Page 28 of Spiral
“Yep, that.”
“I need to…”
I waved at the seats, and he guided me off the white stuff and helped me take off the skates and lace up my boots. Then I helped add an array of sensors to his jersey, his knees, and his ankles before he glided back out and waited.
“And?” he asked, a stick in his hand and a puck on the ice waiting. I glanced down at my notes and the empty spaces for stats and comments.
“Can you skate, but call on your figure skating days to…” I waved at the rink.
He grinned at me. “Skating I can do,” he said.
As I watched Craig glide across the ice with precision, twisting and turning, I considered my theory of a connection between the natural spirals in Fibonacci sequences and the movements in ice hockey. The elegance of Craig’s maneuvers from his figure skating past, the way he curved and swirled, almost traced mathematical patterns invisibly on the ice. My thesis was that the same principles dictating the growth patterns of sunflowers and seashells dictated the sweeping arcs of a gymnast, or a football player, or a hockey player. The way Craig pivoted and turned, each could be part of a larger, predictable pattern, perhaps even something that could be modeled mathematically. I took notes, watched my laptop collect data, and as he executed a particularly tight spiral, I pushed aside being turned on, to think logically. This was only the start of thedata collection, requiring precise tracking of motions that were second nature and intuitive to players like Craig.
Lost in thought, I barely noticed Craig skating back toward me, a grin on his face, coming to a smooth stop that sent a small spray of ice crystals into the air.
“Was that enough? Or do you need more?”
I blinked at him, lost in equations forming and reforming as I considered variables like speed, angle of attack, and the physics of skates on ice.
“Huh?” I asked, and gazed at the screen where Craig’s actions were tracked as strings of ones and zeroes.
“Do you need more?” he asked, and leaned on the barrier, his face flushed from the exercise.
The data was there, the skating was just day one of data collection, but there was only one thing I wanted to say. I shut my laptop and took the three steps to the barrier, leaning into him.
“Your numerical and geometric data is beautiful,” I murmured. Oli had said Jackson’s love language was sarcasm—well, mine was mathematics.
“My what now is what now?” Craig grinned.
I reached for him and cradled his face, and we kissed.
“You are beautiful.”
Chapter Twelve
Craig
“Box!”Cam yelled as we wrapped up a fruitless power play against San Jose.
I spied the player leaving the penalty box as I streaked past the sin bin, the puck on my stick, and not a soul near me. The thunder of Cam taking out the player exiting the box with a check that rattled the boards and made the home fans cheer reached me as I zeroed in on the San Jose goalie who was tracking me like a hawk following a rabbit. He was a big Canadian, a lovely guy when you weren’t on the ice. He was known to chop your legs if you got on his nerves. I was planning on getting on his nerves big time in a few seconds. He dropped low, closing his pads to block his five-hole. A player in bright teal appeared at my left, his stick swinging out in an attempt to lift mine. The stick hit my skate and bounced back at him. I moved to the left, shifted to take a backhand shot, and the puck flew cleanly over the tendie and into the net.
“Fuck yes!” I shouted as I sailed to the side to get hugs and pats from my line. That sweet little goal was my seventh in fivegames. Being in deep feelings with Jamie had not only improved my personal life but it had also done wonders for my game. Life was good. Everything was buttercups and butterflies.
We won that game handily, flogging San Jose with seven goals to their one. I’d pulled in a goal, two assists, five hits, four blocked shots, played over sixteen minutes, and ended with a great plus-minus of +2. The press were curious as to what had brought around my improvement. I told them I owed it all to prune juice. That got a laugh. I wasn’t really the kind to broadcast my personal life, and so I played this new relationship with Jamie incredibly close to my vest. Not that I was ashamed. How could I be? He was smart and gorgeous and funny, even if he did add too many letters to his words. I wanted to take it slow and ease into the serious stuff after I was positive he was in this for the duration. I already knew he would never do me wrong as Leon had, but I was still scared. My sister assured me the fear would fade over time. I just needed to give Jamie a chance. Time to prove he was not a shitty Leon sort.
Deep down, I knew that. I had to convince my scarred and skittish heart.
Time. Claudia was hardly ever wrong about such things.
So, we kept dating, kissing, and getting to know each other while time slowly repaired my heart. Jamie was solid gold. I had told him that just last night, had whispered over his soft lips that his affection was gluing my heart back together.
“Like kintsugi.” He chuckled as his fingers combed out my curls and then freed them.
“What’s that?” I had asked, roughly nipping at his jaw as we rolled around on my sofa, his lean body pinned under me, his waistcoat lying over my coffee table.
“It’s a form of Japanese pottery repair where the broken bits are rejoined using a special lacquer and then dusted with gold, silver, or platinum. I love how bouncy your hair is.” I loved thatimagery. My busted heart being pieced back together bit by bit, Jamie’s gentleness being the glowing golden seams that would fix my shattered pieces. “It’s a lovely philosophy. To embrace the imperfections.”
I locked my elbows, rearing back enough to gaze down at him, wishing I could speak with the refinement he did.
