Page 118 of From Ice to Grace
“Some advice, Dec,” he says, leaning against the counter. “That man is not between you and her. Don’t put him there.”
I nod, letting his words set in. He’s right. Even though she kept the engagement ring, she told me she’s done with him, and that trumps everything else.
I take a breath, one that’s full and clean.
“Then I’ll go to the rink,” I say simply.
25
AVAH
Skating along the ice, the coolness of the rink seeps into my skin and clings to my cheeks. There’s a certain sense of freedom that comes from being the first one on the ice, cutting fresh lines into the smooth surface with the blades beneath your feet.
Growing up with hockey players in the family, my father, my brother, my cousins, my uncles, it was inevitable that the sport would weave itself into my very being. I played right alongside EJ when we were little. We spent countless mornings on the pond outside our house, until our fingers were numb and our feet full of blisters. But I never joined a team, mostly because my mom didn’t think it’s appropriate for a girl. That doesn’t mean I can’t handle a stick and a puck.
Working the puck between the few cones I set out, I glide over the ice, pivoting sharp before shooting the puck into the net. It hits the target I hung there with a satisfying cling that ricochets off the boards.
Having my brother play for the Rangers comes with certain benefits…although this morning when I came in for some ice time, the staffer at the door called me Mrs Murphy. So perhaps I owe this morning to Declan after all.
He left last night after our…talk. I don’t even know if I can call it a fight because at the end it felt like we finally agreed on everything. We both said things that needed to be brought out into the open and with that comes hurt. But you can’t heal if it doesn’t hurt first. One thing is for certain, we both needed time to think.
Still, I hoped he would come home last night. As the time went by, the inkling of peace I felt started to turn into a storm of worry. I was up most of the night, scared that he’s somewhere in some dirty bar, throwing away everything we managed to turn around in the past two weeks.
When EJ texted me to let me know he was with him, safe at his place…relief doesn’t even begin to cover it. I sat there for a long time, trying to convince myself relief was all I felt, but it wasn’t.
‘We don’t owe each other anything’, his words have been echoing in my mind the entire night until they took on a whole new meaning. Because he’s right. I don’t want him to be with me, or love me because he thinks it’s the decent thing to do after everything. I don’t want him to stay with me out of obligation or even gratitude.
I want him to choose me.
I want him to choose me.
Not because it’s convenient, or because us being together will keep our lives from unraveling. But rather because he knows that I’m meant to be by his side.
That was the truth that hit me last night when he walked out. It cemented the fact that somewhere along the line our agreement on paper turned into something more, something that doesn’t fit neatly between terms and conditions. Because as sure as God is the Creator of all that is good, I want Declan to be in my life. I want to do life with him by my side.
Because I know we can be good for each other, and to each other.
I position another puck, tapping my stick twice and working the puck back and forth to get a feel for it. My aim is the left corner, just below the crossbar. I twist my wrist, just enough to get the right amount of leverage beneath the puck. There’s a quiet sense of satisfaction knowing I’ll hit my target before I even take the shot.
I let loose, the puck sailing perfectly through the air and hitting my target. Cling.
“What was that?” Declan’s familiar voice, warm and rough around the edges, echoes over the ice. I twist around finding him leaning over the boards, his face caught between a grin and a frown.
“You can play, Snowflake?” he asks, stepping down onto the bench to lace up his skates. “I don’t know whether I should be impressed or upset.”
“Why would you be upset?” I ask, my voice echoing across the ice.
“Because you never told me your secret,” he says, disappearing behind the boards again to lace up another skate.
“You never asked.” I skate back toward the bucket of pucks, taking one out and dropping it on the mark. “Call it.”
“Middle left,” he says with that grin that makes his dimple deepen, that grin that has my stomach dipping.
I work the puck, flicking it slightly, then shoot. The target clings again.
“This is kind of hot, Avah, I’m not going to lie,” he says, his eyes sparking. “My wife can score.”
Hearing him call me his wife sends ripples through me. Warm, deep and unsettling in all the best ways.
