Page 65 of Lucky Shot
I pull her back upright, but because she’s holding on so tightly, we’re standing close. She tips her head back to look at me.
“Good.” The word is breathless. “I’d never live down the shame of dying in rented shoes.”
I chuckle.
“Why is ice so cold?!” She shivers.
“Necessity, I suppose. Want to go for another lap?”
She nods and this time she looks a little more at ease.
I tell her to start with small steps, alternate lifting one foot then the other, glide, push off with one skate.
One side of her mouth tugs up. “That’s what you told the kids.”
“Is it?”
“And to feel the shift of weight.”
“That was my next instruction.”
We fall quiet as we skate. I take both of her hands in one of mine. There’s a momentary look of panic on her face until I say, “I got you.”
I’d dive under her before letting her land face-first on the ice. Although my hard head may not be any softer of a landing.
“Somehow, I believe you.” Another smile loosens on her lips.
“You’re a good coach. Is that what you want to do after hockey?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t given it a lot of thought, but I am looking forward to teaching you.” I stop near the gate and grab my stick.
“I can barely stay upright. I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
“Just take it.”
She does, and I send up a silent prayer that she doesn’t go off-balance and take us both down.
“It’s heavier than I expected.”
I adjust it in her hands so she’s holding it correctly. I amend my earlier fantasy to this. Ruby Madison in a dress and skates holding my hockey stick. Fuck me.
“Sometimes focusing on something else helps.”
“And I can lean on it for support.” She tests this and I put a hand out just in case. She seems determined to fall.
I take it back after she appears more stable and less focused on standing upright. The next time we skate around the ice, she’s gliding on her own. It isn’t graceful but she stays on her feet.
I stick close, letting her use me for balance as needed but with every lap she needs less support.
“Am I ready for the team yet?” she asks once she’s gone around twice without assistance.
“Definitely,” I answer. “We just need to speed you up a bit.”
“Like how much?”
“Fast enough that you can beat the defenders to the other end.”
“I think I could take you,” she says with so much confidence that I laugh. Thirty minutes ago, she was terrified. I might have liked that version better. She reaches for the stick in my hands, and I let her have it, admiring again how good she looks with it.
