Page 20 of Goalies Don't Date Ice Princesses

“I swear, Bri, you always find a way to keep things interesting,” she said between fits of giggles. “What did Mr. Jamison say when you woke up?”

I couldn’t help but join in her amusement, the tension melting away as we shared this lighthearted moment. “He was surprisingly understanding,” I replied, my voice carrying a hint of relief.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Adelynn said, clicking her pen a couple of times. Her eyes were glinting with mischief. “I have news for you.”

“News?” I asked, intrigued.

“You know how we were wondering what was going on with his dating life?” Adelynn asked. I nodded slowly, wondering where exactly this was going. “Well... it turns out he’s dating my mom.”

I stared at Adelynn in disbelief, my mouth hanging open. “Wait, what?” I finally managed to stutter out. “Mr. Jamison is dating your mom? Are you serious?”

Adelynn nodded, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. “Completely serious,” she confirmed. “They’ve been seeing each other for months now, I think. I’ll tell you all about how I found out later, but—can you believe it?”

My mind whirled with this unexpected revelation. As my mind raced to process this information, I couldn’t help but wonder how Adelynn felt about it. Her usual laughter and mischievous charm had momentarily subsided, leaving behind a contemplative expression on her face. The loss of her father a few years ago had left a void in her heart, and I knew that navigating her mother’s new relationship must be at least a little hard for her.

“Adelynn,” I said softly, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently. “How do you feel about this? After... well, after your dad and everything.”

Adelynn’s gaze dropped to our intertwined hands, her fingers fidgeting with the worn fabric of her skirt. “Honestly, Bri, when I first found out, I struggled with the news,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was like a whirlwind of emotions crashed into me all at once. Confusion, anger, and even a tinge of betrayal.”

Losing a parent was excruciating enough, and now the prospect of her mother moving forward with someone else had reopened old wounds. I squeezed her hand tighter, silently assuring her that I was there for her.

“But,” Adelynn continued after a moment, lifting her gaze to meet mine, “I’ve been processing it better now. It took some time to come to terms with the idea that my mom could be happy again. And deep down, I know my dad would want that for her. Mr. Jamison knew my dad, you know. They went to school together for a year and all three of them were friends.”

“You’ve been holding out on me,” I said. I stretched out on her bed and put my hands behind my head. “Go on. Tell me everything.”

thirteen

“One,two, three, four, I declare a thumb war…” Archer’s grip on my hand tightened, and he bit his lip in concentration as our thumbs started to wrestle.

The person who always let him onto the ice at night—who I’d found out was a recent Westwood graduate who worked the night shift cleaning the arena to pay his way to college—was running late tonight and we hadn’t found out until we got here. So we were sitting in the hallway outside the rink, fully dressed down to our skates, just waiting for him to show up.

The strangest part was that while I knew I should be annoyed—that I came out here to skate, not to thumb wrestle with a hockey player—I didn’t mind at all.

In fact, there was something oddly comforting and nostalgic about sitting in that dimly lit hallway with him. I felt like I was a kid again, trying to make the time before I could get on the ice pass quicker by playing stupid games with my friends. Sometimes it felt like that was the last time I felt true excitement about my sport.

As Archer’s thumb pressed against mine, a gentle smile played on his lips. I couldn’t help but smile back at him, feeling a warmth spread through my chest, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing as me. I took a deep breath, allowing the familiar scent of cold air to fill my senses, and imagined the sound of blades slicing through the ice, music playing through the arena, and parents cheering us on from the stands.

Figure skating didn’t feel like that to me anymore—except when I came out here at night and skated with Archer. These days transported me back to those carefree days when skating was everything. From dawn till dusk, I would find some way to be on my skates, whether it was on the at my lessons or in cramped arenas. I always knew I wanted to be a figure skater—had always been chasing that dream that seemed so close, yet so far away—but I never for a moment considered the level of sacrifice it would take to get there.

“Do you ever miss it?” I asked Archer. His thumb paused in its attack and he stared at me, confusion written all over his face. I flushed red as I remembered that everything I’d been thinking was in my head and he had no idea what I was talking about.

“Do you ever miss being a kid?” I asked. The confusion on his face deepened, so I pressed forward, because it was understandable that he wouldn’t understand what exactly I meant by that. “I mean, skating when you were a kid. Do you ever...” I paused, wondering how to say this in a way that wouldn’t make me sound like I hated skating now. Because I was ready to saydo you ever miss when skating was fun, but that made it sound like it wasn’t fun now. And I didn’t want him to think that. I snuck out of my room about five nights a week to go skating with him, after all. “It was just different back then, don’t you think? I don’t know, I sound stupid?—”

“I miss it.” His voice was deeper than usual and if I didn’t know better, I would think it was from emotion. “And it’s not stupid. It was different. Is different. I just didn’t know anyone else felt the same.”

I paused for a long moment, letting his words run through my mind. Then I let out a small sigh and figured if he felt the same way, then maybe I could share.

“You know those banners in the front hall?” I asked. “The ones of all the famous figure skaters?”

Archer nodded. Even if he wasn’t a figure skater himself, he had to know them. They were a little hard to miss, just like how I always noticed the mural of a hockey team further down the hallway.

“Every time I pass them, I wonder if they ever felt like quitting,” I admitted. “I look up at them and wish I could talk to them because I want to know if how I’m feeling is a phase everyone goes through. Because I really don’t know. I feel like… maybe I’m the only one who questions it. And maybe I don’t deserve to be on the team if I am.”

I could remember the way skating used to be for me. The exhilaration of gliding across the ice. The sheer joy of landing that jump I’d been practicing for ages. The way I couldn’t stop myself from smiling because I loved it so much.

But as time passed and the demands of competitive figure skating grew, something changed within me. It wasn’t just about the love of the sport anymore; it became a constant battle between my passion and the pressure to succeed.

I watched as Archer’s eyes softened, his expression filled with understanding. I wondered if he knew exactly what I was going through, even if he had chosen a different path. His thumb resumed its gentle caress against mine, providing a comforting reassurance that I wasn’t alone in this struggle.

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