Page 80 of Exes That Puck
A six-year-old goalie in oversized pads skates up to me with complete confidence.
“You’re mid,” he announces matter-of-factly.
I laugh and take a selfie with him. “Thanks for the honest feedback, buddy.”
I text the photo to Kara.
Zeke:He said I’m not that good.
Zeke: He actually used the word mid.
Even Liam’s here doing community service, but we successfully ignore each other. No drama, no posturing. Just two teammates doing what’s required without making it about our beef.
After the skate, I book an hour of private ice time. Instead of assuming Kara will want to come, I text her.
Zeke: You wanna skate tonight? I’ll hold you up.
Kara:Remember when I ate crap and hurt my ankle?
Zeke:That’s what I’m here for. I’ll catch you if you fall. No hurt ankles this time. I promise.
When I get home to grab my gear, I find Ava in the living room with another girl. When the brunette turns around, my stomach drops.
Brianne. Ava’s best friend from high school. Also someone I used to hook up with before I met Kara. Never anything serious, but definitely history.
“Hey, Zeke,” Brianne says with a smile that’s a little too familiar.
I barely acknowledge her with a nod, focusing on Ava instead. “Didn’t know you were having company.”
“Brianne drove down to check on me,” Ava explains. “You remember each other, right?”
The understatement of the year. I grab my skate bag from the closet. “I’m heading out.”
“Where to?” Ava asks.
“Meeting Kara at the rink.”
She turns to Brianne and says, “He’s sleeping with his ex.” Ava says it so casually, like she’s commenting on the weather. Like I want Brianne to know my business.
Brianne smiles. “Makes sense why she’d come running back.”
The comment hits wrong. I want to defend what Kara, and I have, explain that it’s different than just being exes, but getting into it with Brianne feels like a trap.
“See you later,” I say instead, heading for the door.
At the rink, Kara’s waiting in the lobby wearing jeans and a thick sweater, looking nervous but excited. I help her into rental skates, taking my time with the laces, making sure they’re snug but not too tight.
“These feel weird,” she says, wobbling slightly just standing up.
“They’re supposed to. Trust me.”
On the ice, she grips my arm like her life depends on it. I skate backward slowly, letting her find her balance while holding both her hands.
“Don’t let go,” she says, eyes wide.
“I won’t.”
After about ten minutes, she’s gained enough confidence to try a few steps on her own. That’s when she hits a rough patch and starts to fall. I catch her before she hits the ice, one arm around her waist, the other steadying her shoulder.
