Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
“Ooh! Save me some, please.” Erica tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and flashed a friendly smile at Riley, but zeroed in on me. “I’ve never seen you in here, JC.”
“This is my first time.”
“You don’t know how to skate?” she asked, looking vaguely alarmed.
“I do. It’s just been a while,” I replied. “I hope it’s like riding a bike, eh?”
She chuckled. “If not, I think you’ll be in good hands with the pro.”
“This guy?” I hiked a thumb at Riley and widened my eyes dubiously. “We shall see.”
Riley huffed and elbowed me out of the way. “Did Vinnie mention I’d be by today?”
“Yes. They have an away game in Pinecrest and the girls’ team doesn’t practice till four o’clock, so you have the place to yourself for an hour. The lights are low now, but if you need them dimmed any more, let me know. I’ll open the door for you.” She jingled a set of keys and skipped down the corridor. “Our new locks are awesome. You can leave whenever you’re ready, but no one can get in.”
We thanked her for escorting us and promised to be gone within the hour; then we strapped on our skates and glided onto the ice.
I hadn’t been kidding. It had been years since I’d been in a rink. At least eight. Strange to think that my life used to revolve around hockey. The smell of artificial ice gave me a wicked case of déjà vu. I pushed aside old memories and followed Riley’s lead albeit at a much slower pace.
He skated like the pro he was, crossing one foot over the other, pivoting with ease, and leaning into each turn. I didn’t have anything to prove out here, so there was no point in trying to keep up. I’d offered to feed him pucks and run a few passing drills…or do whatever I could do to simulate his ice time with Vinnie.
Over the past week, they’d incorporated actual skating into their daily workouts. The low lighting didn’t bother his eyes, and just circling the rink like a tourist at Rockefeller Center had invigorated him on their first few outings, but now…he was ready to play. Riley hadn’t been cleared for vigorous training, so he’d stuck with passing drills with Vinnie and Nolan, a few of the teenagers on the Elmwood Eagles junior squad—and now me.
I wasn’t so sure I’d make a worthy substitute, but I’d felt a strong urge to step up and…try to help out somehow. I was older, slower, and out of shape in more ways than I wanted to admit, yet I could certainly pass a damn puck or two to him. It would give me a chance to see Riley in his happy place and to be part of it for a short time.
If that meant dusting off my old boots and leaning on my stick like an old man shuffling around on a cane, I’d do it.
Good news: I was still fairly quick on the ice.
Bad news…I couldn’t deliver an accurate pass to save my life. It was embarrassing. Thankfully, Riley didn’t seem to mind chasing down errant pucks. He twisted and turned, deking out phantom opponents as he charged the goal, shooting rockets to the back of the net at will.
Of course, there was no one there to stop him. I was too slow to adjust from offense to defense. By the time it occurred to me that he might want me to make him work for a goal, his arms were in the air as he skated away, ready for my next wild pass.
His growing confidence had shaken off cobwebs. I could tell he had a true sense that he was healing and that he was anxious to prove himself at the highest level of play. I wanted that for him. I was grateful to have a front-row seat on the road to his recovery, knowing he’d certainly be gone by the holidays. If so, I wanted to be with him every moment possible.
I yanked off the pullover I’d sweated through after two measly laps, tossed it somewhere near the benches, and renewed my efforts to not be a terrible substitute for Vinnie and Nolan.
I slung a puck his way, then chased after it, dropping into defense. Riley’s eyes lit with mischief as he circled me like a cat toying with a silly mouse. By some miracle, I managed to poke it away from him. My win was short-lived. He got it back with very little effort and sailed across the ice with a quick glance over his shoulder, inviting me to chase him.
So I did. I almost coughed up a lung, but I was able to get in front of the net and make him work for his next goal.
Okay, fine. I wouldn’t have made it to the other goal unless he’d rolled out a red carpet and waited for me, but he was willing to pretend I was good competition. Why would I argue? My ego was happy and he was smiling and…that second thing was all that seemed important. That unfettered, easy grin made my heart skitter and my pulse race.