athletes had very strict rules and was the reason us EBUGs got paid in tickets, snacks, and merch.
I bit my lower lip. “I don’t want to deny you skates when you need them.”
He must go through a lot of pairs, too, and didn’t need to resort to all sorts of measures to make them last longer.
“Don’t worry about that, just try them. This way, if you don’t like them, you didn’t pay for them, and you can keep saving for what you want.” His look grew expectant.
While part of me hesitated to accept them, he did tell me if he offered, he meant it–and he listened to me and followed my requests.
I opened the box to reveal the state-of-the-art new model goalie skates from Bowerman that I’d been curious about. “Tens, they’re beautiful. Thank you.”
My heart filled up. They were even my size. I didn’t ask how he knew–he was observant like that.
“Try them out?” he offered.
“I might as well break them in. Thank you.” My throat swelled at the gesture.
