Page 45 of Lucky Shot
Better than expected.
Olivia
That’s great news!
I can feel her hopefulness. She has always been my biggest cheerleader, and I don’t want to let her, or anyone else, down. I send a smiley face in reply and go back to staring at the cursor.
I can do this…
12
RUBY
The next morning I am ready to go to the rink, appropriately dressed and prepared with new questions, fifteen minutes early. I head out to my rental car with plans to stop by Café Moon on my way. I want to be wide-eyed and bushy-tailed because I am capable. I am a talented writer. I have a fantastic work ethic. I’ve been given another chance. I am under deadline. And I can freaking do this.
I’ve been giving myself that same pep talk since yesterday afternoon when I closed my laptop for the day without writing a single word. I just need a little more information first. More hockey research, more time to let it all soak in.
“Morning.” Nick’s rough voice startles me.
He’s on the front porch, duffel slung over one shoulder, and two coffees – one in each hand.
My heart speeds up at the sight of him. He’s freshly shaved again this morning, and I take in those glorious dimples. His face has so much character. It isn’t smooth and perfect. It’s filled with a million interesting details like it was sculpted by an artist with an impeccable eye. Perhaps that’s why his scowls feel so weighty. All those details spark to life with his emotions.
“Good morning,” I reply, a little breathier than I’d like. I stop walking as he takes the steps and crosses the driveway toward me.
The wind brings his scent to me before he’s close, something clean and woodsy like he showered in the great outdoors. Now there’s a nice visual.
My face flushes as he holds out one of the coffees to me.
“For me?” I ask, a smile lifting the corners of my mouth.
His answer is a tiny nod.
“Thank you.”
“The coffee at the rink is awful,” he says as if that’s the only reason for the nice gesture. I can’t get a good read on him. He’s nice, considerate even, good with kids, successful, has at least one normal friend. What the hell does he have to be so moody about?
I mean besides the whole his dad invited me here without him knowing because admittedly that might make anyone grumpy. Still, that was days ago, we seem to have moved past it and yet, he still walks around like he has the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.
The screen door slams as Aidan walks out the front door. Nick steps back, opening his stance to his son.
“Got everything?” Nick asks him.
“Yeah,” Aidan replies with that distinct childish air of incredulity, like how dare you question my ability to pack a bag.
“Good.” Nick looks to me. “Meet you at the rink?”
“Yeah.”
We’re the first ones to arrive. Nick unlocks the door to let us in, then disappears to turn on the lights in the building. Aidanwastes no time getting dressed and heading out onto the ice. I wander down to the same spot on the bench where I sat yesterday.
After setting my stuff down, I peer over the ledge at the ice. A shiver makes my whole body jump.
Aidan steps out from the other side, smoothly gliding across the surface with his hockey stick in one hand. He tosses a puck down and starts doing a very complicated looking drill.
“How hard could it be?” I say to myself as I open the gate. I take one tentative step onto the ice. It feels solid enough. The cold seeps through the flimsy soles of my shoes as I step out with my other foot.
I feel wobbly, like a baby deer or a toddler attempting to stand. Greer was so stinking cute when she was at that stage.
