Page 53 of The Cutting Edge
COCO:
I can’t tell you that! It’s a secret. But I think you’ll like it.
ME:
The suspense is killing me.
I’m sitting in front of my locker lacing up my skates – and suddenly I’m grinning like an idiot.
“Is the ice skater still freezing you out?” asks Cam, as he plops down next to me and starts taping up his stick.
“You mean, Coco,the Olympicfigure skater?”
“I dunno,” Cam teases me playfully, “are you completely fucking obsessed with someotherice skater?
“No, mutherfucker,” I say to my best friend, unable to stop smiling even if I tried. “It’s just the one.”
“You’ve got it bad, man,” he says. “I’ve never seen you so hung up before. She got any figure skating friends? Those girls are bendy.”
“Don’t be a jackass, that might be the future Mrs. Rivers for all you know.”
“Has she met your dog yet? Because I wouldn’t go around making those types of declarations before she’s even met Rufus. She may take one look at that grumpy, Frankenstein-sized beast and run screaming in the other direction.”
“Not yet, she’s still in the hospital. Rufus is a sweetheart, everybody loves Rufus. He’s just extremely selective about who he hangs around with. And I only know two of her friends – one of them, Ms. Markam, is like eighty. But I can’t speak to her specific level of bendiness.”
“I don’t like to discriminate, “ he says, “but that might be reaching the upper limits, even for me.”
“You’re very democratic for a man tramp,” I say.
“You know me,” says Cam, “always giving back to the people.”
Chapter twenty-two
Logan
Iheadtothehospital after practice, nerves twisting in my stomach. Not about the game—about seeing Coco again.
My heart races as I walk down the sterile white hallway of the hospital, clutching a bouquet of hydrangeas.
I can’t imagine what Coco has for me. My stomach ripples at the thought of seeing her again, the memory of her soft lips and the taste of her mouth fresh in my mind.
I knock gently on the door of her hospital room, poking my head in. “Coco?”
When I step over the threshold, she looks up from her book, her face lighting up. “Hey, you.”
“Hi.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling my nerves, like before a big game. “How are you feeling?”
“Practically good as new.” She pats the bed beside her. “Come sit.”
I ease onto the mattress, careful not to jostle her.
“Thanks,” I grin, holding up the hydrangeas. “These are for you.”
“Oh, thank you, they’re gorgeous!” she smiles, the dimple in her left cheek deepening. My heart does a little flip-flop as I watch her fuss with the flowers, rearranging them in the vase by her bedside. She’s wearing a pale blue hospital gown, which sets off her creamy skin and green eyes – and there's more color in her cheeks than the last time I saw her. I have a weird sense that something is different, though, and I can't quite place my finger on what it is.
“The doctor says I will probably be released tomorrow.”
“Really? That's great news, Coco."
