Page 71 of A World Without You
“With my parents,” he answers. “She spends most Friday nights over there.”
“Oh, that’s nice they give you a bit of a break,” I comment. I know Bennett isn’t just Josie’s default parent. He’s also her stability. Her every day. Her morning and night. Her breakfast pancakes and her goodnight kisses. He’s her everything. “I’m really proud of you. You’re an amazing dad.”
He stands on his skates and adjusts his dark denim jeans, and his mouth quirks into an almost smile. “Okay.”
“You mean thank you.” I try to glare at him.
“No, I mean, okay. I’m the world’s okayest dad.”
“Shut up. You’re amazing!”
He waves me off as we hobble to the entrance to the rink.
“Seriously. You’re so good to her. She’s five, and she knows the perfect water-to-pancake mix ratio.”
He almost chuckles. “That doesn’t make me a good dad.”
“No, but it shows me you’re teaching her independence and responsibility. And you let her choose those hideous Christmas lights with the janky speaker, so I know you’re also allowing her some creative freedom to be herself,” I half-tease, but I’m serious.
He flashes me a quick glance, his lips barely parting to admit his gratitude or make a snarky remark. He doesn’t get the chance to, though, because I put one skate on the ice, and it would seem the entire world was pulled from under me. I fly back, reaching for the sleeve of his coat, missing entirely and landing straight on my ass with a thud that shoots up my spine and rattles my brain.
“Ohfucshiiiugh.” The noise that escapes my mouth is a garbled mess of consonants and expletives.
Bennett is stunned for a moment before he cracks up laughing. He’s keeled over, wheezing with silent laughter, barely staying upright on his own skates.
“Shit, that hurt,” I moan as I attempt to sit up. The ice melts through my jeans, and I wonder if I’m going to die of humiliation or a frostbitten ass.
“There are children present, Liv. Watch your mouth,” he chides, and I glare at him for a second before exploding with laughter.
I try to pull myself up using the side of the rink, but I can’t find my footing and end up looking like I’m running in place like a cartoon that’s off to the races. It doesn’t help that I can’t stop laughing. It helps even less that Bennett is too busy laughing to help me.
“Oh my gosh, I remember this being so much easier,” I exclaim, barely breathing through my laughter. “Oh, I think I just pulled my groin.”
Bennett glides next to me, doing his best to settle his laughter. It would seem his attempts are unsuccessful. “Remember how you begged me at five o’clock in the morning to take you ice skating?”
I glare at him. “I’m offended that I can rarely get you to crack a smile, let alone laugh, and yet you’re in hysterics over my misery.”
“The misery you asked for,” he reasons, steadying me with his hands on my waist. “You good now?” he asks as my feet finally still. I huff out a breath and nod, though I’m certain I pulled a muscle or shattered my tailbone.
“They must have just Zambonied it,” I say, and Bennett throws his head back and laughs again. I can’t tell if it’s residual laughter from my fall or a newfound reason to laugh at me.
“Zamboni can’t be used as a verb.”
“I just used it as a verb and you understood, so yes, it can,” I argue.
“All right.” His eyes roll, and he presses his lips together. “You good now, or do you need a helmet?”
I stand straighter, restraining my laughter. “I’m fine,” I say, then glide my right foot forward. “Oh, don’t got it!” I yell as my foot slips farther until I’m sliding into the splits in slow motion.
Bennett grabs me by the belt loop on the back of my jeans and pulls me back up to stand. “I swore you used to know how to do this,” he says and I laugh.
“I’m not seven anymore, Bennett. And also, I don’t think I’ve gone ice skating in like six years.”
“No excuse. It’s like riding a bike.”
“On ice!” I shout and cling to the side of the rink again. I note a few people from the office gliding by with smirks on their faces. I’m clearly becoming an embarrassment for temps far and wide.
“Hold on,” Bennett says, turning back to the entrance.
