Page 60 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)

Chapter Forty-Five

EVA

T he following week, I walk into the Rebels practice facility alone. Public access to the rink, including Rebels practices when they’re in season, is a nice perk of having a pro hockey team in your city. But it also means the place is never deserted. Except, apparently, at seven in the morning.

As I stand on the upper-level waiting for Lauren, who suggested this ungodly hour, I close my eyes and breathe in the familiar, cold scent of a rink. And when I breathe out, opening my eyes and taking a step forward toward the edge of the balcony, I catch sight of a single skater.

For a quick second, I think it’s Lauren, and that she got started without me. That seems highly unlikely though, given that when Lauren texted to invite me here to skate this morning, she mentioned she was only willing to try again because I’d be with her.

But then I notice the long, dark hair, the hockey skates, the powerful and confident glide of a woman who’s so used to being on the ice, skating seems as effortless as breathing.

AJ takes a quick lap, and then slows to grab a stick that’s propped inside the players’ box. She backskates across the ice and turns toward the goal line, while deftly batting the puck back and forth, before coming to a stop at center ice.

I clear my throat, and she looks up to find the source of the noise. Scanning the seats, she eventually locks eyes with me, standing one level above.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Lauren says from behind as she steps next to me. Her red hair is back in a claw clip, and her hoodie hangs open at her sides.

“You didn’t know she’d be here?” I know Lauren and AJ are close friends, but maybe she doesn’t keep track of her boss’s schedule like that.

“I didn’t even know she still skated.”

AJ skates toward the box and sprays the boards with ice as she comes to a quick stop. “Might as well come down here and talk about me to my face,” she calls out.

Lauren’s laugh is huskier than I’d expect from someone with such a sweet voice. “You’ve got so much explaining to do,” she shouts back playfully before we head down a flight of stairs to the tunnel leading to the bench.

Once we’re at ice level, Lauren says to AJ, “You didn’t tell me that you still skate.” She sounds hurt, and I wonder why this is something AJ would hide, if she and Lauren are such good friends.

AJ eyes Lauren’s bag with the tops of her skates peeking out. “Neither did you.”

Lauren coughs out a laugh. “Touché. But I don’t skate.”

“All evidence to the contrary,” AJ says, with her trademark no-nonsense tone, before a concerned look passes over her face and she softens her voice to ask, “You’re really getting back on the ice?”

“I’m going to put these skates on,” Lauren says, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. “And we’ll see from there.”

As Lauren plops down onto the bench and removes a fairly new-looking pair of skates, I chat with AJ, asking her about how she got involved with hockey.

She tells me about playing in college, then coaching college hockey, then working for St. Louis as a scout and eventually moving over to operations.

“I was the assistant GM there before Frank brought me to Boston to be the GM.”

“Single-handedly rebuilding the organization,” Lauren adds, so obviously proud of her friend.

“There was nothing single-handed about it,” AJ says. “I just brought the right people in to do the best job they could, and now it’s all paying off.”

“You single-handedly brought the right people in,” Lauren adds, before looking at me. “She’s way too humble.”

“I know I’m good at my job, and I don’t need to brag about it.

If that’s being humble, then okay. Speaking of which, I need to go get started on said job.

The rink is all yours. Skating lessons start at eight, so unless you want an audience, you’ve got the rink to yourselves for the next half hour or so before all the little kids start showing up to get their gear on. ”

AJ hops off the ice and removes her skates with the speed and precision I’m sure comes from years of experience.

Then she says goodbye as Lauren and I continue lacing up our own skates.

Once we’re done, I ask the question that’s been burning in my mind since I talked to Lynette about Lauren’s accident.

“When you said you don’t skate anymore , does that mean you haven’t skated at all since. ..”

She shakes her head, then sighs. “Well, I did once. With Jameson. But I wouldn’t call it skating so much as squeezing my eyes shut and letting him drag me around the ice.”

I glance back down at her nearly pristine skates. “Are those skates not broken in, then?”

“They are. He had Morgan break them in for me before he ‘surprised’ me,” she says, using air quotes, “with a trip here one night.”

