Page 34 of Lochlan

“Bend your knees slightly and make small motions until you feel comfortable.” She gives me a tentative smile and I realize this is fun. She picks up the motion quickly, so I release her. I'm only two steps away from her, watching. She's fascinated with her feet, as most beginners are. When Kenzie glances up, she loses her balance and lands on her arse, giggling. I shake my head at the spectacle she's making of herself. That confidence must come from playing in front of an audience.

“You did well for your first time,” I say, extending my hand.

“Liar,” she says and clasps my hand to help her up. Back on her feet, she waits for me to continue her lesson.

“Skate beside me,” I say, moving my arm around her waist. “Mimic my movements.” Progress is slow, but we manage to make it around the circle, avoiding children and more experienced skaters. I'm inclined to make another turn around the circle just to hold her next to me when she slows.

“Help me to the railing,” she says. “I'd like to stop for a few minutes. Why don't you take a turn around the rink alone? I'd like to watch you skate.”

Kenzie holds onto the railing, waving for me to leave her. If I'd been a normal man with her, I think I could enjoy this. I'm not, but I try because she's making an effort. Turning towards the families and couples that crowd the rink, I try to feel something of the season. I skate to feel the brief freedom even among these people, in a country that after three years I still feel alienated in. I’m wondering if it's worth it to fight for what Geordie and I have built. Maybe happiness won't come until I finish what I set out to accomplish or destroy the thing that keeps me here.

CHAPTER15

SWIZZLE TWIZZLE

KENZIE

Lochlan is a tall, well-built man who's a head above many in the crowd. He glides among the holiday skaters, a black and gray figure who stands out against the reds, greens, and even pinks of the season. He’s got coal-black hair brushed back under a wool cap and startling blue eyes. It's not surprising that many are watching him as he makes his way around the ice. The light stubble along his set jaw says sexy, brooding, even tormented. Tonight, with his teasing cousin Geordie, who's a happier contrast to Lochlan, that rough exterior appeared to soften. When he told me about the parents he never knew and growing up with his brother and Geordie, I realize that behind that distrust might be sadness.

He makes another pass around the rink, looking no happier than when I arrived at his room. My efforts to put a smile on Lochlan's face have failed. He might be too lost for me to reach.

He stops in front of me, causing a dramatic ice spray from his blades that covers my skates. “Was that enough to demonstrate my skating prowess to impress you?” He says, trying to force something close to a smile.

“You're pretty impressive on the ice. How did it feel?”

He looks to the rink again, considering. “It was different; no one pissed me off. Sometimes your American saying sums up a situation nicely.”

“What would you like to do now? I can get tickets to a hockey game, if you'd like to view some violence on ice?”

That doesn't get a smile either. “Ah no, can we find somewhere quiet for dinner and a drink?”

A man who wants to pass on watching grown men battle on ice for something sedate is different. If he wants quiet and intimate, I can do that too. “You're in luck; we're in walking distance to one of my favorite cafes.”

The cafe is small and quiet enough for conversation. He seems pleased with the restaurant as we pull off our jackets, and there's a moment when I think he's going to help me with mine when the waiter appears, placing menus on the table.

“I'll just take your coats. How's Pru?” the waiter asks.

“She's fine, visiting her family for the holidays.”

“Tell her I... we miss her. It's been a while since she's been here.”

“I'm sure we'll be in after the new year. Pru says she can't live without your pasta.”

“Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?”

Lochlan asks him to recite the beers they have on tap, then selects something European I've never heard of. I feel adventurous, so I ask for the same.

“Getting back to the presentation,” I say, “Maybe there's a story from your childhood that demonstrates fortitude?”

He studies me for an instant as if he's trying to understand what I'm asking of him, then he glances away to think.

“Granda was keen on tests. He says they were character-building exercises to determine how clever or resourceful you could be. He explained it was for him to understand my character, but also to understand myself.”

“Were these character-building tests just for you?”

“Harris and Geordie had to endure his trials as well. Even though it might seem harsh to some, Granda and his sons came from a hunting culture. In the past, it was necessary to be skilled in the use of guns and how to hunt. It was something that was passed from father to son. My granda is a skilled hunter and taught us.”

“Like a fox hunt with dogs? I thought they banned that sport in the UK.”

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