Page 85 of ICED
They make a slow loop around the rink, her tiny mittened hand gripping his. Every time she stumbles, he’s there.Lifting her, steadying her, whispering something that makes her giggle. I can’t hear the words, but I feel them.
Love.
It’s stitched into every move he makes.
After a while, Owen crouches low in front of her.
“Wanna try skating to me all by yourself?”
Lila gasps. “Like... without holding?”
He nods, spreading his arms. “Just a few feet. I’ve got you.”
She hesitates. Looks down at her feet. Then up at him again. “Okay. I’m brave.”
She pushes off, legs wobbling, arms flailing like windmills. I hold my breath.
She makes it three feet before toppling straight into his arms with a squeal.
“I did it!” she shouts, even as he catches her with a laugh.
“You did, Jellybean. You nailed it.”
He lifts her up and spins her gently in a circle, her laughter echoing through the cold air. I blink fast, pressing the lid of my coffee cup a little too tight.
This man, this giant, tattooed hockey player who growls on the ice and body-checks for a living, is out here teaching my daughter how to stand tall and get back up. No ego. No impatience. Just unwavering gentleness.
They skate for nearly an hour. Owen shows her how to turn without falling. How to glide with one foot. At one point, he lets her ride on his feet while he skates backwards, holding her securely as she squeals in delight.
And then they fall.
It’s a slow-motion, dramatic tumble. Lila giggles the whole way down, Owen groaning theatrically as he lands in a heap, arms wrapped around her to cushion the fall.
I rush to the edge of the rink.
“You okay?”
“We’re good!” he calls, still lying on his back, Lila curled on his chest. “We’re making snow angels!”
“There’s no snow, silly Bear!” she says, climbing off him and flopping onto her back, moving her arms and legs anyway.
My lips tug into a smile I can’t stop.
Afterwards, they come back to the bench, Lila flushed and grinning, Owen pink-cheeked and glowing with warmth. He helps her off with her skates and swaps them for her fuzzy boots, then brushes a strand of hair back from her flushed face.
“Proud of you,” he murmurs.
She throws her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek.
“Love you, Bear.”
He hugs her tightly, eyes meeting mine over her shoulder. And something in that look, something soft and a little stunned, makes my breath catch.
He mouths;I love her too.I can’t speak. Because I believe him.
Because I think I might be falling for him faster than I ever thought possible.
And because watching him with my daughter makes me feel safer than I’ve ever felt in my life.
