Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Stopping before me, she tips her head back, concern etched on her face. “How do you feel?”
I imagine some men with huge egos might find that question offensive, but I don’t. Not from Sophie, anyway.
“I feel good. Stable.”
Her smile is one of relief. “Shall we give it a spin, then?”
She holds out her arm, elbow cocked in a silent invitation to loop mine through hers. I don’t hesitate, and we carefully walk to the rink edge. The wooden perimeter wall is waist high to me and has gates on either side of the oblong-shaped ice. Because it’s a Sunday, there are quite a few people out here, but the space is still big enough not to feel crowded.
I open the gate and let Sophie step through first. She’s definitely wobbly, arms out for balance.
Taking a breath, I step through and pull the gate closed behind me. My confidence is in peril, but I don’t delay the inevitable. I take a gliding step past Sophie, and I’m stunned that I feel completely balanced and secure. Granted, the skates don’t provide the support I’m used to, but they give enough to have a meandering skate around the rink.
I take three more gliding steps, my confidence increasing. I move in a circle around Sophie as she watches me, eyes sparkling with delight.
And immediately, my heart bottoms into the pit of my stomach.
I’m skating. I feel strong.
Goddamn it… did I give up my shot to get back on the team? Did I give up my dream of playing hockey too soon?
The thought is too horrifying to contemplate, so I try to push it out of my mind. A few feet of solid skating does not a professional goalie make.
“What’s wrong?” Sophie asks as I skate back to her.
I come to a smooth stop. “Nothing. Why?”
“I saw it on your face.” Her green eyes lock onto mine. “What’s wrong?”
Glancing across the rink, I watch the skaters for a moment. When I turn back to her, I admit my terrible thoughts. “I’m strong on the skates.”
Sophie tips her head. “Did you think you wouldn’t be?”
“I don’t know what I thought it would be like,” I admit. “But I thought I’d put my goalie career behind me.”
Understanding seems to dawn, and she nods. “You’re wondering if you made a mistake.”
“Did I?” I ask bitterly. Because being a goalie was everything. I didn’t want to be a coach, and I might have just fucked myself by making this decision.
“Does being able to skate here today—even if strong and steady—really mean your shot at a return to professional play would’ve been better?”
That gives me pause, and I’m forced to look deeper. “I don’t think it means that at all. A lot more to being a goalie than skating around a frozen pond.”
“I think,” she says tentatively, perhaps afraid to give me unsound advice, “that neither being a coach nor a goalie was a perfect choice for you. You could only go with the one that was the best bet. So putting aside that you look pretty damn good on skates, is the path of being a coach still the best bet?”
The truth might be hard to swallow, but I have no choice other than to nod.
“It’s okay to second-guess, Baden.” She smiles at me in understanding. “This probably won’t be the last time it happens.”
“I suppose it won’t,” I murmur, noting that I do feel lighter after talking it out with her. I don’t have that pressing feeling that I made a bad choice. It was probably self-doubt triggered by putting on skates again with relative ease.
“Want to skate?” she asks.
“I most certainly do,” I reply and then sweep my hand outward. “Let’s see what you got.”
Sophie takes a few hesitant strokes of blade on ice and looks like she’s going to fall. My abandoned hockey career forgotten, I skate over and clamp on to her upper arm, and she immediately steadies.
“Thanks,” she mutters, wobbling even with my support.
“I got you,” I reply, and we silently move around the rink. Sophie doesn’t so much as skate as let me guide her around, keeping her skates planted and her eyes pinned to the ice. She looks like a deer in the headlights, and I wonder if she ever had fun doing this.
“Let’s do this.” Before she can guess my intention, I smoothly flip around to face her, taking both of her hands in mine. I look over my shoulder, see no one is behind me, and I lead her once around the rink with me skating backward.
Her hands have mine in death grips, and I have to coax her to relax a little.
“Look up at me,” I instruct. She complies, locking eyes with mine. “I’m not going to let you fall.”
Younger, more confident skaters whiz by us, and if they come too close, Sophie gets more unsteady. I’m pleasantly surprised, though, that I’m strong enough to support us both, and after another slow trip around the rink, she loosens up to where she actually laughs in delight when I go a little faster.