Page 30 of Next Season
“I can dim them a bit more if you want,” Vinnie offered.
“No, I think it’s okay.” I scanned the neutral zone, center ice, the penalty benches, the scorekeeper’s bench, and finally…the opposite goal. I set my hands on my hips and grinned. “Damn, I could play in this light. I could—”
“Whoa.” He grabbed my elbow before I got anywhere. “Give me the full report, Trunk. I can’t be responsible for impeding a pro hockey player’s recovery. Spill it. What’d the doc say?”
I filled him in on the doctor’s concerns, the MRI, and my call with Coach. “I’m on the mend. This isn’t rocket science. I’m just dealing with the remnants of a severe concussion, and no one likes that it’s still fucking with my vision. Especially me.”
“I bet.” He patted my shoulder sympathetically and hiked a thumb at the rink behind me. “I hate sounding like a wienie, but I checked in with one of the team physicians to be sure this wasn’t a completely stupid idea. He basically said that if you can skate in near dark…you can skate. Marsden agreed, but he doesn’t want you going overboard.”
“You talked to Coach?” I asked incredulously.
“He called after he spoke to you. Coach wants to help. He knows you’re anxious to get back on the ice, and he knows I’ve built a damn fine sports facility here and a sweet rink. There’s no harm in getting on the ice…as long as the lights are low and you don’t go too hard too fast. The ice treadmill at the gym is all well and good, but you need the real deal.”
I glanced longingly toward the rink and inclined my head. “You have no idea. I don’t have my skates with me, but I can get them and—”
“No need. You’re at a real rink, man. We have rentals, and the cool thing about knowing one of the owners is I can hook you up with the least sweaty gross ones on the shelf.” He clapped enthusiastically and motioned for me to follow. “We don’t have a ton of time. The juniors have practice in half an hour and there’s a Pee Wee game afterward, but for thirty minutes, you’ve got the place to yourself.”
I rubbed my hands together, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “I’m ready.”
I laced the rental skates and raced to the edge of the rink, feeling oddly emotional at the first slice of borrowed blades on smooth ice. I sensed Vin’s eyes on me as I looped around the perimeter, taking it nice and easy and slowly upping my pace, imagining a stick in my hand and a puck just out of reach.
This reminded me of learning to skate when I was five or six, watching older kids play at the frozen lake near my grandparents’ house. They were probably only twelve or thirteen, but they’d seemed like gods to me. Later, after they’d gone home, I’d strapped on skates my grandfather found in the garage and raced onto the ice like I owned it. I’d fallen flat on my ass time after time, but eventually, I matched the streaks the older boys left behind on wobbly knees with a phantom stick in my hand, chasing a ghostly puck.
My grandfather had watched in amusement, a broad smile on his face. He’d cheered me on, his cheeks pink from the cold. I remembered him saying dinner would be ready soon and they’d be looking for us, but we stayed until the evening cast long shadows…something like this.
As much as I’d grown to love the bright lights, the fans, and the frenzy, this felt healing somehow.
I increased my speed, right foot over left, leaning hard into each turn lap after lap. I skated backward, flipped forward, changing directions at whim as I rocketed imaginary pucks out of my way with my imaginary stick. In my head, I scored twenty goals, the fans were chanting my name as my teammates leaped over the wall to celebrate my triumphant return. Reality: I careened to a stop at center ice, bent over with my hands on my knees, gasping for breath as I blinked tears from my eyes and sent up a jumbled prayer of, “Please. Please. Please.”
Please what? I didn’t know.
Please, don’t take this away from me? Please, let me see clearly again?
My grandfather popped into my subconscious out of the blue. He used to caution my sister and me from making greedy requests to the heavens as if we were making holiday wish lists every day of the week. “Gratitude first. Ask for help in finding your path.”
I had no idea what the hell he’d meant back then, but now…fuck, it was worth a shot. “Please, show me the way,” I whispered.
“Hey, you looked good there,” Vinnie called out, skating toward me. “How d’ya feel?”
“Great.” I stood and bumped his fist, waving at Nolan, who was busy dropping orange cones on the blue line. “Thank you for this. It’s…exactly what I needed.”
“I’ll skate with you next time. We’ll get Nol to show his moves too,” he said as Nolan joined us.
“My moves?” Nolan rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if I have any of those anymore, but count me in.”
Vinnie flashed an adoring gaze at Nolan and kissed his temple. “You definitely have moves. Almost as good as mine.”
I shamelessly stared, noting the subtle ways they seemed connected even when they weren’t touching. Every glance carried weight, every smile held a little something extra. I hadn’t been around many same-sex couples. Honestly, Vinnie and Nolan were my first real reference, and they made it look easy. It never felt strange to be with them. They just…fit.
Nolan nudged Vin’s ribs. “Right. We can get a few other guys too…just say the word. The juniors would kill to shoot with you.”
“They’d either try to show off, or they’d be useless with hero worship,” Vinnie scoffed.
“True. But we have other options. Like…” Nolan snapped his fingers. “JC. You’re friends, right? I mean, I’ve seen you at the coffee shop together, so I assumed—”
“Yeah, we’re friends,” I intercepted abruptly. “Um…he’s a nice guy.”
Nolan nodded. “And he’s actually a pretty good hockey player.”