Page 23 of The Overtime Kiss

He shrugs. “Not the Olympics though. And trials don’t get you sponsorships, do they?”

“It was six years ago,” I point out. “I was in college. At least I finished college.”

“Which you delayed finishing by taking a year off,” Dad says, hitting where it hurts. It was hardly a year to fuck off. It was a year to get better.Off the ice. But he never saw it that way.

“I hope your accounting degree is working out nicely for you,” he continues. “Perhaps we should’ve given you more opportunities to be in the Olympics. But then again, you’ve never been good at finishing things, have you? Do you even have the final accounting report for the last quarter you worked for me?”

Of course I do. I emailed it to him, but if he can’t find it, I don’t care.

I don’t think about how my heart’s caving in. I think of my therapist, Elena, and what she’s taught me about standing up to my father when he lashes out. It’s okay to walk away. It’s okay not to answer him.

“Thank you for the boxes. I hope you have a great day,” I lie calmly. I hope he has a shit-tastic day, but I won’t let on.

Because part of standing up is walking away. And I just keep going.

That night, I fight the urge to spiral. When I was a teenager, I used to log the time I spent training. Now, if I’m not careful, I’ll find myself listing, to the minute, the time I spend answering emails, shooting skating tutorials, and researching jobs. I call my friends, instead. Better to give attention to the people I care about, than obsess over whether I’m spending my time correctly.

Isla and Leighton meet me the next day for an escape room adventure. We work together to crack the code and bust free from a speakeasy with “one hundred thousand dollars” in fictional cash. We make it out in fifty-five minutes and feel like badasses.

August slinks in and out like a lazy cat while I fill my days with friends and odd jobs. Soon it’s late summer, and whispers of autumn bring the promise of change.

The hockey teams start posting pre-season schedules. I submit my résumé for the ice crews and double down on my social media campaign, shooting and sharing skating videos and short tutorials. Leighton, ever the supportive friend, helps me optimize everything. Parents start emailing about group lessons, and a few even ask about private sessions.

It’s been three months since I nearly walked down the aisle and said “I do” to a cheater. But I didn’t. I said, “I don’t,” and I stood up for myself.

“Starting over isn’t supposed to be easy,” Isla tells me thoughtfully as she and Leighton take me out for dinner atHappy Cow, one of my favorite vegetarian restaurants in the city.

“Maybe that’s not easy, but cake is,” Leighton adds, cuing up the arrival of the waiter with a surprise: a three-month anniversary cake.

“You didn’t,” I protest, beaming, and secretly glad they did.

“Three months since the day you left your old life behind,” Isla says, and I hug them both, feeling…healed.

On top of that, school is mercifully back in session, and with the new term comes a rush of extracurricular sign-ups. My inbox overflows with inquiries about skating classes in September, and for the first time in months, I feel a spark of hope.

Not just hope. Pride. I made it through the summer without falling apart.

No thanks to Mom, Dad, or Chad.

On a Friday in late September, I’m getting ready for a lesson with Luna when a text pops up.

Tyler: We’re on the road for a pre-season game, but my mom will bring Luna and Rowan’s daughter, Mia, too. That okay?

Sabrina: The more, the merrier!

I’d expected him to say Agatha would bring them. She usually does.

Sabrina: How’s Agatha? Is she visiting her family in Los Angeles?

Tyler: She quit.

I stare at the screen, caught off guard. Agatha was as much a fixture in their lives as Luna’s ponytails and Tyler’s crooked grins. I can’t imagine her walking away from them.

But, as this summer taught me, nothing stays the same forever.

7

GO FOR IT

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