“Jameson brought you here ?” I ask, and then I remember that he used to play for the Rebels, years before my dad started coaching the team.

“He arranged it with AJ, I later learned,” she tells me as she stands, resting her hands on the top of the boards in front of her and surveying the ice.

I stand next to her, one hand resting under my belly where Baby Squash has suddenly decided to do somersaults.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers.

“Maybe you can’t,” I say lightly, lifting a shoulder in a small shrug that I hope lets her know there’s no pressure. “And if not, that’s okay. But you won’t know unless you try.”

“It’s the trying that’s terrifying.”

“Anything worthwhile is usually at least a little bit scary.” I start talking about finding out I was pregnant, and having no idea what it would mean for my skating career, as I step out onto the ice and turn to face her, holding both my hands out to her.

She chews her bottom lip as she looks at my hands, and then, closing her eyes, takes a fortifying breath. As her shoulders relax, she opens her eyes and says, “I’m just going to hold on to the wall. I could never forgive myself if I fell and pulled you down with me.”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with. But also . . . ” I pause, waiting for her to look at me. When she does, I tell her, “You’re not going to fall.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Just like you don’t know that you will ,” I say with a shrug. “Which is more likely?”

Lauren sighs. “Fine.” She sets her hand along the top edge of the boards and cautiously steps out onto the ice. I move back slightly to let her glide, so she’ll be less likely to fall from a jerky stop.

“How’s it feel to be out here?” I ask as I watch her fingers curl against the red plastic edge of the wall.

“Scary.”

“More or less scary than last time?” I ask.

“Both. Less, because it’s not the first time, and more, because Jameson’s not here holding me up.”

“Did he hold you up the whole time when you skated with him before?” I ask, holding my hands out to her.

She shakes her head, and then surprises me by taking my hands. I glide backward slowly, letting her get used to the feel of moving along the ice, but making sure that the wall is always in reach in case she feels like she needs it.

As we glide along, I continue talking to Lauren, mentioning things she surely already knows about skating.

I use phrases like “remember” and “don’t forget” as I point out each technique because I’m trying not to treat her like she’s never skated before, even though she truly does seem like a novice.

We’re more than halfway around the edge of the rink before she no longer seems scared stiff. We’re all the way around before she relaxes enough that I’m not worried she’ll fall. And we’ve made a full second loop around the edge of the rink before she stops holding her breath.

“You’re really good at this, you know,” Lauren tells me.

“I used to coach kids when I was younger. I’ve just started thinking about getting back into that after I have this baby.”

Lauren drops my hands, and I watch as she uses her toe pick to push off just enough to move up beside me. “I thought you and Christopher were still going to try to qualify for the Olympics?”

“We are,” I say, turning so I can skate facing forward beside her “But this is my last season. I’d already decided that before I got pregnant. So my mind’s been on what to do next.”

“Do you . . . need to do anything next?”

I know what she means. I’m married to a billionaire—and even if he weren’t heir to a vast fortune, he still makes more than enough playing hockey that I wouldn’t need to work.

“For financial reasons, obviously no. But for my sanity, and to feel useful and remain involved with skating somehow...yeah, it’s probably best that I have something in my life besides being a mother and a wife.”

“I absolutely get that,” Lauren says. “Staying home with the kids is an absolute privilege, but I feel like the part no one talks about is how easy it is to lose yourself in that process. I applaud anyone who chooses to be a stay-at-home mom. But I’m equally thankful that we live in a time where women can continue to work after having kids, as well.

I lost that part of me once before, forgot who I was and what I wanted for myself.

Forgot that I could exist outside of my children. ”

I knew Lauren had been married previously, but I didn’t know this .

“And now,” she says, “I love Jameson dearly. I love my children beyond measure. But I am more than just his wife and their mother, and I love that for me.”

“How’d you find yourself?” I ask, noting how steadily she’s gliding along on her skates.

She hasn’t strayed far from the wall, but she seems more comfortable on the ice.

And as she continues to talk, telling me about how controlling her first husband was, and how she moved with her kids to Boston after his death, it feels like she’s overcoming her fear of the ice at the same time.