Page 38 of O Goalie Night
Beth studies her fingernails. “I’ll probably fall down a lot.”
I’ll catch you every time.
“Probably,” I say instead. “But I’ll teach you how to get back up.”
“Will you laugh at me when I fall?”
I step forward and stop her fidgeting by taking her hand in mine. When she looks up at me with those gorgeous brown eyes I hold her gaze and say, “Only if you look hilarious when it happens.”
She shoves me away, giggling as she does.
“And I’ll buy you hot chocolate after the lesson.” I can’t help but toss that in to sweeten the deal.
Beth squares her shoulders and rests her hands on her hips, causing her oversized sweater to bunch around her. “You really want to teach me to skate?”
God yes.
“If you want to learn, then yeah.”
Her sigh is deeper than Lake Superior, but when it ends, she nods. “It had better be really good hot chocolate.”
“Oh my gosh!Look at that one!” Beth points at another tall pine tree as I drive to the rink. It’s the fourth “perfect” Christmas tree she’s spotted.
“Yup,” I confirm with a nod. “That’s a tree, alright.”
She rolls her eyes at me before looking out the window again. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Why don’t you like Christmas?”
I frown at the highway in front of me. “I don’t dislike it,” I answer with a shrug. “I liked it well enough when I was a kid. I guess I just associate it with family and I don’t have one anymore, so…”
I focus on the road, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel and needlessly changing lanes for something to do. It feels like it’s been years since anyone has asked about my family and I’m out of practice.
Feeling Beth’s eyes on me, I turn my head in her direction. Those bottomless eyes I find myself thinking about so often, are brimming with sadness.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffs. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “My grandfather died when I was a teenager and I lost my mom a year later. I’ve got a brother, but…”
He hates my guts.
She’s still looking at me intently so I clear my throat and offer, “We had a falling out.”
“How long has it been since you talked to him?”
“Ten years.”
She looks so gobsmacked that I have to smile. “I’m sorry, I just…can’t imagine,” she sputters. “If I don’t text my sisters at least once a day, I’m pretty sure they’d file a missing persons report.”
I would too, I think glancing over at her. She looks lost in thought, her gaze downcast as she fidgets with her fingers. I’ve noticed she does that when she’s anxious—pressing on one fingernail, then moving to the next, over and over again.
“You miss them?” I ask.
She nods. "I know it probably sounds pathetic since I’ve only been here a few weeks, but I really do. I’ve never lived away from home before."
“It’s not pathetic at all.”
