Page 92 of Ice Ice Maybe
I looked forward to her hopefully telling me that again after dinner. Especially after Dad finished grilling her.
Zena wandered around the living room, glancing at the mocha leather loveseat and matching couch, her eyes landing on a framed photo on the mantle of me as a kid in a hockey uniform.
“Is that you?” she asked.
I nodded.
“You were the cutest,” Zena said, picking up the frame. “How old were you? You look too young to be playing hockey.”
“I was five in that photo, but I started playing hockey when I was three,” I replied. “That was taken in Milwaukee.” Then, for some reason, I added, “Fifteen years before the accident.”
Zena’s smile softened as she set the photo down, her eyes flicking to my leg. “I have been a little curious about the details of what happened to you, but didn’t want to pry, in case it was a sensitive subject.”
I nodded. “I can talk about it now, no problem at all. Back then, it wasn’t easy because it was the end of my dreams.”
“It was a skiing accident, right?” she asked.
I took a deep breath, the memories flooding back. “Yeah, in Sun Valley, Idaho. I was twenty, feeling invincible, you know?”
Zena nodded, her eyes encouraging me to continue.
“We were on a black diamond run. I’d done it a dozen times before, but this time …” I shook my head. “This teenager came out of nowhere, cut right in front of me. I swerved to avoid him and lost control.”
Zena tensed, like she was anticipating what came next.
“I went flying off the trail and straight into a tree. The impact shattered my knee, tore my ACL, MCL, and gave me a tibial plateau fracture. It was a mess. It took three surgeries and a year of rehabilitation to get it to where I could walk without pain.” I absently rubbed my knee, feeling the old familiar ache. “After that, the doctors said my knee couldn’t handle the wear and tear of pro-level play. It was too big a risk.”
Zena reached out, her hand gently squeezing mine. “That must have been devastating.”
I nodded. “It took a lot of time and more than a few therapy sessions to accept it. Whenever someone glanced at my limp, I felt like a failure.”
“And now?” she asked softly.
I smiled, surprising myself with how genuine it felt. “Now, I’ve found my place. The ice is still home, just differently. I still skate, when I give hockey lessons to kids over at UTC Ice Sports Center. And honestly? I wouldn’t change a thing. Especially because it led me to you.”
Zena’s eyes shone with understanding and admiration as she kissed me on the cheek. It was a look that made me feel ten feet tall, limp and all.
“It takes a strong person to walk away from something they love that much,” she said. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
Mario Le Meow chose that moment to lighten the mood by rubbing against Zena’s leg and meowing.
“He really likes you,” I said.
She scooped him up again and smiled as she scratched him under his chin. “I like him, too. And I can’t believe I finally met someone cuter than you.”
I smirked. “Yeah, but I don’t shed.”
We shared a laugh, and I cherished the intimate moment with Zena.
Mom’s voice bellowed from the kitchen. “Time to eat!”
“Warning—my parents can be very direct and equally loud,” I said.
Zena smiled. “Nothing wrong with that. I’ll always know where I stand with them.”
We walked side-by-side toward the interesting smell and came to an abrupt halt in front of the kitchen table. My eyes widened at the sight of the enormous platter dominating the center, piled high with what looked like a lab experiment gone horribly wrong.
“This looks so unique!” Zena said, her enthusiasm clearly overdone as she pointed at whatever it was. “Wow!”
