Page 73 of Rookie Season
The drive to the rink—which is apparently the Lions’ practice facility that Noah scored the keys to today thanks to his brother-in-law—is a world away from the last time we were in his car together. That night, the air between us was tense. This morning, we talk easily, the radio playing a background soundtrack to our conversation as Noah tells me about first meeting Penn his freshman year of college by accidentally walking in on Penn and his girlfriend at the time. In turn, I tell him about how my little brother Jamie pantsed his teacher on his first day of kindergarten and got sent to the principal’s office—a new school record for how quickly a student ended up there, apparently.
We’re both laughing by the time we pull up at the rink, a warm feeling fizzing in my stomach from just spending time in Noah’s presence and getting to know him better.
But my sparkles fizzle out once we get inside and lace up our skates. Then, as we approach the pristine sheet of ice inside, my stomach plummets. “I’m going to suck at this,” I mutter.
His smile takes on a teasing quality as he kneels in front of me to help me with my skates. “You’re more competitive than you let on, aren’t you?”
“I don’t like being bad at things,” I admit as he rests a hand on the small of my back, nudging me gently into the ice. “I’m sure I’ll look like newborn Bambi out there.”
“You’ll be fine,” he assures.
Spoiler alert: I amnotfine.
I step out on the ice, take a tentative glide forward, and immediately start windmilling my arms as I try not to topple over. Noah’s behind me in an instant, fluidly skating up behind me and putting his hands on my waist to steady me. Which definitely helps take the edge off how much I suck.
“Like this,” he murmurs, his warm breath tickling my ear as he uses the hands he still has firmly planted on top of my hips to make me move, him gliding along behind me, holding me in place as we begin to make our way around the ice together.
After a few laps, I feel slightly more confident in my balance, and Noah moves from behind me, taking my hand so we can skate—slowly—side by side.
“Not bad, Callahan.” He gives me another taunting, teasing smile that I could really get used to. “And by that, I mean I’ve seen worse.”
“Such high praise from the fancy pants pro.” I grin. “You’ve probably been on skates since you could walk, I’m guessing?”
A wistful look passes over Noah’s handsome features. “My dad taught me when I was really young.”
“You must miss your mom and dad,” I say softly, and he smiles at me, eyes sad.
“I do.”
“Tell me about them. Your parents,” I say, my intonation more like a question than a statement. Another shadow crosses his face, and for a moment, I feel like I’ve misstepped and I backtrack. “If you want to, that is. You totally don’t have to, I didn’t mean…” I trail off as he shakes his head.
He hesitates for a moment before he says, “It can be hard to talk about them because I don’t want to bum anyone out or make them think I’m a victim or something. Sometimes when I tell people about it, I feel like I have the wordorphanwritten across my forehead and they give me those sad eyes that make me cringe.”
I nod. “People creating a narrative for you when they don’t even know you. Or even when theydoknow you—or at least, you think they do.”
“Exactly,” he says quietly. “It’s funny, I know a lot of people. Teammates, college friends, friends from back home. But not one of them makes me feel as seen for who I really am as you do.”
I swallow, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “I see you, Noah.”
“I know,” he replies. “And as for my parents, they were amazing. The best. And I…I just want to make their memory proud. My dad would have been so proud that I made the NHL—it was a dream we shared. Right after my parents passed away, I had a thought that it might be easier to throw in the towel, quit skating to stop the memories from stinging sobad. But I knew, deep down, I had to do the opposite—push myself, prove myself, go all in on what I loved doing. Because that’s what they would have wanted for me.”
“That’s amazing, Noah.”
He comes to a sudden stop, spraying ice on the edge of his skate blade as he captures both of my hands and spins me around to face him. “And for the record, I’m not telling you what to do…but I’ll tell you what I think. And I think you should do the same.”
“Do what?” I ask, looking up at his coffee eyes.
Noah sets his jaw, one of his hands moving to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear as he looks me in the eye and says, “Keep dancing. Like, not just teaching dance but dancing for real. Don’t let that asshole take what you love away from you.”
His words hit me square in the chest, a bullet reaching its target.
Because he’s right.
When the unthinkable happened to Noah, he didn’t give up. Instead, he let his pain make him stronger. And now he’s in the NHL.
When my mom got pregnant and was terrified, she didn’t give up, either. Instead, she committed herself to being the best mother in the universe—and ended up happily married to the best man possible, with two kids who adore her.
Until now, I’ve been running and hiding. Making do with a consolation path for my future because of someone who doesn’t deserve to have had any hand in shaping my life’s direction. I need to make my own way. Run towards my own goals, instead of letting my past haunt me and hold me back.
