Page 24 of Icing the Cougar
I laugh. "Either. Both."
He takes a long swig, then runs his tongue over his teeth, considering. "It’s fucking hard. Harder than hockey, honestly." His eyes flick up to me. "I thought I’d be better at it."
"You’re too used to brute force. Sometimes you gotta surrender a little," I say.
"Surrender’s not really my thing," he admits, and I see something guarded in his eyes.
The sun shifts, spilling light right in his face, and I reach up to tilt the blinds. My arm brushes his bicep, and he jerks like I shocked him. "Sorry."
He shakes his head with a small smile. Then he lets out a sigh so deep it seems to pull the tension out of the whole room.
"Can I tell you something?" he says, suddenly staring at the floor.
"Of course." Although, I’m not sure what I’m agreeing to.
He looks at the blinds, at the water bottle, anywhere but me. "You ever get the feeling you’re not supposed to be here? Like, anywhere?" He pauses, fidgeting with the cap. "My dad’s in prison. For as long as I can remember. My mom bailed when I was five. I bounced around, never stuck, got into fights, trouble, the usual."
I don’t move. I’m afraid if I do, he’ll stop.
"Spent two years in juvie," he says, almost casual. "Wasn’t for anything special, just dumb kid shit and a bad attitude." He shrugs. "I guess it just stuck."
He finally looks at me, and his face is wide open. No armor, no sarcasm, just raw. "There was this couple. Canadians. Came to visit the center, did these ice-skating clinics for the kids nobody wanted. They taught me how to skate. I hated them for it at first. But then…"
He trails off, twisting the bottle in his hands.
"But then it was the only thing I was good at. The only time I didn’t feel like a total fuckup."
I don’t know what to say. My chest hurts for him, and I want to move closer, but I stay perfectly still.
"They sponsored me to come down here. To go to Fairfax University. Paid my tuition, let me stay at their house over the summers. I never told anyone, because—"
He shakes his head, mouth twisting into something bitter.
"Because everyone already thinks they know who I am," he finishes.
The fan in the corner whirs to life as I reach for the remote, trying to do something, anything with my hands.
He takes another swig, then leans forward, elbows on his knees, and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand.
"I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me," he says. "I just… I don’t know. You asked if I was okay. I’m not really sure."
I set my towel aside and tuck my legs under me, watching with my whole body attuned to him. "Jasper," I say, but his name sounds weird on my tongue after everything he just said.
He looks up, waiting.
"I get it," I say. "Maybe not all of it, but enough. You’re not the only person who’s ever felt like they didn’t belong anywhere."
His mouth twitches, into an almost smile.
I can’t help myself. I reach out to touch his shoulder and feel a tremor run through him. He doesn’t pull away. His head drops until our foreheads are almost touching.
We stay like that, silent, while the fan stirs the dust in the air.
"I don’t really know what I’m doing," he admits. "With you, with this… any of it."
"Me neither," I agree.
It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said.
